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Scanned  from  the  collections  of 
The  Library  of  Congress 


Packard  Campus 
for  Audio  Visual  Conservation 
www.  loc.gov/avconservation 

Motion  Picture  and  Television  Reading  Room 
www.loc.gov/rr/mopic 

Recorded  Sound  Reference  Center 
www .  I  oc .  g  o  v/rr/reco  rd 


©C1B  3550 


leaves  vour  hair  so  lustrous, 
yet  so  ea§w  to  manage! 

Only  Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair  Conditioning  action 

will  make  your  hair  look  so  lbvel)  ! 
Drene  vour  hair  and  bring  out  all  its  gleaming  beauty, 
as  much  as  33%  more  lustre  than  any  soap. 
Drene  is  not  a  soap  shampoo. 
It  never  leaves  any  dull,  dingy  film  on  hair,  the  way  all  soap*  do. 
Such  manageable,  satin-smooth  hair,  right  after  shampooing 
.  .  .  now  that  Drene  has  a  wonderful  hair  conditioning  action. 
Complete  removal  of  unsightly  dandruff  too  . . . 
when  vou  shampoo  your  hair  this  glamour  way. 
So  insist  on  Drene  with  Hair  Conditioning  action, 
or  ask  your  beauty  shop  to  use  it. 


•  In  Private  Life.  Lily  often  wears 
shining  example  of  a  casual,  soft  hai 
"Remember,"  says  Lily,  "the  more  si 
your   hair-do,   the   more  importan 
gleaming  beauty."  She  knows  that 
Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair  Conditi' 
action  will  make  her  hair  look  so  In 


earn  About  Hair-dos 
From  the  Girls  who  Know 


Lovely  Lily  Carlson,  glamorous  New 
York  model,  Cover  Girl  and  Drene  Girl . . . 
poses  for  many  famous  fashion  photo- 
graphs. She  wears  her  Drene-lovely  hair  in 
many  exciting  styles. 

In  Front  of  the  Camera,  Lily  chooses 
this  center-part  upsweep  to  go  with  the 
jersey  dress  by  Joel.  "See  how  my  back 
hair  is  combed  up  into  shining  rolls.  Twist 
strands  of  pearls  around  velvet  ribbon  for 
the  matching  comb  and  choker."  That 
polished-smooth  look  of  Lily's  hair  is  due 
to  Drene  with  Hair  Conditioning  action. 


Shampoo  with 
Hair  Conditioning  Action 


CUPID:  What  a  couple!  Coldest  linle  romance  since  the 
Ice  Age!  .Mister  Frozen  Face  and  Miss  Poker  Face!  .  .  . 
Sis  .  .  .  don't  you  ever  smile? 

GIRL:  Smile?  Me?  I- 

Cl'PID:  Marshmallow,  don't  you  know  that  even  plain  girls 
get  dates  if  they  go  around  gleaming  at  people?  Try  it, 
Sis!  You— 

GIRL:  Hold  it.  Little  One.  I  can  smile,  yes.  Gleam  . . . 
No.  Not  with  my  dull  teeth.  I  brush  'em  like 
clockwork,  but  they  just  won't  gleam. 

CEPI D:  Hmmm.  Any  "pink"  on  your  tooth  brush  lately? 


GIRL 

CCPID:  "But,"  nothing,  Baby!  That  "pink's"  a  sign  you'd 
better  see  your  demist!  And  in  a  hurry! 

GIRL:  Dentist?  I  haven't  got  a  toothache! 

CrPID:  Dentists  aren't  just  for  toothaches,  Dear.  Yours 
might  say  that  "pink's"  a  sign  your  gums  are  being 
robbed  of  exercise  by  soft  foods.  And  he 
might  suggest  "the  helpful  stimulation 
of  Ipana  and  massage." 


GI  RL:  But  what  about  my  smile? 

C17PID:  Plenty.  Precious.  Because  Ipana  not  only 
cleans  your  teeth.  With  massage,  it's  designed  to  help 
your  gums.  Massaging  a  little  extra  Ipana  on  your 
gums  when  you  brush  your  teeth  will  help  them 
to  healthier  firmness.  And  healthier  gums  mean 
brighter,  sounder  teeth.  A  smile  that  gets  you 
a  date  with  somebody  besides  that  Fugitive 
from  a  Snow  Shovel.  Try  Ipana,  Angel,  today. 


IPANA  and  MASSAGE 


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Published  in 
this  space 
every  month 


The  greatest 
star  of  the 

screen ! 


We're  embarrassed!  Caught,  as  it  were, 
with  our  paws  down! 

★     ★     ★     ★  ||f 

Just  when  our  Dictionary  of  " *  3 
Superlatives  has  disappeared, 
along  come  not  one  —  but 
two  magnificent  M-G-M  musicals 
.  .  .  "The  Harvey  Girls"  (ahhhh!), 
and"Ziegfeld  Follies"  (more  ahhhh!). 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

"The  Harvey  Girls"  is  the  romantic, 
wide,  wild  West — set  to  wonderful  music 
— in  Technicolor!  And  it  stars  our  own 
honey-voiced,  vivacious  Judy  Garland! 
It  couldn't  happen  to  a  nicer  picture. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Besides  lassoing  our  heart  with  her 
grand  portrayal  of  one  of  the  adventur- 
ous Harvey  Girls,  Judy  sings  the 
nation's  top  tune,  "On  the  Atchison, 
Topeka,  and  the  Santa  Fe"! 

★  ★  ★  ★ 
Supporting  our  ^intillating  Judy  G. 
(for  Glamorous,  for  Gorgeous,  for 
Garland)  is  a  swell  cast  of  favorites, 
headed  by  John  (handsome  he-man) 
Hodiak,  Ray  Bolger,  and  Angela  Lans- 
bury.  You'll  love  'em  all! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Ten  more  top  tunes,  besides  "Atchison", 
from  the  popular  pens  of  Johnny  IViercer 
and  Harry  Warren,  earn  "The  Harvey 
Girls"  a  double-E 
award — for  Excellent 
Entertainment!  That 
goes,  too,  for  the  di- 
rection o  f  George 
Sidney  ("Anchors 
Aweigh")  and  the 
production  of  Arthur 
Freed  ("Meet  Me  In 
St.  Loui  s"  and 
"Ziegfeld  Follies" — see  below!) 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Hold  on  to  your  heart... or  you'll  lose 
it  to — "The  Harvey  Girls."  As  we  did! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

And  speaking  of  Girls  leads  us,  naturally 
enough,  to  ZIEGFELD  FOLLIES, 
a  huge,  star-studded  Technicolor  spec- 
tacle. Only  Vincente  Minnelli  could 
have  directed,  only  Arthur  Freed  pro- 
duced. And  only  M-G-M  could  have 
brought  it  to  the  screen. 

★  ★  ★  ★ 
Its  roster  of  Stars  reads  like 
the  Who's  Who  of  Show 
Business  from  A  to  Ziegfeld : 
There's  Fred  Astaire,  Lu- 
cille Ball,  Lucille  Bremer, 
Fanny  Brice.  Judy  Garland, 
Kathryn  Grayson,  I  ena 
Home,  Gene  Kellv,  Jaroes 
Melton,  Victor  Moore.  Red 
Skelton,  Esther  Williams 
and  William  Powell!  If  it's 
true  that  "Names  make 
News" — here's  the  Movie  ,  1 
News  of  the  Month! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Flo  Ziegfeld  would  have  been  proud  of 
"Ziegfeld  Follies"  on  the  screen. 

★  *     ★  ★ 

One  of  the  biggest  follies  would  be  your 
failure  to  attend. 

—  £ea 

Let's  Finish  The  Job!  Buy  Victory  Loan 

D™J<-  „l  y„,,r  A/tn„i„  Th»„i„„ 


STORIES 


"COLOR 
PAGES 


FEATURES 
DEPTS 


modern  screen 

♦ORCHIDS  FROM  UNCLE  LOUIS 

You'd  expect  adoring  females  to  rave  over  Van  Johnson.  But 
when  Louis  Mayer,  his  boss,  joins  the  rooters — /   22 

*  MODERN  SCREEN'S  POLL  PARTY! 

There  were  blue  lights  for  atmosphere,  red  roses  for  romance, 
a  sweet-hot  band  for  rhythm — and  Van  Johnson,  June  Haver,  and 
Peter  Lawford  for  glitter   24 

BOB  WALKER'S  LIFE  STORY.  Part  1 

Beginning  the  storv  of  a  ba-a-ad  boy,  who  fought  ivith  everybody 
until  he  learned  he  was  his  own  worst  enemy   32 

FAIRY  TALE  FOR  JUNE  by  Joe  Pasternak 
"She  sings  bad,  acts  bad  and  looks  bad,"  decided  producer  Joe 
Pasternak.  Then  gave  Miss  Allyson  the  lead  in  her  first  picture!  36 

YOU  KNOW  ME.  AL  by  Alan  Ladd 

Your  favorite  "icy-voiced"  hero  telling  tales  out  of  school— with 
Al  Delacorte,  your  humble  ed,  grinning  and  bearing  it   38 

"SAD  SACK" 

Frankly,  Frankie  ivas  worried.    Swooners  he  had.   But  who  has 

to  travel  15,000  miles  to  get  booed  by  a  mob  of  Gls!   40 

A  BOY'S  BEST  PAL  .... 

The  other  kids  used  to  worship  baseball  kings  and  football  stars. 
But  Greg  Peck's  dad  was  hero  enough  for  his  son   42 

*  MY  BUDDY  by  Claire  Drake  Kennedy 

They  call  him  Tom  Drake  noiv.  and  he's  pretty  famous,  but  he'll 
always  be  just  the  kid,  just  "Buddy"  to  his  adoring  older  sister  .  46 

*A  CHRISTMAS  HE'LL  NEVER  FORGET 

He  ivas  an  English  lad.  y'know,  this  Peter  Lawford — well  brought 

up  and  "teddibly"  correct.    Until  that  certain  Christmas   48 

*THAT  MAN  OF  MI^E 

Dana  Andreivs  couldn't  believe  his  eyes  ivhen  Mary  fussed  with 

an  upsweep  hairdo  and  mascara — and  the  stork  20  minutes  away!  50 

*  WATCH  GUY   MADISON!  by  Hedda  Hopper 

He  did  one  scene  in  "Since  You  Went  Away"  and  the  fan  mail 
started  pouring  in.  So  Hedda  Hopper's  betting  on  your  Guy...  54 

GOOD  NEWS  by  LoueMa  Parsons 

Talk  about  busmen's  holidays!  Louella  Paron%  alternated  host- 
essing with  gossiping  at  the  MODERN  SCREEN  Poll  Party— 
and  here  she  Tells  All   56 

Van  Johnson  in  M-G-M's  "Easy  to  Wed"   22 

Sonja  Henie  in  RKO-Internationnl's  "The  Countess  of  Monte  Crista"  24 

Larai'ne  Day  in  RKO's  "Those  Endearing  Young  Charms"   24 

Glenn  Ford  in  Warners'  "A  Stolen  Life"   24 

Tom  Drake  in  M-G-M's  "Hold  High   The  Torch"    46 

Peter  Lawford  in  M-G-M's  "Two  Sisters  From  Boston"   48 

Dana  Andrews  in    Universal's   "Canyon   Passage"   51 

Guy  Madison  in   Selznick's   "They   Dream   of  Home"   54 


Editorial  Page. 


21 


Fannie  Hurst  Selects  "Spellbound"   6 

Movie  Reviews  by  Virginia  Wilson   10 

Sweet  and  Hot  by  Leonard  Feather                                      ...  12 

Super  Coupon   14 

MODERN  SCREEN  Fashion  Guide — "Date  Dresses  for  Teen  Agers"  52 

Information  Desk   58 

Beauty — "Neither  Hail  Nor  Sleet"   60 

Modern  Hostess — "Dinner  at  the  Derby"   70 

COVER:  June  Allyson  in  M-G-M's  "The  Sailor  Takes  a  Wife," 
Frank  Sinatra  in  M-G-M's  "Anchors  Aweigh"  and  Van  Johnson 
in  M-G-M's  "Easy  To  Wed."  Cover  and  color  portraits  of 
Van  Johnson,  Peter  Lawford  and  Guy  Madison   by  Willinger. 


Albert  P.  Delacorte,  Executive  Editor 
Henry  P.  Malmgreen,  Editor 
Sylvia  Wallace,  Hollywood  Editor 
Jane  Willsie.  H'wood  Ass't  Editor 
Otto  Storch,  Art  Director 


Bill  Weinberger,  Art  Editor 
Miriam  Ghidalia,  Associate  Editor 
Beryl  S toiler,  Assistant  Editor 
Gus  Gale,  Staff  Photographer 
Bob  Beerman,  Staff  Photographer 


Shirley  Frohlich,  Service  Dept.  Beverly  Linet.  Information  D~si< 


/  POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  35/9  to  149  Madison  Avenue.  New  York  16/  New  York 
Vol.  3-2,  No.  2,  January.  1946./Copyright,  1945.  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  lnc.,/49  Madison  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J. 
Chicago  Advertising  Office,  360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and 
Canada.  U.  5.  subscription  price,  $1 .50  a  year.  Canadian  subscription,  $1 .80  a  year.  Foreign  subscription  $2.70 
a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3, 
1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used 
in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious  If  the  name  of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  ourely  a  coincidence  Trate 


OH!  THOSE  HARVEY  GIRLS.. 

They  know  the  way  to  a  man's  heart! 


See  them  woo  the  West  from  the 
wicked  can -can  dancing  girls! 


JOHN  HODIAK  •  RAY  BOLGER  •  ANGELA  LAX  SB  TRY 


and  PRESTON  FOSTER  •  VIRGINIA  O'RRIEN  •  KEXXY  RAKER 
MARJORIE  MAIN  •  CHILL  WILLS 

Screen  Play  by  Edmund  Beloin,  Nathaniel  Curtis,  Harry  Crane,  James  O'Hanlon  and  Samson 
Rapbaelson  •  Additional  Dialogue  by  Kay  Van  Riper  •  Based  on  the  Book  by  Samuel  Hopkins 
Adams  •  Words  and  Music  by  JOHNNY  MERCER  and  HARRY  WARREN  •  Directed  by 
George  Sidney       •       Produced  by  Arthur  Freed        •        A  Metro -Goldwyn- Mayer  Picture 


MAKE  THIS  REVEALING  TEST— 

Remove  one  side  of  your  make-up 
with  your  present  "beauty"  cream, 
the  other  with  Albolene.  Wet  some 
cotton  and  wipe  the  Albolene-treat- 
ed  side.  How  clean  the  cotton  stays! 
Then  wipe  it  over  the  "beauty"- 
creamed  side.  See  the  telltale 
smudge  from  left-on  dirt  .  .  . 


*ALB0L£NE  CLEANSING  CREAM 
LIQUEFIES  INSTANTLY 

on  application — and  a  cream  must 
liquefy  to  float  off  beauty-blurring 
impurities  gently,  effectively 

Only  a  cream  specially  made  for  super- 
cleansing  can  give  your  skin  the  beauty 
of  a  Floating  Facial— a  cream  so  light,  so 
pure  and  crystal  clear— a  cream  that  lit- 
erally floats  away  old  make-up  rubble, 
dirt,  dust,  grit  and  skin  scales,  even  stub- 
born cake  make-up,  without  irritating 
rubbing  or  tedious  "double  creaming." 
And  Albolene  lubricates  as  it  cleanses— a 
"must"  for  dry,  flaky  skins. 

This  lovely,  quick-liquefying  cream 
tissues  off  so  easily,  ^//-cleansing— no 
fillers,  chemicals— none  of  the  water  most 
"beauty"  creams  .  contain.  Leaves  skin 
miraculously  cool,  soft,  dewy-moist— im- 
maculately clean!  That's  why  new  make- 
up on  an  Albolened  skin  can  be  such  a 
freshly  radiant  base  for  clear,  breath- 
taking make-up  effects. 

Thrill  to  a  Floating  Facial  this  very 
clay.  It's  so  modern,  so  effective!  Albolene 
is  the  salon-type  cleansing  cream  at  a 
fraction  the  cost.  Sizes  at  104,  25<*.  50<f, 
and  the  big  economy  16  oz.  jar  at  $1.00. 


■  "Spellbound,"  presented  by  David  Selznick,  produced  by  David  Selzri 
directed  by  Alfred  Hitchcock,  is  based  on  a  novel  by  Francis  Beeding.  It 
picture  that  obviously  takes  itself  quite  seriously.    It  uses  psychiatry  and  psy 
analysis  as  the  background  of  the  solution  of  a  mystery  story.    This  might  be 
and  good,  but — well  unfortunately,  it  isn't  always  well  and  good,  althc 
'"Spellbound"  is  by  no  means  to  be  dismissed  facetiously. 

The  unwary  spectator  who  finds  himself  relaxed  in  the  restful  darkness  ol 
motion  picture  theater,  is  going  to  be  let  in  for  shock.  In  its  early  footage 
story  gives  no  warning  that  psychoanalysis  is  going  to  get  into  its  hair. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  psychoanalysis  has  been  relatively  slow  in  creeping 
motion  picture  literature.  I  can  think  of  only  "Lady  in  the  Dark."  Compar 
are  odious. 

From  this  point  on,  it  may  be  just  as  well  not  to  probe  too  closely  intt 
scientific  authenticity  of  the  story.  We  have  the  assurance  that  Alfred  Hitcl 
worked  with  an  eminent  English  psychoanalyst. 

Be  that  as  it  may. 

Ben  Hecht  then  proceeded  to  build  the  screen  play  (Continuet       '  van 


6 


—  and  McKesson  makes  it 


HERS 
WAS  THE 


DEADLIEST 


BEN   AMES  WILLIAMS' 


in  TECHNICOLOR 


GENE  TIERNEY  •  CORNEL  WILDE  •  JEANNE  CRAIN 

VINCENT  PRICE  •MARY  PHILIPS -RAY  COLLINS- GENE  LOCKHART -  REED  HADLEY  •  DARRYL  HICKMAN  •  CHILL  WILLS 

Directed  by  JOHN  M.  STAHL  ■  Produced  by  WILLIAM  A.  BACHER  •  Screen  Play  by  Jo  Swerling   •  Based  on  the  Novel  by  Ben  Ames  Williams 

A  20th  CENTURY-FOX  PICTURE 


0 


{l'rtCC  1*71. .  . 


active  women 
have  set  their 


eoifs  with 


VICTORY  SETS  THE  HEADLINES  OF  THE  WORLD 


*Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


(Continued  from  "page  6) 
on  the  alleged  psychiatric  truths. 

All  this  odor  of  Freud  is  rather  subtly 
concealed  as  the  story  opens  and  for  pur- 
poses of  spectator  enjoyment,  I  suppose 
it  is  none  too  fair  to  reveal  the  solution  of 
the  mystery. 

The  plot  tells  as  spottily  as  it  plays: 
The  head  of  a  psychiatric  hospital,  Dr. 
Murchison  (Leo  Carroll),  is  about  to  be 
replaced  by  a  younger  man,  "J.  B."  (Greg- 
ory Peck).  An  expectant  group,  headed  by 
Dr.  Constance  Peterson,  awaits  him.  This 
latter  role  is  played  by  a  young  lady  suffi- 
ciently outstanding  to  save  the  rather 
preposterous  climactic  scene  of  the  story. 

Now  is  as  good  a  moment  as  any  to 
pause  over  Ingrid  Bergman. 

Here  is  an  actress  fairly  new  to  Amer- 
icans, but  not  so  new  that  she  could  not 
have  been  caught  in  "the  pattern."  Miracu- 
lously, she  has  escaped  it  and  goes  on 
escaping  it.  Her  calm  beauty  is  unique, 
her  talent  a  steady  flame;  her  quality, 
chaste.  She  is  a  valuable  and  needed  con- 
tribution to  "Spellbound,"  and  for  that 
matter,  to  Hollywood. 

Well,  to  get  on  with  our  story:  No 
sooner  does  J.  B.  arrive  on  the  scene, 
than  we  begin  to  sense  rather  uneasily, 
that  stream-of-consciousness  and  stream- 
of-plot,  are  in  for  a  tangle. 

A  brief  while  after  the  personable  psy- 
chiatrist, Dr.  Constance  Peterson,  lays 
beautiful  eyes  on  J.  B.,  they  begin  to 
widen  in  a  kind  of  suspicion. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  asks,  in  the  key  of 
saying:  "You  are  something  more  than 
just  the  successor  to  Dr.  Murchison." 

From  then  on,  J.  B.  (Gregory  Peck), 
who  it  transpires,  is  suffering  from  am- 
nesia, is  suspected  of  crime,  even  murder. 


By  this  time,  Ingrid  Bergman  is  in  love 
with  Peck.  Then  begins  her  struggle  to 
save  him  from  punishment  for  a  crime  she 
is  desperately  sure  he  has  not  committed. 
And  now  the  murder  mystery  plot  begins 
its  tangle  with  stream-of-consciousness. 
The  analysis  of  one  of  Peck's  dreams  is 
what  ultimately  leads  to  the  solution. 

It  is  not  fair  to  a  mystery  story,  which 
is  none  too  fair  to  the  spectator,  to  unfold  it 
step-by-step.  Rest  content  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  lovers  wade  through  the 
impedimenta  of  plot  and  psychology  in  an 
effort  to  find  one  another. 

Some  of  this  complicated  journey  is 
made  thoroughly  delightful  by  the  mas- 
terly performance  of  Michael  Chekov  in 
the  role  of  Dr.  Alex  Rulov,  also  a  psychi- 
atrist. While  his  part  in  helping  solve  the 
mystery  is  more  than  a  "bit,"  any  sing.e 
"bit"  of  his  performance  is  sufficient 
reason  for  going  to  see  "Spellbound." 

The  solution  to  J.  B.'s  amnesia  comes  to 
Ingrid  as  he  whizzes  down  the  flank  of  a 
snow-clad  mountain.  The  spectator  is  to 
be  forgiven  if  he  feels  that  said  young 
man  is  more  concerned  with  keeping  his 
balance  than  with  apprehension  as  to 
what  awaits  him  at  the  foot  of  the  slide. 

What  awaits  the  audience,  is  the  solution 
of  the  story. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  skiers  did  not 
find  themselves  as  entangled,  when  they 
landed,  as  the  plot  finds  itself  entangled  in 
neurosis,  psychoanalysis,  and  a  happy 
ending. 

All  of  which  is  not  to  say  that  there 
are  not  various  other  happy  aspects  to 
this  picture,  besides  the  ending.  Miss  In- 
grid is  a  happy  aspect.  Indeed,  she  is  such 
a  happy  aspect,  that  she  succeeds  in  mak- 
ing "Spellbound"  a  cinematic  triumph. 


FREE  OFFER! 

Want  to  take  a  chance  on  a  good  thing?  We're  giving  away  500  DELL  mags 
absolutely  FREE  to  500  of  you  who  fill  out  the  Questionnaire  below  and 
mail  it  to  us  no  later  than  December  20.  And  just  to  disprove  that  old  saw 
about  the  early  bird,  the  first  500  are  NOT  necessarily  the  winners.  So  take 
your  time,  read  through  MODERN  SCREEN  carefully,  and  base  each  answer 
on  your  considered  judgment.  Then  we'll  put  all  your  names  in  our  trusty 
gold  fish  bowl  and  pull  out  500  at  random.  You'll  be  helping  us  out  and 
testing  your  "lucky  streak"  at  the  same  time. 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  January  issue?  Write 
1,  2,  3  at  the  right  of  your  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  choices. 


Orchids  from  Uncle  Louis 

(Van  Johnson)   CI 

MODERN  SCREEN  Throws  a 

Poll  Party  □ 


A  Boy's  Best  Pal  .  .  .  (Gregory 

Peck)   :  □ 

My  Buddy  ( story  on  Tom  Drake 
by  his  sister)   □ 


Bob  Walker's  Life  Story   A  Christmas  He'll  Never  Forget 


(Part  I)   □ 

Fairy  Tale  for  June  (June  Allyson) 

by  Joe  Pasternak   □ 

Yom  Know  Me,  A  I,  by  Alan  Ladd .  .  □ 
"Sad  Sack"  (Frank  Sinatra)  □ 


(Peter  Law  ford)   □ 

That  Man  of  Mine  (Dana  Andrews)  □ 
Watch  Guy  Madison,  by  Hedda 

Hopper   □ 

Good  News  by  Louella  Parsons  □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them  1,  2,  3, 
in  order  of  preference  


My  name  is  

My  address  is  City   Zone....  State. 

I  am   years  old. 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


presents 

BETTY  HUTTON 

c/tork  Club 


vilh 


BARRY  FITZGERALD 
DON  DeFORE 


ROBERT  BENCH  LEY  .  BILL  GOODWIN 
IRIS  ADRIAN  •  MIKHAIL  RASUMNY 
MARY  YOUNG  ^ 

Directed  by  HAL  WALKER  f~L  *f 


^  and  Introducing     f:  M 

ANDY,  ' 


(RUSSELL 

A  Paramount  Pictuie 


...  the  panty  that 
fits  like  your  skin! 


The 

girl  always  has 
that  slim,  smooth 
look  because 
she  buys  her 
panties  to  fit 
her  hips,  of  course,  the  only 

rayon -knit  panty  made  in  hip 
sizes.  The  correct 
size  appears  on  the 
label  sewn  into 
Odmtees- ...  and  on 
the  outside  of  the 
sanitary  package. 


a  product  of  ^fotafit 
FREE:  Send  for  booklet,  "The  Loveliness  of  You" 
A.  H.  SCHREIBER  CO. 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 


■  From  the  moment  Bing  Crosby  walked  on  the  screen  as  a  priest  in  "Going 
My  Way."  it  was  inevitable  that  he  would  play  the  same  role  again.  With 
Ingrid  Bergman  as  his  co-star,  he  has  made  a  picture  that  has  the  same 
moving  quality,  the  same  delightful  humor  as  its  predecessor.  There's  one 
word  that  I  think  best  describes  "Bells  Of  St.  Mary's."    It's  a  happy  picture. 

Maybe  you  don't  think  of  life  in  a  Catholic  school  run  by  nuns  as  a  very 
gay  affair.  But  when  you  get  a  priest  like  Father  O'Malley  (Bing  Crosby) 
and  a  Sister  Superior  like  Sister  Benedict  (Ingrid  Bergman)  managing  the 
school,  things  are  bound  to  happen.  The  first  day  O'Malley  arrives,  he 
declares  a  holiday.  Just  like  that,  with  no  warning,  no  reason.  The  kids 
love  it,  but  Sister  Benedict  shakes  her  head  in  distrust.  That's  no  way  to 
run  a  school.  It  doesn't  make  sense.  Then  O'Malley  admits  a  girl  to  the 
school  who  has  really  no  right  to  be  there  at  all.  She's  a  nice  child,  but  her 
mother  .  .  .  well,  O'Malley  just  shouldn't  do  the  things  he  does!  However, 
he  keeps  right  on  doing  them. 

The  school  is  in  a  bad  way,  financially.  It's  overcrowded,  and  the  building 
is  so  old  it's  falling  apart.  Right  next  door  a  fine  new  building  is  going  up 
It's  owned  bv  Homer  Bogardus  (Henry  Travers),  who  would  like  to  buy  the 
school,  tear  it  down,  and  use  the  space  for  a  parking  lot.  Father  0  Malle\ 
looks  at  the  new  building  reflectively.  "If  we  could  only  get  the  old  sinnei 
to  present  it  to  us."  he  muses.  Sister  Benedict  tells  him  that  she  and  th< 
other  nuns  are  saying  special  prayers  for  that  every  day.  O'Malley  is  all  fo 
prayer,  but  he  has  a  feeling  that  some  concrete  action  {Continued  on  page  15 


Sr.  Benedict  (I.  Bergman)  feels  Fr.  O'Malley  (B.  Crosby)  is  too  easy  on  It^ds  In  their  scho 


WARNERS'  ROMANTiC  WOWsn  of  THe Hour* 


oo\bungT5Khow 


PRODUCED  BY 


FREDERICK  de CORDOVA    WILLIAM  JACOBS 

with  DOLORES  MO  RAN  •  HARRY  DAVENPORT  •  ROSEMARY  DeCAMP 
SCREEN  PLAY  BY  JO  PAGAN 0  ■  PROM  A  STORY  BY  HARLAN  WARE 


1 


BAND  OF  THE  YEAR*  WOODY  HERMAN 


Woody  at  12,  "The  Boy  Wonder  of  the  Clarinet. 


■  Okay.  okay,  so  the  year  isn't  quite  over  as 
these  words  go  to  press.  But  d'you  think 
there's  any  reasonable  doubt  that  our  choice 
— mine  and  yours — for  the  band  of  the  year 
can  be  anyone  but  Woody  Herman? 

Guess  you  don't  need  me  to  tell  you.  with 
enough  evidence  all  around  to  build  up  a 
waterproof  case.  Woody's  Saturday  evening 
radio  show — commercial,  no  less.  Woodv's 
phenomenal  Columbia  record  sales.  Woody's 
habit  of  drawing  five-block  crowds  to  the 
theaters.  And.  most  of  all.  Woody's  band. 

Woody  is  the  Bandleader  of  the  Year  no 
matter  which  way  you  look  at  it.  Me."  I've  al- 
ways claimed  that  if  a  band  plays  the  best 
hot  jazz,  it  plays  the  best  sweet  music,  too— 
look  at  Duke  Ellington.  So  Woody,  too,  gets 
it  both  ways. 

All  this  excitement  about  Woody,  I  thought 
to  myself  the  other  day,  seems  to  call  for  more 
than  just  the  occasional  plugs  I've  been  giv- 
ing him  bv  reviewing  his  records  every  month. 
So,  with  large  quantities  of  blank  paper  care- 
fully folded  away  (don't  believe  what  Al  Dela- 
corte  told  you  about  my  making  notes  on  odd 
scraps!  I  I  hopped  a  train  for  Youngstown, 
Ohio,  where  the  band  {Continued  on  page  18) 


With  Frances  Wayne  at  their  Sat.  ABC  air  show. 


!2 




Bing — America's  best  beloved  actor — is 
back  again,  as  genial,  lovable  Father  "Chuck" 
O'Malley — and  right  by  his  side,  Incomparable 
Ingrid,  the  screen's  finest  actress — together 
in  the  kind  of  wonderful  roles  that  top 
anything  they've  ever  done  for  heart-appeal 
— for  tears  and  laughter — for  great  and 
unforgettable  story! — And  when  Bing  and 
Bergman  sing  .  . .  the  world's  in  tune ! 


Rainbow  Productions,  Inc.  Presents... 
ACADEMY  AWARD  WINNERS 


BING  CROSBY  INGRID  BERGMAN 


in  LEO  M'CAREY'S 


7Ze  cfSt/McnyX 

with  HENRY  TRAVERS  •  WILLIAM  GARGAN 


Produced  and  Directed  by    LEO  McCAREY 
Screen  Play  by  DUDLEY  NICHOLS  Story  by  LEO  McCAREY  Released  through  RKO»RADIO  PICTURES,  INC. 


R  K  O 

RADIO 


CHECK  THE  BOXES  OPPOSITE  THE  CHARTS  YOU'D  LIKE  — NEW  CHARTS  ARE  STARRED 


FOR  FANS 


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them,  too.    Send  10c  ond  a  LARGE,  stamped   I  3c  I 
selt-addressed  envelope.  D 

★  MUSIC-MAKERS  — 1945-'46  — by   Horry   James  (5c) 

Be  in  the  know!  The  Trumpet  King  tells  ALL  in  this 
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120  fan  clubs  on  our  list.  How  to  get  snaps  of  your 
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more!  Read  all  about  the  MODERN  SCREEN  Pan 
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★  DESSERTS    FRANKIE    LOVES— by    Nancy  Sinatra. 

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want  to  know  about  pictures  in  general;  casting, 
"  musical  backgrounds,  etc.  See  box  on  page  58  for 
details.  THIS  IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  ROMANCE 


HOW  TO  BE  POPULAR  WITH  BOYS— by  Jean  Kinkeod. 

How  to  be  date  bait,  plus  how  to  act  once  you  are. 
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PLEASE  BEHAVE!  Easy  etiquette  for  sailing  through 
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to  how  to  introduce  HIM  to  your  family.  FREE,  send 
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CO-ED  PERSONAL  ADVICE — Want  to  know  how  to  qet 
him  to  ask  for  a  date?  Or  when  it's  cagey  to  be 
"hard-to-get?"  Write  to  Jean  Kinkead,  c/o  MOD- 
ERN SCREEN.  She'll  personally  write  you  a  letter, 
answering  all  those  vital  problems  of  the  heart. 
THIS  IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


HOW  TO  Be  BEAUTIFUL — Over  eighteen?  Keep  this 
one  right  on  your  dressing  table.  You'll  consult  it 
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exercises  thct  are  REALLY  helpful,  plus  a  personal 
score  card  to  help  you  keep  tabs  on  yourself.  FREE, 
send  a  stamped  (3c)  self-oddressed  envelope ....  Q 


★  DATE  DRESS  DATA  FOR  TALL,  SHORT.  STOUT  AND 
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for  dates.  EVERYTHING  you  need  to  know  organized 
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do.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope  .        .  .'.  .  .   □ 

★  SPORTSWEAR  FOR  TALL,  SHORT,  STOUT  AND  THIN 
GIRLS.  Now  that  sport  clothes  ore  being  worn  from 
sun-up  to  dancing-in-the-dark,  here's  the  info  on  how 
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★  ACCESSORIES  FOR  TALL.  SHORT.  STOUT  AND  THIN 
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envelope.  For  Handwriting  Analysis  only,  ADDRESS 
YOUR  ENVELOPE  TO:  MISS  SHIRLEY  SPENCER, 
c/o  MODERN  SCREEN  □ 


FOR  GLAMOR 


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PROBLEM  skins.  PLUS  a  check  list  ot  preparations 
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YOUR    INDIVIDUALLY    COMPILED    HOROSCOPE  (10c) 


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Don't  forget  your  zone  number  on  your  self-addressed  envelopes! 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  jrom  page  10) 


on  the  side  is  indicated,  too.  Only  how 
would  you  go  about  making  a  hard- 
headed,  hard-hearted  business  man  give  a 
nice,  shiny  new  building  to  the  Church? 
Most  people  would  say  it  couldn't  be  done, 
but  that's  not  Father  O'Malley's  way.  He 
begins  with  a  very  indirect  approach  in- 
deed. Eventually  it  gets  a  lot  more  direct. 
And  comes  Christmas — but  go  and  see  for 
yourself  what  happens,  and  hear  the 
Christmas    music    you've  ever 


sweetest 
heard. 

Ingrid 
Benedict 


Bergman  is  superb  as  Sister 
There's  one  wonderful  scene 
where  she  teaches  a  small  boy  how  to  box, 
that's  worth  the  price  of  admission  all  by 
itself. — RKO. 


SOME  MIST  WATCH 

"Some  Must  Watch,"  adapted  from  the 
Ethel  Lina  White  story,  comes  close  to 
being  the  classic  mystery.  Mysteries  are 
— or  should  be — founded  primarily  on  sus- 
pense, and  there  is  enough  of  it  here  to 
keep  your  heart  bouncing  around  in  your 
throat  for  a  good  two  hours.  Dorothy 
McGuire  is  deftly  appealing  as  the  fright- 
ened heroine.  Ethel  Barrymore,  George 
Brent,  Kent  Smith  and  Elsa  Lanchester 
are  among  those  who  might  be  the  ma- 
niacal murderer. 

This  murderer  has  strangled  two  vic- 
tims before  the  picture  opens,  and  we  see 
the  body  of  the  third  being  discovered. 
Terror  has  taken  over  the  small  Vermont 
town,  which  has  withdrawn  into  a  state 
of  shadowy,  silent  waiting.  Each  victim 
has  been  a  woman  who  has  some  physical 
defect.  Who  will  be  next?  The  logical 
candidate  seems  to  be  Helen  (Dorothy 
McGuire),  the  young  servant  who  works 
at  the  Warren  place  outside  town.  Helen 
has  a  defect — she  lost  the  power  of  speech 
from  shock  when  she  was  a  child.  And 
evidence  points  to  the  Warren  household 
as  the  center  of  the  crafty  murderer's  op- 
erations. 

Helen  is  thinking  of  this  as  she  walks 
home  from  the  village.  Her  eyes  scan  the 
fields  anxiously,  as  dusk  creeps  eerily 
across  them.  The  trees  by  the  road  are 
wind-twisted  into  terrifying  shapes,  and 
there  is  a  brooding  uneasiness  in  the  at- 
mosphere. The  murderer  is,  actually,  wait- 
ing for  her,  but  Helen  doesn't  know  that, 
and  by  sheer  chance  escapes  into  the  house 
without  realizing  how  close  she  has  been 
to  death 

Inside,  everything  is  normal  enough. 
Mrs.  Oate,  the  cook,  is  scheming  the  theft 
of  a  bottle  of  her  favorite  brandy.  The 
professor  (George  Brent)  is  working  in 
his  study.  His  half-brother,  Stephen,  is 
making  love,  in  casual  fashion,  to  the 
professor's  secretary.  Upstairs,  old  Mrs. 
Warren  (Ethel  Barrymore)  has  just  hurled 
a  cup  of  mustard  at  her  nurse's  head,  and 
is  calling  for  Helen.  The  old  lady  is  de- 
voted to  the  shy,  mute  serving  girl.  When 
Helen  appears,  Mrs.  Warren  says  firmly, 
"This  house  is  dangerous  for  you,  Helen. 
Get  Dr.  Parry  to  take  you  away  from  here. 
Tonight." 

Helen  thinks  dreamily  that  it  would  be 
nice  to  be  taken  away  by  Dr.  Parry  (Kent 
Smith)  who  believes  he  can  restore  her 
power  of  speech.  Maybe  she  should  go. 
tonight.  But  there  are  forces  at  work  to 
prevent  her  escaping  the  murderer's  net, 
and  tonight  death  will  visit  the  Warren 
house. — RKO. 

KITTY 

Horatio  Alger  probably  didn't  have 
Gainsborough's  model,  Kitty,  in  mind  when 
he  wrote  "From  Hags  To  Riches,"  1    '  " 


LITTLE  LULU 

n  1 — 


TATTOOING 


UNO  OTHER 
)  LIKE  IT 


A  special  process  keeps  Kleenex 

UXURIOUSLY  SOFT— 
EPENDABLY  STRONG 


Only  Kleenex*  hat  the  Serv-a-T issue  Box  that  serves  up  just  one  double  tissue  at  a  tic. 


would  be  an  apt  title  for  her  spectacular 
career.  Your  first  sight  of  Kitty  (Paulette 
Goddard)  in  a  filthy  ragged  gown,  her 
face  streaked  with  London  grime,  gives 
you  no  inkling  of  the  famous  beauty  she 
is  to  become.  Kitty  lives  in  the  slums  and 
steals  for  a  living,  under  the  drunken  in- 
structions of  old  Meg  (Sarah  Allgood) .  One 
day  she  is  caught  in  the  act  of  swiping  a 
pair  of  silver  buckles  from  a  portly  gentle- 
man. When  his  footmen  haul  the  shiver- 
ing, cursing  girl  into  the  house,  she  fully 
expects  to  be  carted  off  to  jail.  But  the 
portly  gentleman  turns  out  to  be  Thomas 
Gainsborough,  and  instead  of  turning  her 
over  to  the  police,  he  washes  her  "face  and 
paints  her  portrait. 

The  picture  is  incredibly  beautiful.  It 
is  displayed  at  the  Royal  Academy,  and 
every  gay  blade  in  London  falls  in  love 
with  the  unknown  Kitty,  said  by  rumor  to 
be  an  anonymous  lady  of  quality.  Sir 
Hugh  Marcy  (Ray  Milland)  stumbles  on 
the  secret  of  her  identity.  Hugh  has  neither 
money  nor  morals,  and  he  decides  to  make 
some  of  the  former  by  passing  the  Cockney 
wench  off  as  a  great  lady.  The  Duke  of 
Marminster  has  evinced  interest  in  the 
painting,  and  Hugh  thinks  a  match  can  be 
arranged.  But  first  he  must  train  Kitty 
to  talk,  act,  and  even  feel  like  a  lady.  It's 
a  lengthy  process.  So  lengthy  that  Hugh 
is  thrown  into  Debtors'  Prison  before  it  is 
quite  finished. 

Kitty  is  desperate.  She  adores  Hugh,  in 
spite  of  the  contempt  with  which  he  treats 
her.  In  order  to  get  money  to  save  him, 
she  marries  a  wealthy  ironmonger  who  has 
been  impressed  by  her  beauty.  Hugh  is 
not  as  grateful  as  he  might  be  when  she 
gets  him  out  of  prison.  He  points  out 
peevishly  that  he  has  trained  her  for  much 
higher  game  than  ironmongers.  For- 
tunately for  his  plans,  Kitty's  husband  is 
killed  in  a  fight,  and  the  elderly  Duke  of 
Marminster  is  soon  bewitched  by  her 
charming,  girlish  widowhood.  He  marries 
her,  and  is  entranced  when  she  soon  whis- 
pers shyly  that  she  is  to  present  him  with 
an  heir.  She  neglects  to  mention  that  the 
"heir"  was  fathered  by  the  ironmonger. 
Kitty's  career  as  the  Duchess  is  fabulous 
beyond  words,  but  it  is  her  love  for  Marcy 
which  is  the  guiding  factor  in  her  life. 

Do  go  and  see  "Kitty."  Paulette  God- 
dard and  Ray  Milland  are  better  than 
you've  ever  seen  them. — Par. 

FALLEN  ANGEL 

Alice  Faye's  return  to  the  screen  is  an 
important  event.  It  is  made  more  im- 
portant because  she  has  chosen  a  com- 
pletely new  kind  of  role,  in  a  picture  that 
will  remind  you  of  both  "Laura"  and 
"Double  Indemnity."  The  rest  of  the 
line-up  is  impressive — Dana  Andrews,  Lin- 
da Darnell,  Charles  Bickford,  Anne  Re- 
vere and  Bruce  Cabot. 

In  the  town  of  Walton,  California,  Pop's 
Diner  has  a  popularity  not  due  altogether 
to  its  hamburgers.  Eric  Stanton  (Dana 
Andrews)  finds  the  explanation  when  he 
sees  the  waitress,  Stella  (Linda  Darnell). 
Stanton  has  met  plenty  of  girls,  but  the 
sulky,  sexy  Stella  has  something  pretty 
special.  He  goes  on  the  make  immediately, 
and  gets  nowhere.  Stella  tells  him  frankly 
that  it's  going  to  take  a  wedding  ring,  plus 
plenty  of  dough,  to  get  her  interested.  Stan- 
ton has  no  money.  He  joins  forces  with  a 
phony  fortune  teller,  and  in  that  way  comes 
into  contact  with  the  Mills  sisters,  June 
(Alice  Faye)  and  Clara  (Anne  Revere) 
who  represent  the  town's  better  element. 
They  also  represent  a  fancy  bank  account, 
and  that  interests  Stanton.  If  he  can  get 
his  hands  on  that  money,  he  can  marry 
Stella. 

With  his  mind  on  Stella's  sultry  beauty, 
he  doggedly  pursues  June,  flatters  her, 
takes    her   everywhere.     Clara  suspects 
16    him,  and  tries  to  warn  her  younger  sis- 


ter. But  you  can't  warn  people  who  are 
in  love.  June  knows  Stanton  is  no  angel, 
yet  she  loves  him  so  much  it  doesn't  seem 
to  matter.  She  wants  him  at  any  price, 
just  as  he  wants  Stella.  Eventually,  Stan- 
ton and  June  elope.  He  hadn't  intended  to 
marry  her,  but  if  that's  the  only  way  he 
can  get  his  hands  on  the  money,  that's  the 
way  it  will  have  to  be.  Their  wedding  night 
is  sheer  tragedy  for  June.  Stanton  sends 
her  up  to  bed,  then  walks  out  of  the 
house  in  search  of  Stella.  Just  thinking 
about  her,  maybe  out  with  another  man, 
drives  him  crazy.  He  walks  the  town  all 
night.  When  he  comes  back,  June  pre- 
tends to  be  asleep.  The  next  morning, 
Stella  is  found  murdered. 

With  a  set-up  like  that,  you've  ob- 
viously got  something.  Something  dra- 
matic and  exciting  and  unusual.  Some- 
thing worth  going  out  of  your  way  to 
see. — 20th-Fox. 

SAN  ANTONIO 

That  Flynn!  Just  when  you  get  him 
typed  as  a  night  club  cowboy,  a  Mocambo 
muscle-man,  he  comes  along  in  some- 
thing like  "San  Antonio"  and  you  fall  for 
him  all  over  again.  The  Flynn  smile  has 
never  been  more  fascinating,  the  Flynn 
finger  never  quicker  on  the  trigger.  The 
picture  is  in  Technicolor,  a  saga  of  Texas 
in  the  days  of  the  outlaws,  and  it's  as 
noisy  and  colorful  and  exciting  as  the 
Fourth  of  July. 

Alexis  Smith,  whose  figure  is  even  more 
luscious  than  usual  in  the  costumes  of  the 
period,  plays  Jeanne  Starr,  a  New  York 
entertainer  who  lands  slap  in  the  middle 
of  a  Texas  feud.  Miss  Starr  has  been 
warned  that  a  dangerous  character  named 
Clay  Hardin  (Errol  Flynn)  is  loose. 
Dangerous  is  right!  One  look  at  him  when 
he  rides  alongside  her  stagecoach,  and 
Jeanne's  heart  is  his  on  a  silver  platter. 
Her  manager,  Bosic  (S.  Z.  Sakall)  protests, 
but  Jeanne  insists  on  letting  Clay  ride 
with  them.  She  doesn't  know  that  the 
betting  odds  in  San  Antonio  are  eight  to 
one  that  Roy  Stewart  (Paul  Kelly)  will 
never  let  Clay  cross  the  border  alive. 

A  big  crowd  is  on  hand  for  Jeanne's  ar- 
rival. Legare  (Victor  Francen)  who  has 
booked  her  into  the  music  hall,  and  his 
partner,  Roy  Stewart,  are  waiting  for  her 
when  she  drives  up.  Jeanne  steps  out,  the 
crowd  roars  approval,  and  then  there  is  a 
sudden  dead  silence.  For  behind  her  ap- 
pears Clay  Hardin! 

Clay  has  plenty  of  friends  in  San  An- 
tonio. They  know  that  he's  the  only  man 
who  has  a  chance  of  cleaning  the  rustlers 
out.  But  Stewart  has  the  town  pretty 
well  sewn  up,  and  only  a  few  of  them 
dare  to  come  out  openly  for  Clay.  One  of 
these  is  Charley  Bell  (Harry  Carey),  and 
he  pays  for  it  with  his  life.  Clay  has 
evidence  that  Stewart  is  responsible  for  the 
rustling  that's  been  going  on,  but  when 
Bell  is  killed,  he  loses  the  evidence.  He 
is  determined  to  get  it  back,  in  spite  of 
hell,  high  water,  and  all  Stewart's  gun- 
fighters.  You'd  better  take  some  cotton  to 
put  in  your  ears  for  the  last  reels — they're 
plenty  noisy,  and  plenty  exciting. — War. 

POLL  FACE 

You've  heard  about  a  certain  striptease 
artist  who  turned  writer  and  went  over 
as  big  on  the  bookstands  as  she  had  on  the 
runways.  "Doll  Face"  takes  that  story 
and  turns  it  into  a  romance  of  burlesque 
and  Broadway  and  "culture." 

"Culture"  is  what  Doll  .Face  Carroll 
(Vivian  Blaine)  needs  to  get  into  a  Broad- 
way show.  She's  been  doing  fine  south  of 
14th  Street,  with  the  customers  howling 
"Take  it  offj"  But  when  she  tries  to 
make  the  cast  of  the  new  Hartman  musical, 
she  is  told  she  lacks  the  cultured  ap- 
proach. Her  manager,  Mike  Hannigan 
(Dennis  O'Keefe)  is  as  hazy  as  Doll  Face 


on  just  what  this  implies.  He  thinks,  how- 
ever, that  it  has  something  to  do  with 
books.  By  a  pleasant  coincidence,  the 
next  time  he  goes  into  a  drugstore  for  a 
box  of  cigars,  he  is  presented  with  a  free 
copy  of  "The  Stars  Remain"  by  Frederick 
Gerard.    Ah!  a  book! 

It  is  obviously  a  very  cultured  book, 
since  all  the  words  in  it  run  well  over 
three  syllables.  Mike  has  a  brainstorm. 
He  will  get  this  Gerard  guy  to  write  a  book 
about  burlesque  and  sign  it  with  Doll 
Face's  name.  Gerard  (Michael  Dunne)  un- 
fortunately is  indifferent  to  the  lucrative 
possibilities  of  this  idea.  He  doesn't  want 
to  write  a  book  about  burlesque.  At  least, 
he  doesn't  want  to  until  he  sees  Doll  Face. 
After  that,  he's  so  enthusiastic  that  Chichi 
(Carmen  Miranda),  Doll  Face's  best  friend, 
predicts  that  nothing  good  will  come  of  it. 

In  order  to  get  material  for  the  book, 
Gerard  has  to  be  with  Doll  Face  constantly. 
Sooner  or  later,  Mike  is  going  to  wake  up 
to  what's  going  on  and  there  will  be  a 
mammoth  explosion.  He  does,  and  there  is, 
and  it's  a  honey.  If  it  weren't  for  Chichi, 
love's  young  dream  would  have  ended  there. 
As  it  is,  considerable  happens  between  the 
explosion  and  the  end. — 20th-Fox. 

BANDIT  OF  SHERWOOD 
FOREST 

I'll  bet  you  didn't  know  Robin  Hood  had 
a  son!  I'll  bet  even  Winchell  didn't  know 
it.  But  here  he  is,  as  handsome  as  his 
father  and  even  handier  with  a  bow  and 
arrow.  He  is  played  Ly  Cornel  Wilde,  who. 
along  with  Anita  Louise  and  Sherwood 
Forest,  is  at  his  best  in  Technicolor. 

Once  more  England's  king  is  in  danger. 
But  this  king  is  Henry  the  Third,  a  mere 
child,  and  the  real  power  lies  in  the  hands 
of  the  unscrupulous  Regent  (Henry 
Daniell).  The  Queen  Mother  escapes  to 
Sherwood  Forest  in  search  of  Robin  Hood, 
the  one  man  in  England  who  will  dare  defy 
the  Regent.  She  takes  her  lady-in-wait- 
ing, Catherine  (Anita  Louise),  with  her, 
and  it  is  Catherine  who  attracts  the  eye 
of  young  Robert  (Cornel  Wilde),  Robin 
Hood's  son.  Robert  doesn't  know  who  the 
two  women  are,  but  since  Catharine  is  a 
pretty  blonde,  he  agreeably  escorts  them 
to  his  father.  Robin  Hood,  of  course,  re- 
cognizes the  Queen  at  once.  Robert  is 
disconcerted  to  discover  that  the  girl  he 
has  been  carelessly  flirting  with  is  Lady 
Catharine  Maitland.  But  relax — it  doesn't 
bother  him  for  long,  however. 

Robin  Hood  makes  immediate  plans  for 
the  rescue  of  the  boy  king.  The  trick  is 
to  gain  entrance  to  the  castle,  and  Robert 
suggests  that  the  men  disguise  themselves 
as  a  band  of  nuns,  led  by  the  well-known 
Prioress  of  Buxton.  He  himself  is  quite 
willing  to  play  the  Prioress,  but  Catharine 
persuades  them  that  she  could  do  it  bet- 
ter. The  plan  is  put  into  execution,  and 
the  king  is  lowered  on  a  rope  from  the 
tower  into  the  arms  of  Robin  Hood's  wait- 
ing men.  But  the  alarm  is  given  before 
Robert,  Catharine,  and  Allan-a-Dale  can 
get  away.  They  are  locked  up  and  sen- 
tenced to  be  hung. 

Naturally  Robin  Hood  isn't  going  to  sit 
by  while  his  only  son  is  hanged.  He 
dreams  up  another  plan,  which  leads  to 
more  derring-do  than  has  been  seen  on 
the  screen  since  the  days  of  Douglas 
Fairbanks.  Sr.  It  culminates  in  a  duel 
which  will  knock  your  eye  out. — Col. 

WHISTLE  STOP 

There's  always  drama  in  the  girl  who 
comes  back  to  her  old  home  town,  all 
dressed  up  in  a  mink  coat.  Especially 
when  she  comes  back  because  she's  still 
in  love  with  her  girlhood  sweetheart. 
That's  about  the  situation  in  "Whistle 
Stop,"  which  pairs  sleek  George  Raft  with 
oomphy   Ava   Gardner.    The   girl,  Mary 


A.va  Gardner)  has  done  all  right  in  Chi- 
ago.  The  owner  of  a  big  department  store 
ants  to  marry  her,  and  if  she  had  the 
:ains  of  an  undernourished  flea,  she 
ould  have  taken  him  and  forgotten  all 
Dout  the  little  town  of  Ashbury.  Espe- 
ially,  she  would  have  forgotten  all  about 
enny  (George  Raft)  who  was,  everyone 
f  id,  no  good  at  all. 

The  point  is,  of  course,  that  she  loves 
lenny  and  there's  nothing  she  can  do 
bout  it.  As  soon  as  she  sees  him,  she 
nows  he  hasn't  changed  at  all.  He's  still 
mooting  pool  instead  of  working,  still 
timming  dollar  bills  from  his  mother  so 
ie  can  take  out  the  local  waitresses.  He 
till  hates  Lew  Lentz  (Tom  Conway)  who 
Luis  the  Flamingo  Club,  because  Lew  is 
1  love  with  Mary.  Mary  goes  out  with 
iew  the  first  night  she's  back,  just  to 
rove  to  Kenny  that  he's  welcome  to  his 
-aitresses.  And  Gitlo  (Victor  McLaglen), 
ew's  bartender,  gets  an  idea.  He  hates  his 
oss,  and  he  sees  the  look  on  Kenny's  face 
hen  Mary  comes  in  with  him. 
The  plot  Gitlo  concocts  is  simple  enough, 
ew  Lentz  will  take  his  profits  from  the 
lub  to  his  bank  in  Detroit  the  next  week, 
lenny's  father  is  watchman  at  the  rail- 
Dad  crossing.  Suppose  the  old  man  gets 
runk  and  can't  show  up  for  work.  Sup- 
3se  Kenny  takes  his  place,  as  he  has  done 
Lenty  of  times  before.  Then  Lew  could 
ave  an  accident,  and  the  money  could  dis- 
ppear  without  anyone  being  the  wiser. 
Gitlo  forgot  about  Mary,  who  is  a  hep 
abe  and  who  wants  to  keep  Kenny  out 
i  trouble.  She  prevents  the  plan  from 
Ding  through,  but  she  can't  prevent  Lew's 
2venge  when  he  finds  out  what  almost 
appened. — U.  A. 

iLOXG  THE  NAVAJO  TRAIL. 

The  minute  that  Roy  Rogers,  lean  and 
Druce  in  cowboy  attire,  steps  into  a 
ublic  place,  he  is  mobbed  by  fans.  There's 

good  reason  for  his  popularity.  Every 
ne  of  his  pictures  keeps  right  up  to 
andard,  every  one  is  packed  with  fast 
ding,  trick  shooting  and  some  music 
irown  in.   "Along  The  Navajo  Trail"  is 

perfect  example  of  the  kind  of  thing 
lat  has  made  Roy  famous.  In  it,  he  plays 

Deputy  Marshal  who  masquerades  as  a 
jwboy  in  order  to  clear  up  some  trouble 
Ij  the  Ladder  A  ranch  which  is  owned  by 
reck  Alastair.  whose  charming  daughter, 
orry  (Dale  Evans)  helps  run  it. 
The  Alastairs  suspect  the  trouble  origi- 
ates  with  an  unpleasant  creature  named 
entley.  He  has  made  several  offers  to 
ay  the  ranch,  and  since  the  offers  have 
?en  refused,  cattle  have  disappeared  and 
rvhands  have  been  mysteriously  injured, 
ut  so  far,  no  one  has  been  able  to 
5'jre  out  why  Bentley  wants  the  ranch, 
orry  doesn't  know  that  the  good  looking 
Dwboy  camping  on  their  range  is  a  U.  S. 
arshal  sent  by  the  Cattlemen's  Associa- 
:hn.  She  tells  Gabby  Whitaker  (Gabby 
ayes)  to  run  him  off  the  range,  but  after 
ie  and  Roy  have  been  caught  in  a  thun- 
srstorm  together  and  he  has  crooned 
\Iong  The  Navajo  Trail"  into  her  shell - 
fce  ear,  she  hires  him  to  work  for  them. 
There  is  a  band  of  gypsies  camped  near 
ie  ranch,  and  when  Janza,  their  leader, 
n't  swindling  Gabby  in  a  horse  deal,  his 
n-up-type  daughter,  Narita  (Estellita 
odriguez),  is  making  eyes  at  Roy.  Roy 
id  Gabby  and  one  of  the  gypsies  discover 
u-veyors  at  work  in  a  canyon  on  the  Lad- 
er  A.  The  men  ride  off  when  they  see 
iey  are  discovered,  and  there  is  consider- 
jle  shooting.  Roy  decides  to  search 
entley's  house  and  see  if  he  can  find  any 
^nnection  with  the  intruders.  He  has  luck, 
r  in  a  drawer  is  a  letter  that  explains  the 
hole  situation.  By  then  Alastair  is  in  a 
ioi,  surrounded  by  Bentley's  men  taking 
atshots  at  him,  Roy  and  the  gypsies  stage 

thrilling  ride  to  the  rescue. — Rep. 


THE  GREATEST  ROMANTIC  STORY  EVER  TOLD  j 


SWEET  AND  HOT 

(Continued  from  page  12) 


happened  to  be  playing  a  theater. 

It  was  1  p.m.  when  I  got  to  town,  and 
the  band's  first  stage  show  at  the  Palace 
Theater  wasn't  on  until  2:30,  so  most  of 
the  fellows  were  still  in  their  hotel  rooms 
or  having  breakfast. 

Woody  came  downstairs  and  made  it 
over  to  the  theater  just  in  time.  I  watched 
the  stage  show  from  the  side — saw  Chubby 
Jackson  going  through  his  comedy  routine 
with  the  bass  fiddle,  got  a  load  of  the 
swell  new  drummer,  Don  Lamond,  who'd 
replaced  the  great  Dave  Tough  when 
Davie  got  sick.  Caught  Frances  Wayne  in 
a  glowing  mood,  and  learned  from  her 
afterwards  that  wedding  bells  would  soon 
ring  for  her  and  the  band's  brilliant  young 
trumpeter-arranger,  Neal  Hefti. 

"This  day  started  off  all  wrong,"  said 
Woody,  tired  but  good-humored.  "Some 
character  calls  me  up  long  distance  to 
plug  his  new  tune.  He's  got  such  an 
important  radio  record  program  that  he 
figures  if  I  don't  play  his  tune  he  won't 
plug  my  records.  Ah,  music  business!" 

"Okay,"  I  said,  "how  about  the  story  of 
you  and  the  music  business?  Were  you 
really  the  boy  wonder  of  the  clarinet?" 

"Guess  you  might  call  it  that,"  said 
Woody,  as  we  foraged  through  some  old 
press  clippings.  I  picked  one  out:  "Grand 
Theater.  Wallace  Beery  and  Ray  Hatton 
in  'We're  In  The  Navy  Now.'  Sunday — 
Florence  Vidor  in  'You  Never  Know 
Women.'  ADDED — On  the  stage  we  will 
present  WOODROW  HERMAN,  Wiscon- 
sin's only  professional  juvenile  in  songs, 
dances,  and  saxophone  solos.  After  this 
engagement  young  Herman  will  play  the 
entire  Saxe  circuit,  after  which  he  will 
play  the  Big  Time  circuits." 

There  was  a  big  picture  of  a  smiling 
kid  holding  a  saxophone,  hair  slicked 
back,  lips  pursed  in  that  typical  Herman- 
ner  that's  still  typical  of  Woody. 

"Which  did  you  play  first,  sax  or  clari- 
net?" I  asked. 

"I  bought  a  saxophone  when  I  was  nine 
— out  of  my  own  earnings!  I'd  started 
theater  work  a  year  before,  singing  and 
dancing.  Show  business  ran  in  the  family; 
Dad  used  to  be  one  of  a  vocal  quartet,  the 
White  City  Four,  before  he  changed  one 
letter — from  show  business  to  shoe  busi- 
ness. See  these?"  He  pointed  to  a  hand- 
some pair  of  brown  shoes.  "Dad's  design. 
He's  been  having  them  made  specially  for 
me  as  long  as  I  can  remember." 

"I  hated  to  go  to  piano  lessons,"  Woody 
sighed.  "Started  when  I  was  seven.  First 
thing  I  ever  did  in  public  was  speak  a 
stage  prologue  to  'School  Days'  on  the 
screen.  I  did  a  legit  stage  version  of 
'Daddy  Long  Legs'  two  years  later." 

Woody  continued  on  the  road  until  he 
was  fourteen,  accompanied  by  his  mother 
and  or  tutor,  and  a  sax  and /or  clarinet. 
He  was  working  with  local  bands  during 
his  Wisconsin  High  School  days;  then  in 
1933  came  that  big  break.  Tom  Gerun, 
who  had  a  real  big  band — all  of  ten  pieces! 
— hired  him  as  vocalist  and  saxman. 

There  was  another  fellow  playing  sax  in 
that  band  who  sang  too,  so  a  little  friendly 
rivalry  sprang  up  between  them.  The 
other  fellow,  whose  name  was  Al  Morris, 
played  tenor  and  baritone  saxes  and  had 
movie  ambitions — big  ones.  He  liked  to 
imitate  Bing  Crosby  and  Russ  Columbo. 

The  two  Tom  Gerun  saxophonists 
haven't  done  badly.  Al  Morris  got  into 
movies — his  name  is  now  Tony  Martin. 

"Then  after  I'd  been  with  the  band  a 
while,"  recalled  Woody,  "Tom  let  me  take 
a  vacation  to  see  my  girl,  Charlotte,  in 
18    Los  Angeles,  and  told  me  while  1  was 


there  to  look  for  a  girl  singer  for  the 
band.  Well,  a  man  at  Warner  Brothers 
helped  me — but  good!  He  lined  up  fifty 
girls  to  audition.  Forty-nine  of  them 
looked  great  but  sounded  sad.  The  fiftieth 
was  a  good  looker,  a  kid  in  her  teens,  and 
she  sang  in  tune,  too.  I  told  her  she  was 
hired,  so  we  had  another  name  to  add  to 
the  band's  featured  billing.  'Tom  Gerun 
and  his  Orchestra,  featuring  Woodie  Her- 
man' (they  spelled  it  with  an  "ie"  then) 
'Al  Morris  and  Virginia  Simms.' " 

After  a  successful  year,  Woody  joined 
Isham  Jones'  boys,  doing  hot  tunes. 

Then  Isham  Jones'  band  broke  up  in 
Tennessee.  "We  got  back  to  New  York," 
says  Woody,  "and  people  were  nice  to  us. 
Gave  us  arrangements  for  nothing,  sat  in 
on  rehearsals  without  pay,  talked  agents 
into  listening  to  us.  Most  of  the  Jones  boys 
were  still  in  the  band.  They  let  us  rehearse 


RECORDS  OF  THE  MONTH 

Selected  by  Leonard  Feather 

BEST  POPULAR 

A  DOOR  WILL  OPEN  —  Tommy  Dorsey 
(Victor) 

AREN'T    YOU    GLAD   YOU'RE   YOU? — Les 

Brown  (Columbia) 

AUTUMN  SERENADE— Jimmy  Dorsey 
(Decca),  Harry  James  (Columbia), 
Hal  Mclntyre  (Victor) 

BUT  I  DID— Dinah  Shore  (Victor) 

COME  TO  BABY.  DO— Jack  Smith  (Ma- 
jestic), Jimmy  Dorsey  (Decca) 

GEE  IT'S  GOOD  TO  HOLD  YOU— Woody 
Herman  (Coumbia) 

MY  GUY'S  COME  BACK— Dinah  Shore 
(Victor) 

SANTA  CLAUS  IS  RIDIN'  THE  TRAIL— Dick 

Haymes  (Decca) 
THAT  FEELING  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT— Gene 

Krupa  (Columbia) 
WAITING  FOR  THE  TRAIN  TO  COME  IN— 

Peggy  Lee  (Capitol),  Louis  Prima 
(Majestic) ,  Dick  Robertson-Johnny 
Long  (Decca) 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

LES  BROWN— Leap  Frog  (Columbia) 
BENNY  GOODMAN— I  Got  Rhythm  (12- 
inch  Columbia) 
LIONEL  HAMPTON  — Beulah's  Boogie 
(Decca) 

BILL  HARRIS — Mean  To  Me  (Keynote) 
HERBIE  HAYMER— 1  11  Never  Be  The  Same 
(Sunset) 

WOODY  HERMAN— Your  Father  s  Mous- 
tache (Columbia) 

CHUBBY  JACKSON— Crying  Sands  (Key- 
note) 

IKE  OUEBEC— I.Q.  Blues  (Savoy) 
TIMMIE  ROGERS— Fla-Ga-La-Pa  (Excel- 
sior) 

GERALD  WILSON— Just  Give  Me  A  Man 
(Excelsior) 

BEST  ALBUMS 

BING  CROSBY— Merry  Christmas  (Decca) 
BING  CROSBY— Hit  songs  from  Going  My 

Way  (Decca) 
XAVIER  CUGAT— Favorite  Rhumbas  (Co- 
lumbia) 

MORTON  GOULD— South  Of  The  Border 

tunes  (Columbia) 
HISTORY  OF  JAZ2,  Vol.  II— The  Golden 

Era  (Capitol) 
FREDRIC  MARCH  — The  Selfish  Giant 

(Decca) 

VAUGHN  MONROE— On  The  Moon-Beam 
(Victor) 

BASIL  RATHBONE— Robin  Hood  (Colum- 
bia) 

ANDY  RUSSELL— Favorite  Songs  (Capi- 
tol) 

LORETTA  YOUNG  — The  Littlest  Angel 
(Decca) 


in  a  room  at  the  hotel  we  were  living  in, 
so  that  was  for  free,  too.  We  had  six 
weeks'  rehearsal.  Finally  we  made  our 
debut  at  Brooklyn  Roseland.  We  had  a 
good  theme  number  written  for  us  by  two 
fine  arrangers,  Gordon  Jenkins  and  Joe 
Bishop — called  it  'Blue  Prelude.'  " 

"I  was  a  bandleader  now,  and  I  figured  it 
was  okay  for  Charlotte  to  be  a  bandleader's 
wife,  so  it  wasn't  long  before  I  had  a 
wonderful  wife,  a  struggling  band — oh  yes, 
and  a  Decca  recording  contract." 

Over  the  years,  the  "Band  That  Played 
The  Blues"  made  a  name  for  itself  but  not 
too  much  money.  Bookers  thought  Woody 
was  ahead  of  his  time,  trying  to  play  the 
kind  of  music  the  musicians  themselves 
wanted  to  play  instead  of  giving  the  pub- 
lic what  it  wanted.  But  somehow  Woody 
managed  to  convince  that  stubborn  char- 
acter, Joe  Public.  He  sang  "River  Bed 
Blues"  and  played  "Woodchoppers'  Ball" 
and  "Blues  Upstairs"  and  "Blues  Down- 
stairs" and  pretty  soon  Decca  had  an  album 
of  Woody  Herman  blues  specials. 

"We  used  to  get  thrown  out  on  four- 
week  bookings  after  the  first  week!  Once 
in  Cincinnati  we  had  to  work  for  a  man- 
ager who  was  strictly  the  Viennese  waltz 
fan  type.  He'd  just  had  Jimmy  Dorsey  in 
there,  and  the  band  had  been  too  loud  for 
him  and  the  customers.  Weil,  as  soon  as 
we  walked  in  on  the  job  the  first  night, 
he  took  one  look  at  my  five-piece  brass 
section,  saw  me  standing  in  front  with  a 
clarinet,  and  put  his  hand  on  his  forehead. 
'They  did  it  to  me  again!'  he  said." 

Around  1942  things  began  to  change  in 
the  Herman  band.  You  can  trace  the 
changes  just  by  looking  back  over  their 
movie  assignments.  Woody  called  out  a  list : 
for  me  before  he  slipped  out  to  play  an- 
other show,  and  here  it  is: 

"  'What's  Cooking'  .  .  .  our  first  movie 
Universal  ...  I  did  a  dance  routine  in  a 
jitterbug  scene  .  .  .  band  played  'Wood- 
choppers'  Ball'  and  'Golden  Wedding'  and 
'Amen.'  'Wintertime,'  with  Sonja  Henie 
20th-Fox — we  just  played  the  music  writ- 
ten for  the  movie;  nothing  much  of  oui 
own.  'Sensations  of  1944,'  United  Artist: 
.  .  .  we  did  "Chiapanecas'  and  a  tun« 
of  Dizzy  Gillespie's,  'Down  Under.'  'Ear 
Carrol's  Vanities,'  Republic  .  .  .  that  was  ; 
good  one.  We  played  'Apple  Honey'  an< 
'Who  Dat  Up  There?'" 

Hollywood  is  fun,  says  Woody.  Las 
spring  when  the  whole  band  was  tirec 
most  of  the  men  disappeared  eastward; 
but  Woody  and  Charlotte  hired  themselve 
an  apartment  in  the  Garden  of  Allal 
Woody 's  lovely  redheaded  wife  and  thei 
four-year-old  daughter,  Ingrid,  are  th 
chief  objects  of  his  devotion. 

Woody  is  probably  better  liked  by  hi 
musicians  than  any  other  leader.  That 
why  his  personnel  changes  so  little. 

Woody  never  seems  to  change,  person 
ally.  He's  just  the  way  he  always  was — th  j 
same  even  disposition,  the  light  banter  <  I 
his  conversation.   Sarcasm  is  his  favorii  1 
verbal  weapon,  but  he  uses  it  with 
leavening  of  good  humor. 

We  talked  about  the  new  radio  prograi  | 
"What  a  relief,"  said  Woody,  "we  actual  I 
found  a  sponsor  who  doesn't  want  s  I 
comedians,  a  ninety-piece  choir,  eig  i 
guest  stars  and  a  ten-minute  commerci. 
He  just  lets  the  band  play!" 

Woody's  right — he  is  lucky,  but  he 
never  have  made  it  if  the  band  had)  i 
rated  it.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is  th 
Woody  and  his  "Modern  Screamers," 
I  like  to  call  'em,  are  your  band  of  t  | 
year,  too.  Drop  me  a  line  and  let's  talk 
over,  shall  we? 

H 


Great  talent  sparks  the  screen  with 


"HAPPY  NEW  YEAR—  I'M  YOUR  DAD!" 


"What  a  way  to  start  a  new  year 

What  a  taste  of  future  joy, 
What  a  lucky  break  I'm  getting 

To  be  meeting  you,  my  boy — 

Happy  New  Year,  I'm  your  Dad! 

"How'd  you  ever  get  so  husky? 

Where'd  you  get  that  wrestler's  clutch? 
Glad  you've  got  your  mother's  dimples, 

And  those  eyes  I  love  so  much  — 

Happy  New  Year,  I'm  your  Dad! 

"Now  I  see  you  I  know  better 

Why  I've  had  to  be  away; 
Dads  like  me  want  kids  just  like  you 

To  grow  up  free,  strong,  and  gay — 

Happy  Nezv  Year.  I'm  your  Dad!" 


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Tins  happy  scene  is  being;  reenacted  now  in  many 
thousands  of  American  homes.  Before  long  it  will  take 
place  in  many  more. 

We  speak  these  thoughts  not  only  as  Americans 
but  as  a  ''friend  of  the  family"  as  well.  For  67  years 
now  Ivory  Soap  has  been  one  of  the  first  and  closest 
friends  of 'most  every  baby  in  the  land. 

You  see,  Ivory's  pure,  mild  lather  has  helped  pro- 
tect babies'  angel  skin  for  generations.  Todav  the  great 
grandchildren  of  Ivory's  first  babies  are  being  bathed 
with  Ivory  Soap— and  they,  too,  chuckle  when  they 
discover  that  Ivory  floats  like  a  boat. 

To  every  one  of  America's  brand  new  babies,  Ivory 
says,  "Welcome!  We  wish  you  a  Happy  New  Year— and 
if  your  Dad's  away,  we  hope  he'll  be  home  soon." 


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IT  FLOATS 


to  our  readers.. 


I  guess  this  January  issue  is  the  happiest  issue  of  our 
lives.  It's  all  connected  with  Christmas,  and  we  planned 
everything  in  our  bare  feet  so  as  not  to  make  a  single 
sound.     It   was   really   supposed   to   be   a   surprise   and   not  be 
opened  before  Christmas,  but  I  can't  wait  to  tell  you  all  about  it! 

The  essence  of  Christmas  is  give  and  take.  The  gift  of  you  readers 
to  MODERN  screen  was  a  staggering  250,000  votes  for  your  favorite 
stars,  (see  page  62)  during  the  year  1945.  The  year's  voting  went 
like  this:  1.  Van  Johnson.  2.  Frank  Sinatra.  3.  June  Allyson  4. 
Alan  Ladd.  5.  Peter  Lawford.  6.  Bob  Walker.  7.  Dana  Andrews. 
8.  Tom  Drake.  9.  Guy  Madison.  10.  Gregory  Peck.  There's  a 
story  on  every  one  of  these  ten  stars  in  this  issue,  and  to  show  you 
the  poll  standing  of  each,  we've  dreamed  up  a  cute  little  crown,  like 
the  one  on  this  page,  with  a  number  on  it.  .Watch  for  it ! 

But  here's  the  little  surprise,  the  extra  sentimental  touch  you 
didn't  order.  Since  everyone  wanted  Van  Johnson,  and  there  just 
isn't  enough  of  the  poor  boy  to  go  around,  we  decided  to  go  into 
production  immediately.  Donald  de  Lue,  President  of  the  American 
Sculptors'  Society,  spent  months  creating  a  gorgeous  bronze  bust  of 
Van. 

Trouble  was  neither  Henry  nor  I  knew  particularly  much  about 
giving  a  man  a  bust.  Emily  Post's  etiquette  book  gave  us  a  bland  stare. 
About  the  best  advice  we  got  was  to  be  sure  and  pick  a  guy  our  size, 
which  wasn't  much  help. 

Louella  (Heart-Of-Gold )  Parsons  saved  the  day,  and  incidentally, 
came  up. with  the  sweetest  Christmas  gift  of  all.  For  the  real  Van, 
for  the  bronze  Van,  and  for  all  the  other  stars  on  modern  screen's 
1945  poll  (see  page  24),  she  threw  the  biggest  party  in  the  world 
right  in  her  own  lovely  home.  That's  the  Good  News  about  Louella,  and 
you'll  see  it  splashed  all  over  the  magazine. 

Well,  now  you  know  how  everything  happened.  With  all  our  love, 
we  dedicate  this  issue  to  Louella,  to  the  stars  who  gave  us  so  much 
of  their  time  this  year,  and  above  all,  1o  you  readers  who've  been 
such  grand  partners  in  pushing  Modern  Screen  ahead  this  year. 
Merry  Christmas! 


21 


.Voir  Van's  boss  has  ctimbed  the 
bandwagon.    Only  3§r.  Mayer  doesn't  swoon — -he  beams 
and  says.  ffCouidn*t  happen  to  a  finer  boy.9" 


$  > 


. •  ?  • . . 

$  I  ".It  couldn't  have  happened  to 
J  a  finer  boy,"  Mr.  Mayer  said, 
"and  that  pleases  me  doubly. 
You  may  think  I'm  putting  the  emphasis 
in  the  wrong  place.  You  may  say,  his 
personal  qualities  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it — Van  got  this  award  because  of  his 
tremendous  popularity  on  the  screen.  But 
here's  my  point.  To  become  a  star,  you 
need  a  number  of  things.  Looks  of  a  sort 
— though  Apollos  went  out  with  the  silent 
films.  Talent — though  you'd  be  surprised 
how  much  can  be  built  up  from  how 
little.  Poise  and  authority — which  come 
through  experience.  But  there's  one  essen- 
tial that  no  coach,  no  camera,  no  director 
can  help*  you  with.  That's  character. 
We've  had  boys  on  the  lot  as  good  looking 
and  talented  as  Van — with  more  know- 
how  when  they  started.  You've  never 
heard  of  them  and  you  never  will.  Why? 
Because  .they  lacked  what  Van  has  and 
to  spare — purpose,  integrity,  heart,  char- 
acter— " 

It  had  been  our  pleasure  to  tell  Louis 
B.  Mayer  that  Van  Johnson  had  won 
MODERN  SCREEN'S  first  award— a 
sculptured  head  of  himself — as  star  of  the 
year.  We  knew  how  Van  felt  about  his 
boss,  how  grate-  (Continued  on  page  98) 


by  Nancy  Win  slow  Squire 


Grjns  replaced  words  when  MODERN  SCREEN'S  publisher  (George  D. 
and  Executive  Editor  Al  awarded  Van  a  bust  of  himself  at  Louella  Parson: 
hom<=  for  beinq  "the  actor  who  headed  the  M.S.  poll  for  all  of  1945. 


Louis  B.  Mayer  took  time  out  from  his  big  boss  job  at  M-G-M  to  pose  with 
Van  and  Pat  Kirkwood  on  their  "No  Leave,  No  Love"  set.  And  out  N.Y.  way, 
Jackie  Dalya  ,is  refusing  local  dates  with,  "Uh-uh — I'm  being  true  to  Van." 


With  50  quests  of  honor  to  share  the  glory,  Van  copped  top  place  by  being 
-awarded  a  bust  honoring  his  being  "the  actor  who  headed  the  M.S.  poll  through 
1945."  Sonia  flew  west  between  business  dates  just  to  see  the  party — and  Van? 


wn  4 


Guy  Madison  came  in  for  a  triple  thrill:  It  was  his  last  appear- 
ance in  uniform,  he'd  just  been  nominated  MODERN  SCREEN'S 
top  discovery  of  the  year,  and  Suzi  Crandall  was  his,  all  his. .  . . 


Bob  Walker  came  stag,  smiled  at  ex-dates  Sonja  and  Suzi  and  promptly  plopp 
down  to  discuss  a  Las  Vegas  vacation  with  crony  Pete  Lawford.  He  took  ti 
out,  though,  to  congratulate  Laraine  Day  on  her  two  new  adopted  babi 


Who's  comforting  whom?  Editor  Al  and  H'wood  Ed  Sylvia  Wallace  had  all  they 
could  do  to  soothe  frantic  poppa  Glenn  Ford,  who  raced  to  the  phone  every  hour 
on  the  hour  to  check  with  Eleanor  on  the  progress  of  baby's  first  painful  tooth. 


Very  gay  it  was*  Louella 


Parsons  hostessed,  the 


British-born  Peter  Lawford's  turned  Yanlcee  in  such  a  big  way,  he's  even  gotten  his 
titled  parents,  Sir  Sidney  and  Lady  May,  movie  acting!  Mrs.  Gary  Cooper  had 
her  turn  at  raving  as  she  described  "Coop's"  recent  Idaho  duck  hunting  trip. 


Delaeortes  beamed,  and 


pie  you  made  stars— made  merry! 


■  Hollywood's  still  talking  about  it.  The 
corner  garage  man  and  the  beauty  parlor 
girls  and  every  grip  and  extra  in  town 
heard  about  those  wonderful  doings  where 
the  decorations  were  carved  ice  figures  and 
Peter  Lawford  buttonholed  perfect  strangers 
to  roll  his  eyes  and  sigh,  "Imagine— I'm 
on  the  poll!  Where  necks  got  stiff  and  sore 
trying  not  to  crane  when  Van  and  Sonja 
Henie  kept  making  bee-lines  for  secluded 
nooks  and  "Hi"  Hodiak  was  seen  ambling 
over  to  Annie  Baxter's  table,  his  poor  heart 
pounding  all  over  his  sleeve.  Like  they  say 
in  the  movies,  there  was  romance,  adven- 
ture, fun!  But  to  George  and  Albert 
Delacorte,  the  father-son,  publisher-editor 
combine  of  MODERN  SCREEN  who  threw 
the  party,  and  to  tireless  hostess  Louella 
Parsons,  it  meant  much  more.  It  meant 
that  you,  the  movie  public,  are  the  movie 
industry!  It  meant  that  those  50  people 
who  were  our  guests  of  honor  had  become 
stars  because  you  had  spotted  them,  loved 
them  and  boosted  them  to  top  place  with 
your  month  after  month  votes  to  our  poll. 
S 'wonderful  feeling  and  God  willing,  we're 
going  to  have  a  poll  party  every  single 
year  of  our  life.  But  make  no  mistake — 
it'll  be  your  party,  too — you,  our  movie 
public,  movie  industry,  star  making  read- 
ers! (Turn  page  for  more  pictures — and 
also  see  Louella  Parsons'  "Good  News" 
on  page  56  for  some  other  party  shots. ) 


ode/in  .ieteen'b  /toll  fiatty! 


When  business  tycoons  get "  together— they  s.t  bock  and  en|oy  it. 
Energetic  George  Delacor+e  settled  down  just  once—to  swap  stones 
with   hostess    Parsons'    rodi6   boss,   hand   lotion    lung.   A.  Jergens. 


Sue  and  Alan  Ladd  hosted  Al  Delacorte  at  Palm  Springs—made  him 
"one  of  the  family"  by  bedding  him  on  living  room  sofa!  Sues  a  night 
prowler  says  she  dreams  of  Xmas  lists.  Laddie's  horseback  riding  spills. 


Fans  have  been  threatening  to  boycott  June  Storey  if  she  dares  make  a 
pic  without  their  beloved  Gene.  Mrs.  Autry's  just  as  pleased  as  hubby 
that  his  brother  Don's  signed  up  to  do  series  of  10  hoss  opry  p.X. 


Vanity  be  blowed— Dick  Hoymes  wore  his  goggles  all  evening  and 
S  Joanne  couldn't  have  been  more  impressed.  As  to  their  rumored 
rift!  the  kids  were  inseparable,  held  hands  all  night  and  ,ust  glowed. 


26 


Rare  portygoers,  the  practically  parents  Payne  attended  as  a 
tribute  to  matchmaker  Al  D.    John's  the  anxious  type,  super- 


Dana  had  to  call  on  Al  for  moral  support.  Seems  the  Andrews 
top  knot  has  to  be  Just  so  for  his  newest  pic — with  a  daily 
curling  the  only  solution.  But  wifie  teases  so 


MORE  PICTURES 


v  - 


27 


Just  over  a  3-day  feud,  Ida  and  Helmut  cooed  and  mo 


up  with  i 
so  busy- 


filagree  silver  brooch  from  Him  to  Her.  Id 
-turned  authoress  with  2  scripts  for  Warne 


7&.  ^sL 


Poor  Tom  Drake!  With  Chris  in  Rono  for  a  divorce  and  sis  Claire 
keeping  house  for  him,  he  selects  a  ring  for  Suzi  Crandall — who  ups  and 
starts  dating  Guy  Madison!  Bev  Tyler's  the  gal  here,  his  new  co-star. 


cstatic  over  her  reception  at  the  Chi.  premiere  of  "Dolly  Sisters,"  June  Haver 
nipped  the  musician  Jimmy  Zito  romance  rumors  by  gadding  with  Frank  Lottimore. 
F.  insists  he's  set  a  record — spent  a  year  in  the  Army,  got  discharged  as  a  pfc! 


Due  to  professional  ethics, -palmist  woi 
divulge  secrets  she  read  in  Van's  -f 
Could  his  heart  line  be  leading  to.Sc 


28 


Maybe  M-G-M  boss  Louis  Mayer  did  beam  at  Miss  P.,  but 
did  he  feel  glum!  Raved  all  night  about  his  filly.  "Busher,"  who 
next  day  strained  a  tendon  and  was  removed  from  a  biq  race 


Cloudette  Colbert  felt  so  fine  over  hubby  Dr.  Pressman  s  first  outing  in  civvies  in  4 
years,  even  bubble  blowing  couldn't  let  off  enough  steam.  Day  after  portv  Ben  Lyon; 
left  for  bia  Fox  |ob  in  Eng.  while  wife  Bebe  Daniels  stayed  as  Ha1  Roach  p'oduce- 


* 


<  doin9 l;;;J ......   ""H  k, 

'    °i  J 


reqret  is  ^a  aood<es 


\A/itr 


30 


Part  1  in  the  life  story  of  a 
boy  who  couldn't  be 
good  until  he  learned  how 
to  be  happy.   And  how 
Aunt  Tenny  and  a 
stolen  ticket  machine  and  a 
tramp  steamer  helped 
show  him  the  way 


A+  18  mos.,  Bob  was  tow-headed,  -fat-creased — ■ 
"just  another  Walker"  whose  sturdy  Scotch 
ancestors   had   helped   make   Mormon  history. 


Even  as  a  teen-ager,  girls  shined  up  to  Bob.  He  wosn  t  handsome,  but  ■ wosn  t  he 
His  hair  was  straiqht  and  toffy-colored,  but  they  dubbed  h,m    Red.     And  when  he 

sportinq  specs,  heck  to  Utah's  femmes.  he  was  prof  and  Dutch  ancle  and  hell-ra.ser  d 


Back  in  "the  old  days"  of  1 94 1 ,  when  Bob  and  Jenny  Jones  v/ere  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
and  breaking  their  hearts  with  those-  "Sorry  no  cas+ing  today'  woes,  Bob  threw 
himself  into  radio  acting,  had  the  lead  in  the  CBS  show,  "Maudie's  Diary." 


^  4  ♦  That  night  the  Big  Fire  swept  Salt  Lake  City 
£      like  an  avenging  angel.  Flames  scourged  the 
downtown  streets,  raced  from  roof  to  roof,  spray- 
ing angry  red   embers  high   into  the  glowering  black 
desert  sky  as  far  as  the     asatch  Mountains  which  rimmed 
the  city  of  Latter  Dav  Saints. 

Through  the  wide,  western  streets  firewagons  roared, 
sirens  screamed  and  bells  clanged  frantic  warnings.  That 
night  more  than  one  good  Mormon  hurried  from  whatever 
he  was  doing:  to  help  stem  the  crackling,  crimson  tide  of 
disaster. 

Horace  Walker  changed  his  plans  that  night,  verv  defi- 
nitely. He  was  on  his  way  to  the  hospital  where  his  wrife. 
Zella.  awaited  the  arrival  of  her  fourth  child.  But  he  had 
spun  the  wheels  of  his  car  around  when  the  first  firewagon 
careened  by.  Like  the  good  newspaper  man  he  was.  Horace 
Walker  headed  for  the  citv  room  of  the  Deseret  News  bv 
instinct.  He  was  the  citv  editor. 

It  was  smokv  dawn  before  the  phones  on  his  desk  stopped 
buzzing  and  he  could  get  a  call  through  to  the  hospital. 
When  the  fire  extra  was  on  the  presses  and  he  could  lean 
back  in  his  swivel  chair  and  breathe  again,  he  got  the 
connection.  His  eves,  red-rimmed  as  Salt  Lake  s  citv  blocks, 
crinkled  with  the  grood  news  and  he  turned  wearilv  to  his 


"Baraar.  with  Lloyd  Nolan,  Lee  Bowman,  Bob  Toyior  and  Desi  Arnoz. 
was  Bob's  first  brush  with  fame.  He  piayed  the  part  of  the  young, 
tragic   gob   so  well   he   drew   raves   in   Walter  Winchell's  column. 


by  Kirtley  Baskette 


33 


typewriter  and  tapped  out  the  item  himself: 

"A  seven  pound  son  was  born  to  Mrs.  Horace  Walker 
last  night  at  Salt  Lake  Hospital."  He  dropped  it  on 
the  cop\  desk,  jammed  on  his  hat  and  went  across 
the  street  for  some  black  coffee. 

The  birth  of  Robert  Walker,  on  October  18.  1918, 
was  not  necessarily  big  news  to  Salt  Lake  City.  Stacked 
up  against  the  greatest  conflagration  in  the  city's  his- 
tory, it  barely  deserved  the  one  line  Bob's  news-wise 
father  gave  it.  buried  back  in  the  paper.  Bob  s  dad. 
himself,  would  have  smiled  skeptically  if  anyone  had 
told  him  that  one  day  this  Baby  Bob  would  come  back 
home  as  Robert  Walker,  the  Hollywood  star,  and  that 
his  own  paper,  the.  Deseret  News,  would  run  headlines 
heralding  that  event. 

No.  there  was  nothing  exactly  world-shaking  about 
the  arrival  of  another  Walker  bov  in  Salt  Lake  City. 


heavens  knows.  Three  others  already  romped  around 
the  house  on  F  Street  where  Horace  and  Zella  Walker 
made  their  home. 

Zella  s  Scotch  McQuarry  ancestors  had  started  from 
the  original  settlement  at  Nauvoo.  Illinois,  to  find  a 
home  free  from  the  persecutions  of  religious  bigots. 
Twelve  of  those  sturdy  McQuarry  sons  had  hewn 
timber  from  the  hills  to  build  the  tabernacle  which 
still  stood.  Zella  herself  was  from  a  family  of  eight. 
And  Walkers — they  were  sprinkled  all  over  Utah — 
their  name  a  local  symbol  of  fertility,  solidity  and 
success.  Right  in  Salt  Lake  there  was  the  big  Walker 
Department  Store  and  the  Walker  Bank.  There 
were  dozens  of  Walker  and  McQuarry  cousins,  aunts, 
uncles,  "kissing  kin"  spread  all  over  Utah  by  now. 
Another  Walker  kid — so  what? 

Another  Walker  kid.  There  I  Continued  on  page  HH\ 


Radio  actress  Loraine  Turtle's  one  of  Bob's 
old  pals,  gave  him  a  bear  hug  welcome  when  he  popped 

ud  +o  do  an  air  guest  appearance  with  her. 


Vith  "blind  as  a  bat"  eyes  tabbing  him  4F,  Bob's  become  so 
entlfied  with  Gl  roles  lhat  Pvt.  Hargrove  gets  a  return  bout  in 
What  Next,  Cpl.' Hargrove?"  with  Jean  Porter  and  Keenan  Wynn. 


airy  tale  for  June 


JOE  PASTERNAK  SAYS  SHE'S 
THE  GIRL  EVERYBODY  LIKES;  SHE'S 
THE  GIRL  YOU  WANT  YOUR  BROTHER 
TO    MARRY;    SHE'S    JUNE  ALLYSON 

^  first  time  I  saw  June  Allyson, 
there  are  really  three  first  times. 
On  the  stage.  On  the  screen.  And  when 
the  girl  herself  knocked  me  over  almost, 
in  the  M-G-M  commissary. 

In  New  York  I  went  to  see  a  show 
called  "Best  Foot  Forward"  and  here 
comes  a  girl  and  sings  some  cute  little 
song.  The  way  she  sang  it,  the  way 
those  lines  came  out- — it  made  me  smile 
and  at  the  same  time  it  was  touching. 
I  thought,  here's  a  girl  who  can't  sing 
but  there's  something  that  pulls  you. 
For  a  minute  it  hit  me,  then  I  forgot 
about  it. 

Now  I'm  back  at  M-G-M.  One  day  we 
were  all  asked  to  go  in  and  see  a  test 
of  some  girl  Arthur  Freed  signed  in 
New  York.  I  go  in,  I  sit  down,  and  here 
on  the  screen  comes  this  same  bad- 
singing,  bad-dancing,  bad-acting  girl.  I 
give  you  the  exact  impression  I  got,  no 
use  to  cover  it  up.  Still,  this  was  only 
half  an  impression,  and  the  less  impor- 
tant half.  Because  when  we  discussed 
it.  all  I  reraem-  I  Continued  on  page  64) 


Eatin',  eatin',  how  Junie  hates  it!  Weight  went  down  from  her  normal  105  to  93 
after  marriage.  To  encourage  her,  husband  Dick  Powell  stuffs  himself.  She  says 
he  eats  everything  but  the  furniture!    (J.'s  latest  is  "Two  Sisters  From  Boston."! 


36 


While  singing  in  B'wav's  "Best  Foot  Forward,"  where  Joe  Pasternak  (above)  tound  her,  Junie  kept  up  school  work,  graduated  with  97%  average! 


After  moving  into  new  aportment,  Powells  took  out  bar,  installed  Dick's  Copehart. 
They're  extravagant  about  records,  and  Junie  felt  she  must  economize.  So,  since  she's 
already  lost  three  gold  cigaret  holders,  her  fourth  one  is  chained  to  coat  lapel! 


by  JOE  PASTERNAK 


A  father  himself,  Al  took  a  paternal  interest  in  Alaoa  Ladd's  Breakfaf- 
menu.  He  told  her  stories  about  Ms  child,  Peter,  bom  a  few  weeks  before  Alano. 
and  bragged  how  much  Pete  ate.    But  Alano  thought  girls  should  be  daintier: 


HERE'S  THE  REAL  LOWDOWN  ON  AL 


OELACORTE,  THE   GUY  WHO   WRITES   YOU   THOSE  FRIENDLY 


LETTERS  FROM  MODERN  SCREEN— BY  ANOTHER 


SWELL  GUY,  WHO  KNOWS.  HIM  LIKE  A  BROTHER ! 


YOU  KNOW  ME,  AL 


.ife  with  Sue  and  baby  keeps  Alan -happy,  in  spite  of  mishaps  at  studio.  Last 
jne  had  silver  lining:  Alan  broke  Don  Costello's  toe  while  making  "The 
Vue  Dahlia,"  so  director  hod  incident  written  into  script,  continued  shooting! 


BY  ALAN  LAOD 


%  ♦  #  ;I  was  plenty  mad  at  Al  Dela- 
corte  the  first  time  I  didn't  meet 
him — and  believe  me.  that's  not 
double-talk,  either. 

Now,  just  a  minute,  Al — don't  lean  on 
that  blue  pencil!  We  made  a  deal— didn't 
we?  You  said  you'd  open  the  pages  of 
.Modern  Screen  so  I  could  grab  my  little 
typewriter  and  take  you  and  your  maga- 
zine gang  apart — just  like  you've  been 
taking  me  apart  for  all  these  months. 
Okay.  You  said  I  could  just  make  it  the 
"simple  reverse."  Well,  I'm  not  a  writer, 
Al,  so  it  will  probably  be  just  simple — 
period.  But  you  asked  me  for  it  and  it's 
a  chance  a  Hollywood  actor  doesn't  get 
very  often,  so  I'm  going  to  tell  the  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  truth — let  the  chips 
fall  where  they  may. 

And  that's  how  it  was.  I  was  mad  and 
I  was  hurt.  For  a  long  time  whenever  any- 
body said  the  name,  "Delacorte"  to  me  I 
gritted  my  teeth  and  what  I  thought  wasn't 
fit  for  print.  Here's  why : 

I  was  in  New  York  on  my"  very  first 
trip  to  the  Big  City.  I  was  staying  at  the 
Waldorf  in  a  fancy  deluxe  suite.  It  had 
been  a  long,  tough  haul  for  me  from  no- 
where to  somewhere  and  one  of  the  thrills 
that  was  rippling  clear  down  -to  my  toes 
was  meeting  all  I  Continued  on  page  76) 


39 


At  Command  Performance  the  Trumpet  King 
(H.  James)  and  the  Swoon  King  brag  about  their 
douahters.  F.  calls  Nancy  "Little  Miss  Moonbeam. 


On  tour,  Frankie  s  one  hand  holds  Fay  McKenzie:  other 
hides  spry  tie.  Mrs.  S.  eyed  pattern  of  France's  flop 
eared  favorites;  made  others  from  dress  goods  remnants. 


By  GEORGE 
BENJAMIN 


Silvers  (at  left)  has  an  armful  of  Fay.  while  Frankie  clutches  his  pipe  ono 
Betty  Yeaton  acrobatic  dancer.  Phil  was  amazed  at  FVs  stamina :  years  of  bono- 
.raveling  trained  him  to  keep  night  owl  hours.    See  F.  m    T.ll  The  Clouds  Rol,  By. 


There  were  no  bobbysorers  overseas,  but  Frank  was  mobbed  by  touqh  GIs  and  officers  wifh  requests  fo  sign  "short  snorters"  till  pen  ran -dry. 


WHO  SAYS  SINATRA'S  A  "SAD  SACK?"   THEY  SURE  LOVED  HIM  OVERSEAS— AND  150.000  GIs  CAN'T  BE  WRONG  ! 


One  sunny  da\  last  summer  a  big  C-54  Army 
2  litter  ship  bearing  shot-up  Yanks  from  Europe 
swooped  gently  down  to  Santa  Maria  Airport 
in  the  Azores.  A  few  hours  before,  a  C-47,  heading 
East  out  of  America,  had  sat  down  on  the  same  landing 
strip.  It  carried  a  load  of  Hollywood  stars  bound  for 
Italy  to  entertain  the  lucky  all-in-one-piece  GIs  finish- 
ing off  the  victory  job  these  wOunded  guys  had  put 
across.  Anyone  could  recognize  one  of  Hollywood's 
funniest  clowns.  Phil  Silvers.  twcV  of  its  dreamiest  song- 
and-dance  cuties.  Fav  McKenzie  and  Betty  Yeaton — and 


a  skinny,  bright-eyed,  bony-faced  guy.  who  sings  a  little 
now  and  then,  named  Frank  Sinatra. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  invalided  heroes  w.ere  lined  up 
in  rows  of  stretchers  on  the  concrete  strip,  grabbing 
fresh  air.  coffee  and  a  cigarette  to  ease  their  miseries. 
And  walking  up  and  down  the  aisles  to  hand  out  a 
first  welcome-home  were  the  Hollywood  star  bunch: 
knocking  themselves  out  to  make  it  a  good,  old- 
fashioned,  impromptu  American  clambake. 

For  Phil  Silvers  that  was  easy.  He  had  a  gag  for 
everv  occasion — a  million  of  \Continued  on  page  84) 


Introducing  Gregory  Peck,  Sr.,  the  block  that  Gregory 
Jr.'s  a  chip  off  of.  After  bowling  in  same  league  for 
25  years,  Pop  won  watch  he's  wearing  for  pin-hitting. 


The  triend  at  the  left  seems  rather  worn  out,  and  no  wonder — he's  been  keeping  up  with  the 
•athletic  Pecks  all  day!  Junior,  in  the  middle,  hugs  the  beach  ball  as  Pop  rests  up.  Pop's 
customers  at  his  drug  store  in  San  Francisco  call'him  "Doc,"  have  great  faith  in  his  advice. 


Gregorg  Peek's  dad  drove  six  hundred  miles  to 
thrill  at  Greg's  first  movie — 
and  he'd  wanted  his  son  to  be  a  doctor! 


%  i  i  The  San  Diego  High  School  principal  tapped 
|Q  his  pencil  thoughtfully  on  the  desk  top  and 
looked  at  the  earnest  man  across  from  him. 
"I'm  not  recommending  Greg  for  college,"  he  said, 
"'because  I  don't  think  he's  ready  for  it.  He's  just 
passed  his  studies  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.  He's  not 
prepared.    Another  year  in  high  school—" 

The  man  squared  his  athletic  shoulders.  He'd  ex- 
pected this  but  he'd  prepared  to  battle  when  his  boy 


dragged  into  the  house  the  night  before  and  said. 
"Dad.  I'm  in  trouble.  The  principal  won't  sign  mv 
credits  for  State  College.  Guess  maybe  I'll  quit  school 


and  go  to  work." 


"I'd  better  go  down  and  have  a  talk,  hadn't  I?"  he'd 
said  right  away,  urgency  in  his  voice. 
"Well—" 

So  there  he  was,  sitting  tense  and  worried  and  the 
principal  was  politely  saying.  "Sorrv.    Now  it  was  his 


42 


by  Jack  Wa.d*> 


Ml 

r 


»  ♦  * 


turn.    It  was  up  to  him. 

"It's  just  a  passing  phase  with  Greg,"  he 
argued.  "My  boy's  as  smart  as  anyone. 
Maybe  he  hasn't  worked  too  hard.  But  he'll 
snap  out  of  it.  Why,  he's  grown  four  inches 
in  the  past  year  and  that's  a  strain.  He's 
coming  into  manhood.  The  world's  opening 
up.  He's  confused  and  restless.  There  are 
girls,  and  parties,  and  maybe  too  much  sport. 
But,  Mr.  Principal — he's  just  got  to  go  on!" 

The  principal  stared  briefly  into  the  in- 
tense, sincere  face.  He  reached  for  his  pen 
and  signed  the  credits.  -'There,"  he  smiled. 
"Mr.  Peck,  I'll  take  a  chance  on  your  team!" 

The  man  who  told  .me  that  the  other  day 
was  Gregory  Peck,  Senior— that  is,  Gregory 
Peck's  dad.  He  finished  the  story  by  saying 
that  Greg  promptly  stacked  up  nothing  but 
Vs  on  his  San  Diego  State  College  report 
jjard  to  back  up  his  dad's  pledge  and  he 
never  backslid  once  after  that.  But  what  got 
me  was  the  way  Dad  Peck  explained  that 
crisis. 

"It  was  the  turning  point  for  me,"  he  said, 
"ft  meant  Greg  either  went  on  to  college  or 
he  quit  for  keeps.  Some  of  his  pals  were 
taking  jobs.  Greg  toyed  with  the  easy  out. 
But  I  couldn't  let  him  quit  on  me.  I  knew 
that  deep  in  his  heart  he  wanted  more  out 
of  life.  So  I  had  to  save  his  future.  I  had 
to  put  it  across." 

Today,  Gregory  Peck.  Senior-,  is  the  best 
pal.  firmest  fan  and  biggest  backer-upper  of 
Greg's~--just  as  he  always  has  been,  even 
1  hough  there  were  times  when  he  wasn't  sure 
his  hoy  was  on  the  right  track  of  life.  His 
front  room  is  starting  to  overflow  with  the 
scrap  books  and  clippings  he  keeps  of  every 
move  in  Greg's  bright  and  booming  career. 
He's  seen  "Keys  of  the  Kingdom"  ten  times. 
"Vallev  of  Decision"  eight  and  "Days  of 
Glory"  a  half  dozen.  He's  visited  all  Greg's 
Hollywood  sets.  He  gets  a  report  every 
week,  by  phone,  mail  or  in  person  on  every- 
thing Greg  does  and  he  still  hands  out  advice 
when  he  thinks  it's  due. 

Greg's  dad  has  been  by  his  side  on>  every 
milestone  of  Greg's  i Continued  on  page  79) 


Greg  was  an  indepe 
business  without  asld 
nobody   around  our 


44 


Before  baby  was  born,  the  Pecks  had  different  name  picked  out  each  week.  Tried  them 
out  on  the  dog  to  see  which  he'd  bark  at!  Baby  arrived  in  Jonathan  Week;  if  he'd  beer, 
born  a  week  later,  he'd  fiave  been  called  Barnaby.  after  pixie  comedy  strip  character. 


1 


Sunday  morning  finds  Greg  playing  baseball  on  the  corner  lot.  Keeps  in  trim 
with  weird  breakfast,  consisting  of  sherry  and  raw  egg!  Favorite  food  is 
steak — rare,  and  plenty!   He  and  wife  Greta  like  simple  clothes,  simple  life. 


45 


Tom  Brake  skipped  meats  to 
feed  his  dags  Sister  Claire  fried  when  the  ear  got 

old    ...    but  they're  not  sentimental— not  maeh! 


lire  Kennedy  holds  Casey,  and  other  daughter  Chris  snuggles  up  ogoinst  the 
Santo  Clous,  Uncle  Tom  Drake.  The  Kennedys  have  moved  in  with  Tom  because  of 
c  housing  shortage,  and  Claire's  wondering  how  she'll  ever  "unspoil"  his  nieces. 


^  #  I  suppose  I'm  the  swooniest  fan 
g  Tom  -  Drake  has  or  ever  will 
have.  If  you  ask  me;  I  think 
he's  wonderful.  But,  of  course,  I'm  a  little 
prejudiced.  I'm  his  sister,  his  only  sister. 
Tom's  my  only  brother. 

We're  about  as  close,  too,  as  a  brother 
and  sister  can  be — without  being  twins. 
I've  known  Tom,  you  see,  ever  since  I 
was  one  year  old.  I  was  born  in  April 
of  one  year  and  Buddy  (he's  always  been 
"'Buddy"  to  me)  came  along  the  next 
August.  From  the  day  he  was  born  I've 
been  crazy  about  him.  I  still  am.  I  think 
I  -always  shall  be. 

Maybe  that's  the  way  every  sister  feels 
about  her  only  brother.  But  maybe,  too, 
in  the  case  of  Buddy  and  me,  there's  a 
special  understanding;  we've  always  been 
a  team. 

Buddy  took  me  to  my  first  dance.  He 
taught  me  how  to  ride  my  first  pony, 
how  to  drive  my  first  car,  how  to  sail, 
how  to  swim,  how  to  pitch  a  baseball 
straight,  how  to  glide  down  a  mountain- 
side on  skis,  how  to  whistle  through  my 
teeth — yes — and  how  to  smoke  a  cigarette, 
out  behind  the  garage. 

Buddy  introduced  me  to  my  husband 
and  he  gave  me  away  when  I  married. 
When  I  had  my  first  baby,  Christopher, 
he  flew  East  from  Hollywood  and  out- 
paced Chris's  own  father  at  the  hospital, 
until  the  nurse  demanded,  "Say,  whose 
baby  is  this,  anyway?"  His  best  girl 
borrowed  my  baby's  name  for  her  stage 
name  and  called  her  little  girl  Christo- 
pher, too,  after  mine.  Then  Buddy  mar- 
ried Chris  Dunne,  and  the  first  person 
they  phoned  the  {Continued  on  page  67) 


At  16*  Christmas  should  be 

all  tinsel  and  holly.    But  Peter  Lawford 


was  looking  for  a  job  .  .  • 


'La'* 

%  ♦  ^  Peter  closed  the  door  of  his  room  and  looked  at  his 
IJ  watch.  Ten  o'clock.  He'd  have  a  while  to  wait.  Mother 
and  Dad  were  still  up.  What  a  strange  Christmas  Eve! 
No  parties,  no  friends,  no  gaiety.  Just  the  three  of  them  round 
the  fire,  listening  to  carols  on  the  radio  and  to  scraps  of  war  news. 
The  phony  war,  they  were  calling  it  that  year  .  .  . 

The  Lawfords  had  spent  Christmas  in  many  strange  places — on 
boats  and  trains — in  lands  far  away  from  home.  But  wherever 
it  had  found  them,  Christmas  had  always  been  merry,  in  the  tra- 
ditional spirit  of  old  England.  Tonight  Peter's  father  and  mother 
weren't  feeling  festive.  Not  that  they  made  any  to-do  about  it. 
All  Mother  had  said  was:  "Let's  just  celebrate  by  going  to  church 
on  Christmas  Day  as  usual — "  But  Peter  didn't  have  to  be  told 
that  their  thoughts  were  with  friends  and  kinfolk  in  England — - 
with  boys  they'd  known  as  babies  who  were  flying  now  with  the 
RAF. 

So  he'd  made  his  own  plans.  Alone  in  his  room,  he  checked  off 
his  purchases.  Under  the  bed,  a  bowl  of  goldfish  for  Mother.  In 
the  top  dresser  drawer,  a  tie  for  Dad.  In  the  closet,  a  tiny  tree 
from  the  dime  store,  tinsel  and  snow,  a  few  glittering  balls,  the 
chains  of  colored  paper  he'd  been  pasting  together  for  weeks,  a 
wreath  for  the  front  door.  Adding  up — he  hoped — to  a  little  holi- 
day cheer  for  Mother  and  Dad. 

He  undressed,  got  into  pajamas,  set  robe  and  slippers  handy, 
and  lay  down  to  wait. 

It  was  Christmas  of  '39.  Peter  was  {Continued  on  page  73) 


Big  Abigail  Putnam 


49 


'^*^#^*  Christmas,  1945,  will  find  a 

•j  huge,  tinsel-draped,  light- 
strung  tree  in  the  newly- 
decorated  Dana  Andrews  house.  It  will 
find  David,  Kathy,  and  Stephen  Todd 
hanging  up  stockings  beside  (maybe) 
Mary's  nylons,  and  Dana's  Argyle 
p|aids.  It  will  find  friends  dropping  in 
to  exclaim  over  stacks  of  gifts,  to  warm 
themselves  by  quaffing  a  Christmas 
bowl  and  sharing  the  Yuletide  mistle- 
toe. There  will  be  the  scent  of  ever- 
green and  of  turkey  in  the  kitchen; 
there  will  be  laughter  and  song,  and 
jubilation  over  the  peaceful  world  and 
the  hopeful  sky. 

And  at  the  end  of  the  blissful  day, 
Dana  will  slide  his  arm  around  Mary's 
shoulder,  and — grinning  down  at  her 
— he  will  say,  "Some  difference  from 
our  nine  dollar  Christmas,  huh?" 

The  nine  dollar  Christmas  was  the 
second  since  Dana  and  Mary's  mar- 
riage, and  it  was  a  meager  affair;  Dana 
was  under  contract,  and  working  in  a 
picture,  but  his  salary  was  moderate 
and  he  was  saving  every  possible 
penny  to  pay  back  those  who  had  be- 
lieved in  him  and  backed  him  during 
his  building  years. 

During  the  first  week  in  December, 
he  said  across  the  breakfast  table  to 
Mary,  "Look,  darling,  let's  be  sensible 
about  this.  You  and  I  want,  most  of 
all,  to  be  out  of  debt.  That  would  be 
the  swellest  Christmas  gift  two  people 
like  us  could  have.  So,  let's  hang  on 
to  our  dough — let's  agree  on  a  price 
that  each  of  us  {Continued  on  page  99) 


by  Fredda  Dudley 


Now  that  son  Stephen  is  an  "old  >nan  of  almost"  one  year,  Mary  was  able  to 
leave  him  and  accompany  Dana  on  location  for  "Canyon  Passage."  Busy  D. 
was  borrowed  by  Universal  from  Sam  Goldwyn,  whose  turn  it  is  to  have  him  next. 


With  all  my 


love.  Uanm."  reads  the  in- 


THAT  MAN  OF  MINE 


scrip  Hon  om  Mara 


Andreus'  bracelet  from 


that  mam  of  hers  . 


CHRISTMAS  TIME,  1945! 


PARTIES  ARE  DRESS-UP  AGAIN — 


AND  HERE  ARE  DREAM 


DRESSES,  DESIGNED 


FOR  YOU  PARTY  GOING  TEEN 


AGERS  BY  EMILY  WILKENS 


■  Snow  on  your  eyelashes  and  a 
funny  sort  of  catch  in  your  throat. 
Christmastime,  1945  —  and  this 
year  when  they  say  "Peace  on 
Earth"  they  mean  it!  A  gal's  cup 
runneth  over.  The  boys  are  home 
and  turkeys  are  back,  and  whee! 
parties  are  dress-up  again. 

Parties  are  dress-up  again  .  .  . 
gee,  what  beautiful  words.  And 
because  it's  the  first  peacetime 
Christmas  in  four  years,  because 
maybe  its  your  first  grown-up 
Christinas  ever,  we're  dedicating 
this  month's  sparkling  fashion 
pages  to  you,  all  you  cunning  teen- 
aged  ones.  Ever^see  such  spectacu- 
lar stuff?  Know  why?  Each  of 
these  honeys  was  designed  by  that 
very  cute,  very  young  Emily  Wil- 
kens,  the  teen  queen's  Schiaparelli. 
She  won  the  1945  Coty  Fashion 
award  and  the  Neiman-Marcus 
Fashion  award,  which  means  she 
designs  like  crazy,  and  that  we  can 
see. 

'Member  when  practically  all 
sub-deb  formals  were  pink  taffeta 
with  an  indefinable  never-been - 
kissed  look  about  them?  Emily's 
fixed  all  that,  viz.  these  irre- 
sistibles.  Obviously,  they're  not  to 
be  had  for  a  song,  but  consider- 
ing the  I  Continued  on  page  93) 


>|4aTcH  GUY  MADISON! 


%  ♦  ( We  feel  that  this  second  in  Hedda 
^  Hopper  s  monthly  series  on  "The 
young  actor  most  likely  to  become 
a  star"  has  an  extra-added  significance.  Be- 
cause, this  issue,  Guy  Madison  is  receiving  one 
of  Miss  Hopper's  handsome  Gruen  Watch 
Awards  not  only  for  being  the  outstanding 
new  star  of  the  month  —  but  of  the  year! 
Quite  a  thing.  And  don't  forget  to  watch  for 
the  next  ten  monthly  aivards,  when  Miss  Hop- 
per comes  up  with  some  really  top-notch  sur- 
prise choices. — T.he  Editors. ) 

Two  scenes  in  David  0.  Selznick's  "Since 
You  Went  Away" — and  you  kids  started 
cheering  for  Madison,  the  screen  find. 

Two  remarks  at  the  Brown  Derby — and  I 
started  cheering  for  Madison,  the  guy. 

We'd  ordered  lunch.  The  young  man  wasn't 
very  hungry,  so  he  thought  he!d  just  have  a 
bowl  of  chicken  soup,  veal  cutlets  with  rice, 
a  large  green  salad  and  a  glass  of  milk.  (I'd 
enjoy  watching  him  eat  when  he  is  hungry.) 
Then  he  looked  around — 

"This  is  the  second  time  I've  been  to  the 
Derby—" 

I  liked  the  matter-of-fact  way  he  said  it. 
Some  boys  would  have  tried  to  play  the  sophis- 
ticate, some  would  have  been  impressed  by 
this  hangout  of  the  stars.  This  quiet-voiced 
kid  wasn't  impressed,  but  he  was  interested, 
and  it  never  entered  his  head  to  pretend  other- 
wise. Aha,  thought  Diogenes  Hopper,  an  hon- 
est man! 

Just  then  Donald  Crisp  came  along  and  en- 
gaged me  in  a  little  (Continued  on  page  94 ) 


BY  HE0°A  HOPPER 


Hedda  names  your  Guy 
"most  promising  newcomer  of  1945"  with 
a  big  cheer  for  his  talent— and  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye  'cause  he's  cute 


Here's  our  straight-from-the-hostess'-mouth  report  on  the  poll 

party — including  romance  talk  on  Van  J. 


LLA  PARSONS' 


With  Maria  Montez'  expected  baby  no  longer  a  secret,  the 
Aumonts  spent  hours  discussing  its  sex.  Pierre  wants  a 
son,  but  Maria  (who's  still  movie  making)  just  wants  a  baby. 


Hostess  rarsons  was  slightly  amazed,  but  thrillea  ot  taary 
Cooper's  news  that  he's  grooming  his  76-year  old  mother  for 
a  bit  part  in  the  new  movie,    "Breakfast  in  Hollywood.'1 


B  Maybe  I  should  change  the  title  of  this  department  to 
"Party  News"  this  month.  We've  just  had  a  big  time 
out  here  welcoming  Ye  Ed  Albert  Delacorte  and  his 
his  father,  George  Delacorte,  the  publisher  of  MODERN 
SCREEN,  and  whether  a  hostess  should  talk  about  her 
own  party  or  not,  I  wouldn't  know — but,  anyway,  that's 
our  subject  for  today. 

In  addition  to  the  two  guests  of  honor,  our  dinner 
dance  also  feted  the  top  winners  on  the  magazine's 
popularity  poll  who  were  all  on  hand  with  victory  smiles 
on  their  faces — plus  about  300  other  top  movie  people. 

Van  Johnson  was  an  extra-special  guest — for  Van  had 
won  MODERN  SCREEN'S  yearly  popularity  poll.  I  helped 
Albert  present  the  fair-haired  boy  with  a  handsome  bust 
of  himself,  done  by  Donald  De  Lue.  president  of  the 
American  Sculptors'  Society.  De  Lue  has  achieved  a  mar- 
velous likeness  of  Van,  and  I  saw  a  tear  in  Van's  eye 
when  Al  made  the  presentation  saying,  "The  bust  will  last 
a  lifetime — just  as  will  the  affection  and  friendship  of  the 
Van  Johnson  fans."  He's  a  nice  boy  who  deserves  all 
the  good  things  coming  his  way — and  he  was  frankly 
delighted  over  this  tribute  paid  him  by  his  fans  and  the 
readers  of  . MODERN  SCREEN.   (Continued  on  page  58) 


"Hi"  Hodiak  table-hopped  over  to  ex-fiancee  Anne  Baxter  (she'd  just 
been  babbling  fluent  French  with  the  Aumonts),  kept  the  3-cornered 
talk  with  Al  going  with  rave  references  to  his  own  jive  disc  collection. 


T£MPT(m...1ctPe*J&! 


ALLURING...  yet 
too  anxious  to 
help  him  forget 
his  beloved  wife 
. . .  and  his  search 
for  her  murderer 
. . .  the  man  he'd 
trailed  down  to 
Buenos  Aires! 


The  NEW  VICK  P0W6LL . . .  rougher, 
touqher  than  m  '/Murder,  My  Sweet" 


R  K  O 
RADIO 


Produced  by 

Adrian  scon 

Directed  by 
EDWARD  DMYT8YK 

Scre«n  Play  by 
JOHN  PAXTON 


57 


INFORMATION  DESK 

(Questions  of  the  Month) 

by  Beverly  Linet 

Hi: 

The  best  way  to  pick  up  that  exclu- 
sive into  you  want  is,  of  course,  from 
the  stars  themselves.  And  though  I 
can't  get  to  Hollywood  every  day, 
celebrities  do  come  to  New  York.  Ran 
into  TOMMY  DJX  at  Cafe  Zanzibar 
where  most  of  the  stars  go,  and  he 
confided  that  he  left  M-G-M,  and  is 
devoting  his  time  to  stage  and  radio 
and  record  making.  A  visit  from 
Peggy,  ELLIOT  REID'S  lovely  sister, 
brings  the  news  that  he  is  still  in  the 
Navy,  but  can  be  reached  at  Para.  Via 
long  distance  phone  comes  word  from 
DON  TAYLOR  that  he  is  sitting  tight 
waiting  for  his  discharge,  and  will  re- 
sume pic  making  at  M-G-M  then.  The 
postman  brings  a  special  delivery  from 
ROSS  HUNTER  with  data  'bout  his 
latest,  "Secret  Story,"  with  LOREN 
TIN  DELL  (the  Lt.  in  "Over  21"). 
He  sure  welcomes  your  super  letters. 
How  I  can  go  on!!  But  ifs  your  turn 
now,  so  give  with  the  questions,  sent 
to:  Beverly  Linet,  Information  Desk, 
MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Madison 
Avenue,  N.  Y.  C.  16  .  .  .  together  with 
a  stamped,  self -addressed  (with  zone 
number )  envelope. 

Stuff  and  stuff — 

Berv. 

Savage  Di  L.,  N.  J.  .  .  .  MAY  I  HAVE  THE 
WORDS  TO  THE  POEMS  IN  THE  FOL- 
LOWING PIX? 

"YOU  CAME  ALONG" 
He  giveth  you  your  wings  to  fly. 
And  breathe  a  purer  air  on  high. 
And  careth  for  you  everywhere, 
Who  tor  yourself,  so  little  care.  .  .  . 

Longfellow 

"THRILL  OF  A  ROMANCE" 
1  arise  from  dreams  of  thee, 
In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night, 
When  the  winds  are  breathing  low, 
And  the  stars  are  shining  bright. 
1  arise  from  dreams  of  thee. 
And  the  spirit  in  my  feet,  ■ 
Hath  led  me  from  who  knows  how 
To  thy  chamber  window,  sweet. 

Shelley's  "Indian  Serenade" 

Milton  Stiftel,  Queens  .  .  .  WHO 
PLAYED  THE  FOLLOWING 
PARTS  IN  "PRIDE  OF  THE  MA- 
RINES?" Irish  was  Don  McQuire; 
Johnny,  Tom  D' Andrea;  Doctor,  Rory 
Mallinson,  Boy  on  Crutches,  Warren 
Douglas.  All  at  Warners.  Young  law- 
yer was  Mark  Stevens  at  20th-Fox. 

Kerry  Klein,  B'klyn  SOME  INFO 
PLEASE  ABOUT  JOHN  HEATH, 
WHO  STOOD  OUT  AS  THE 
YOUNG  CRIPPLED  VET  IN 
"SINCE  YOU  WENT  AWAY"  .  .  . 
AND  THE  NAME  OF  THE  YOUNG 
AIR  CADET  IN  THE  "I  BEGGED 
HER"  SCENE  OF  "ANCHORS 
AWEIGH."  John  Heath,  a  coming 
star  of  tomorrow,  was  born  in  Seattle, 
Wash..  March  28,  1918.  He  is  6  ft., 
168  lbs.,  and  has  brown  hair  and  blue 
eyes  and  is  wonderfully  single.  Most 
recent  pix  —  "Tonight  and  Every 
Night,"  "Thirty  Seconds,"  etc.  Scored 
on  B'way  in  "Boy  Who  Lived  Twice" 
and  "The  Would  Be  Gentleman." 
Likes  "The  Robe;"  works  of  Edgar 
Allen  Poe,  Laurence  Olivier,  Bette 
Davis.  Write  to  him  at  the  Wm. 
Morris  Agency,  1270  Ave.  of  Amer- 
icas, N.  Y .  for  a  pic.  David  Holt 
was  the  cadet.  He's  18  now.  Write 
him  c/o  M.  Gertz,  8979  Sunset,  Los 
Angeles,  California. 


It  was  a  helluva  party,  and  I'm  going  to 
say  so  right  out  loud  in  print.  But  being  a 
woman,  and  the  hostess,  I  want  to  take  you 
behind  the  scenes  and  tell  you  a  bit  of  what 
went  on  beforehand. 

My  house  in  Beverly  Hills  is  pretty  big,  but 
not  big  enough  for  300  (what  home  is?).  So 
I  had  the  idea  of  covering  my  garden  with  a 
tent  top  which  would  have  cellophane  sides, 
then  putting  down  a  floor  for  dancing  with 
about  100  white  tables  with  matching  chairs 
surrounding  the  dance  floor.  My  own  flower 
beds  are  very  pretty,  but  still,  I  thought  it 
would  be  extra  exotic  to  have  long  stemmed 
American  Beauties  planted  outside  for  the 
evening — they  would  look  so  lovely  through 
the  cellophane  curtains.  A  blue  spotlight  (sup- 
posedly moonlight)  would  illuminate  the  ex- 
terior— just  in  case  there  wasn't  a  real  moon. 

Guess  that's  what  I  got  for  asking  for  the 
moon — for  two  days  before  the  big  night  it 
clouded  up  and  looked  as  though  it  were 
going  to  rain  like  thunder. 

So  I'll  let  you  in  on  a  little  secret.  For  three 
mornings  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  stick  my 
head  out  the  window  to  see  how  the  fates 
were  treating  me.  Came  the  day  of  the 
party — came  the  regular  morning  clouds.  I 
looked  at  the  beautiful  tent  and  almost  dam- 
pened it  with  a  couple  of  tears  of  my  own. 

But  either  the  Delacortes,  the  poll  winners 
or  Yours  Truly  must  live  right — because  at 
noon — out  came  Old  Sol,  and  while  we  never 
rated  a  real  moon — the  blue  spotlights  did 
their  shining  just  as  well. 

By  six  p.  m.  the  small  army  of  caterers 
was  on  hand,  the  musicians  in  blue  jackets 
were  ready  to  strike  up  "California,  Here 
I  Come,"  the  long  buffet  table  was  adorned 
with  ice  figures  standing  guard  over  the 
foods.   We  were  ready  to  go — and  we  did! 

The  first  guests  were  my  honor  guests.  Al 
and  George,  and  I  don't  feel  a  bit  apologetic 
about  callirtg  Al's  father  George,  because  he 
is  so  young  looking.  Al,  I  have  known  for  a 
long  time,  and  I  think  I  have  told  you  before 
how  much  I  admire  this  young  editor  who 
has  made  a  howling  success  of  his  magazine 
because  he  chats  with  his  readers.  But  I'm 
thinking  seriously  of  kidnapping  his  father 
and  keeping  him  right  here  in  California. 

George  Delacorte  is  a  charming  man  who 
will  always  be  young  because  he  thinks 
young.  With  these  two  men,  father  and  son, 
behind  the  scenes — no  wonder  MODERN 
SCREEN  has  concentrated  on  the  young  play- 
ers of  the  screen  and  has  catered  to  the 
readers  who  want  to  know  about  them. 

So  it  was  appropriate  that  one  of  the  first 
guests  to  arrive  was  very  young  Elizabeth  Tay- 
Iot,  age  thirteen,  making  her  party  debut  in  a 
black  velvet  dress  bought  especially  for  the 
occasion.  She  is  a  lovely  child  with  a  face  like 
a  flower  and  her  young  mother  is  pretty 
enough  to  be  in  the  movies  herself. 

Another  early  arrival  was  the  idol  of 
American  boyhood.  Gene  Autry,  just  out  of 
uniform.  Of  course.  Gene  was  with  his  pretty 
wife  who  looked  especially  well  in  an  Adrian 
dress  I  had  admired  and  thought  I  would 
like  to  own  until  I  remembered  the  income 
tax  installment  j-ust  around  the  corner. 

And  then  they  started  coming  so  thick  and 


fast  that  I  had  to  hear  all  the  "ahhhhs"  from 
the  women  and  the  "Welcome  home"  shouts 
from  his  pals  before  I  could  see  that  it  was 
Hollywood's  pride  and  joy,  war  hero  Colonel 
Jimmy  Stewart,  struggling  through  the  crowd. 
Jimmy  was  staying  with  Frances  and  Henry 
Fonda,  and  he  came  with  them. 

What  a  reunion  it  was  when  he  saw  Rosa- 
lind Russell!  It  was  his  first  meeting  with 
her  since  he  returned  home,  and  you  remem- 
ber how  many  movies  they  made  together  at 
M-G-M?  It  has  been  years  since  they  have 
seen  each  other  and  these  very  good  friends 
got  over  in  a  corner  to  talk  over  all  the  things 
that  have  happened  in  the  meanwhile. 

Jimmy  is  very  thin,  more  mature  and  grayer 
than  when  you  saw  him  last.  You  can't  go 
through  what  that  boy  has  gone  through 
without  it  showing  on  you.  "But  I  am  getting 
so  much  sleep  at  the  Fonda's."  he  laughed. 
"I  think  I  put  on  a  pound  every  time  the 
alarm  clock  goes  off." 

"Why  an  alarm  clock  now  you  are  ouf?" 
gasped  Roz. 

"Just  habit,"  grinned  Jimmy  with  that  same 
rare  old  charm  of  his.  He  was  delighted  with 
the  way  Roz  looked  because  he  had  heard  of 
her  long  illness  and  the  time  she  had  spent 
in  the  hospital.  Roz  does  sparkle  these  days 
— she  is  so  happy  to  feel  like  herself  again. 

I  was  very  amused  to  see  young  Don  Tay- 
lor, the  boy  who  played  in  "Winged  Victory." 
and  who  is  under  contract  to  M-G-M,  walk  up 
to  boss  Louis  B.  Mayer  and  say:  "I  work  for 
you  but  I  bet  you  can't  tell  who  I  am.  This 
uniform  is  the  real  thing."  He  was  in  his  Air 
Corps  garb  and  believe  me,  he  is  a  handsome 
lad.  For  a  split  second,  Mayer  smiled  and 
said,  "Of  course,  you  are  Don  Taylor.  When 
are  you  coming  back  to  work?"  I'll  say  this 
for  L.  B. — he's  marvelous  at  a  party.  He  can 
rhumba  with  the  best  of  them  and  never 
misses  a  dance. 

Being  a  reporter  as  well  as  a  hostess,  I 
watched  Van  Johnson  and  Sonja  Henie  with 
special  interest.  Van  doesn't  often  show  as 
marked  a  preference  for  any  girl  as  he  has 
seemed  to  for  Sonja.  I  can't  say  they  were 
left  with  much  privacy.  Everytime  they 
started  to  move  toward  a  table  for  two.  or  a 
quiet  spot,  someone  hailed  one  or  the  other. 

Among  the  players  who  have  captured  the 
interest  of  this  magazine  and  who  was  also  a 
guest,  was  Dane  Clark  who.  'tis  said,  will 
be  given  all  the  John  Garfield  roles  at  War- 
ners'. I  must  admit  he  is  one  of  the  newcomers 
I  do  not  know  very  well — but  we  had  a  nice 
talk  and  I  noticed  none  of  the  cockiness  and 
brashness  of  which  he  has  been  accused. 

Hurd  Hatfield  brought  Pat  Kirkwood.  the 
British  actress,  and  I  understand  this*  is  a 
real  romance. 

Anne  Baxter,  with  her  hand  all  done  up 
in  a  black  satin  bandage  with  sequins,  of 
all  things,  was  escorted  by  Dick  Dickstein.  a 
Hollywood  agent.  I  quickly  looked  to  see 
whom  John  Hodiak  brought — but  Anne's 
former  love  was  all  by  his  lonesome.  Talk  is 
that  he  is  still  in  love  with  Anne. 

Bill  Eythe.  who  carried  the  torch  for  this 
Baxter  girl  for  so  long,  was  all  devotion  to 
Margaret  Whiting  at  the  party.  I  shouldn't  be 
(Continued  on  page  62) 


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★ 

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Your  ENCHANTRESS  Home  Wave  Kit  is  in  a  class  by  itself!  It's  a  truly 
professional -type  home-kit  .  .  .  the  only  one  which  includes  every  cleansing 
and  beautifying  aid  important  to  perfection  in  hair  grooming  .  . .  from  sham- 
poo to  wave  set  in  addition  to  Cold  Wave  Permanent  ingredients  identical  to 
those  used  by  better  beauty  shops  and  cosmeticians  for  expensive  Cold  Waves. 


1AIL  THIS  COUPON  TODAY 


neither  hail  nor  sleet 


WINTER  WEATHER  CAN'T  COARS 


■  If  Jack  Frost  has  been  doing  harsh 
things  to  your  complexion,  take  lessons 
from  the  movie  stars  who  know  how  to 
make  the  gruff  old  fellow  sit  up  and 
purr.  The  film  darlings  know  that  a 
cracked,  dry  or  chapped  face  doesn't 
look  glamorous  in  a  movie  close-up.  So, 
in  Hollywood,  face  creams  and  lotions 
are  as  popular  as  Academy  Oscars. 

A  creamy  lotion  is  grand  for  quick 
clean-up  jobs.  Doused  on  cotton,  it 
skims  off  soil  and  faded  makeup  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  describe.  Good 
news  for  working  lassies.  The  other  soil 
chasers  are  the  two  kinds  of  cleansing 
cream — liquefying  and  the  cold  cream 
type.  Liquefying  cream  melts  on  the  skin 
and  the  dirt  slides  off  with  a  flick  of  a 
tissue.  It's  best  for  average  or  oily 
skinned  girls.  And,  children,  it's  in- 
tended solely  for  cleansing,  not  to  double 
as  an  emollient  or  powder  base.  Cold 
cream  keeps  its  solid  consistency,  and 
picks  up  the  dust  and  makeup  somewhat 
as  snow  absorbs  dirt  specks. 

Emollient  or  night  creams  are  de- 
signed for  but  one  purpose  ...  to  make 
your  skin  smooth  as  Sinatra's  crooning. 
They're  especially  welcome  for  com- 
plexions that  are  rough  and  red,  or 
tender  and  super-sensitive. 

And  if  your  one-time  peaches  and 
cream  complexion  has  turned  muddy 
and  just  generally  discouraged  looking, 
you'll  be  happy  to  learn  about  bleach 
creams.  They  (Continued  on  page  83) 


Face  winter  with  a  daisy-fresh  complexion. 
Joan  Leslie's  in  "Too  Young  To  Know,"  but  she 

knows  the  importance  of  skin  care! 


YOUR  COMPLEXION  IF  IT'S  PRO 
TECTED  WITH  CREAMS  AND  LOTIONS.  HERE'S 
AN  ARTICLE  THAT  BRINGS  YOU  HOLLYWOOD  NEWS  OF  FROST-TIME 
SKIN  CARE.    •   BY  CAROL  CARTER 


60 


/ 


■^■{W^T  ^lom  at&A^v  ~?v^u(  l?£tC<r*vA. 

L(i&  C|W»&  OjSWu  %wdA  a  ^ift/jAA^vf 


TRUSHAY 


"Beforehand" 
Lotion 


PRODUCT  OF  BRISTOL-MYERS 


GOOD  NEWS 

(Continued  from  page  58) 


pew n>ma&- 


1945! 

■  It's  really  very  simple  how  we  work  it, 
our  Modern  Screen  Poll.  See,  no 
strings,  no  wires,  just  you,  our  readers, 
licking  a  three -cent  stamp  and  making 
stars  out  of  people.  As  you've  noticed, 
each  month  .we  run  a  little  box  in  the 
magazine  headed  "FREE  OFFER!"  where 
we  ask  you,  pretty  please,  to  list  the  names 
of  stars  you'd  like  to  read  about  in  future 
issues.  And  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  But 
after  you've  done  your  stint,  well,  that's 
where  the  tough  job  begins — tabulating 
your  thousands  of  votes.  Because  after  all 
returns  are  assembled  (and  with  over 
1,500,000  readers,  that's  quite  a  job)  re- 
sults go  to  eds  Al  Delacorte  and  Henry 
Malmgreen,  who  mull  over,  the  durned 
thing  for  frenzied  weeks  and  then  calmly 
hand  out  assignments  to  our  Hollywood 
writers  on  the  very  people  you  fans  have 
shown  you  want  to  read  about. 

What  could  be  neater?  You  spot  an 
actor,  wing  the  info  on  to  us  and  we  go 
about  our  business  of  satisfying  your 
curiosity  on  when,  where  and  especially, 
who.  Which  explains  how  come  Modern 
Screen  was  the  first  magazine  to  spot 
Van  Johnson  and  June  Allyson*  and  Pete 
Lawford  when  they  were  only  gleams  in 
Metro's  casting  department's  eye. 

As  you've  read  in  Al  Delacorte's  edi- 
torial on  page  21,  we  threw  a  very  gala, 
very  big  party  for  our  top  50  poll  stars  at 
Louella  Parson's  home,  with  all  the  inside 
dope — and  pictures,  8  pages  of  'em — re- 
ported to  you  on  pages  24  to  31  in  this 
issue.  We  hope  you  like  the  pictures,  we 
know  you  love  the  stars.  And  just  to  give 
you  a  clear-cut  idea  of  exactly  who  is  lead- 
ing the  poll  and  who  our  honored  guests 
were,  here  is  a  list  of  the  50  top  people 
on  the  Modern  Screen  poll  for  1945. 


1- 

— Van  Johnson 

26- 

-Clark  Gable 

2- 

—Frank  Sinatra 

27- 

-Jeanne  Crain 

3- 

—June  Allyson 

28- 

-Dick  Haymes 

4- 

—Alan  Ladd 

29- 

-Roy  Rogers 

5- 

—Peter  Lawford 

30- 

-Margaret  O'Brien 

6- 

-Robert  Walker 

31- 

-Ronald  Reagan 

7- 

—Dana  Andrews 

32- 

-Gene  Kelly 

8- 

—Tom  Drake 

33- 

-Judy  Garland 

9- 

—Guy  Madison 

34- 

-Bob  Hution 

10- 

—Gregory  Peck 

35- 

-Ingrid  Bergman 

1 1- 

—Cornel  Wilde 

36- 

-Diana  Lynn 

12- 

—Dennis  Morgan 

37- 

-Elizabeth  Taylor 

13- 

— Lon  McCallister 

38- 

-Roddy  MacDowall 

14 — Dane  Clark 

39- 

-John  Hodiak 

15- 

— Lana  Turner 

40- 

-Kurt  Kteuger 

16- 

—Lauren  Bacall 

41- 

-Joseph  Cotten 

17- 

—Shirley  Temple 

42- 

-William  Eythe 

18- 

—Betty  Grable 

43- 

-Gloria  DeHaven 

19- 

— Bing  Crosby 

44- 

-Sonny  Tufts 

20- 

—John  Payne 

45- 

-Tommy  Dix 

21- 

— Turhan  Bey 

46- 

-Jerome  Courtland 

22- 

—Helmut  Dantine 

47- 

-Hurd  Hatfield 

23- 

— Bob  Mitchum 

48- 

-Mark  Daniels 

24 — Esther  Williams 

49- 

-Richard  Jaeckel 

25- 

— Don  Taylor 

50- 

-Richard  Crane 

at  all  surprised  if  this  isn't  a  marriage — prov- 
ing that  falling  in  love  with  Anne  isn't  fatal — 
even  if  John  Hodiak  does  think  so. 

Peter  Lawford,  who  is  crowding  every  poll 
for  top  honors,  sat  with  Keenan  and  Evie 
Wynn.  Lawford  seems  to  occupy  the  place 
in  the  Wynns'  friendship  once  held  by  Van 
Johnson.  Van  spoke  to  his  former  pals  cor- 
dially enough,  but  they  did  not  sit  together  at 
dinner. 

An  eyeful,  believe  me,  was  Jeanne  Crain, 
who  had  on  one  of  the  brightest  green  dresses 
I  have  ever  seen — and  one  of  the  smartest. 
Only  a  gal  with  Jeanne's  perfect  coloring, 
clear  skin  and  reddish  hair,  would  have  dared 
to  have  worn  such  a  color — but  on  her  it 
looked  terrific.  She  was  with  Rory  Calhoun — 
and  if  you  ask  me — he's  the  boy  to  watch  in 
the  Crain  romantic  sweepstakes. 

Claudette  Colbert  started  tests  for  her  new 
picture,  "Thanks  God,  I'll  Take  It  From  Here" 
the  next  day,  so  she  and  Dr.  Joel  Pressman, 
who  is  just  out  of  uniform,  didn't  stay  very 
long.  Claudette  told  me  that  as  soon  as  she 
finishes  this  movie  she'll  go  to  New  York  for 
a  three  months'  vacation  with  her  husband. 
Brother,  does  she  hate  the  title  of  the  movie — 
and  I'm  betting  it  will  be  changed. 

I'll  let  you  in  on  something:  A  part  has 
been  written  for  me  in  Claudette's  movie  and 
by  the  time  this  appears  in  print,  I'll  probably 
be  emoting  before  the  cameras! 

But  right  now,  the  blue  feather  on  Ann 
Sothern's  chapeau  was  claiming  more  of  my 
attention  than  my  approaching  screen  career. 
Annie  was  dead  tired,  having  come  straight 
from  her  radio  show  with  her  good  looking 
husband,  Robert  Sterling.  Yep,  he's  another 
one  of  our  good  actors  just  out  of  uniform  and 
ready  to  report  back  to  M-G-M. 

Betty  Hutton,  in  a  stunning  black  dress  and 
still  radiant  with  happiness,  arrived  late  with 
her  bridegroom,  Ted  Briskin.  "This  is  the  first 
party  we've  been  invited  to  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.," 
Betty  whispered,  "and  I'm  so  glad  it's  a  big 
affair!"  Betty  is  still  showing  Ted  off  and 
admits  without  a  blush  she  thinks  he  is  the 
handsomest  man  she  ever  saw. 

Another  very  handsome  gent,  Dana  An- 
drews, was  nice  enough  to  tell  me  that  my 
party  looked  like  fairyland  after  the  bitter 
cold  he  and  the  "Canyon  Passage"  unit  had 
gone  through  up  in  Oregon.  "Everybody 
kidded  the  socks  off  me  playing  the  big  out- 
door type  when  my  blood  is  so  thin  I  really 
needed  long  red  underwear,"  Dana  laughed. 

Young  Guy  Madison  who,  that  day,  had 
been  given  his  discharge  from  the  Navy  and 
who  has  a  contract  with  David  Seiznick  com- 
ing up,  couldn't  keep  the  big  smile  off  his 
face.  Guy  made  only  one  film,  "Since  You 
Went  Away,"  before  he  went  into  the  service 
— but  what  a  hit  he  was. 

"Rockie"  Cooper,  Gary's  stunning  wife, 
who  is  easily  one  of  the  best  dressed  women 
in  Hollywood,  kept  looking  for  Gary,  who  was 
constantly  being  dragged  away  to  be  photo- 
graphed. Gary,  good  natured  as  always,  left 


his  dinner  time  after  time  and  posed  wit  a  the 
guests — among  them  Andrew  Jergens,  head 
of  the  Woodbury  Company  (plug)  and  the 
man  who  pays  my  radio  salary. 

In  the  (by  this  time)  throng,  I  saw  Robert 
Walker  just  briefly.  He  doesn't  look  very 
happy  and  I  don't  believe  he  stayed  very 
long.  Ida  Lupino  and  Helmut  Dantine  came 
together  and  stuck  like  glue.  Yes,  he  has 
buried  the  torch  he  carried  so  long  for  his 
former  wife,  Gwen  Anderson,  and  now  seems 
madly  in  love  with  Ida. 

When  I  finally  spotted  cute  little  Diana  Lynn 
with  Henry  Willson,  I  felt  like  asking  her  to 
play  the  piano — but  by  this  time  people  were 
sitting  on  the  piano. 

Maria  Montez,  breathless  as  usual,  kept 
saying  over  and  over  to  everyone  she  spoke 
to,  "I  am  very  busy  these  days.  I'm  having  a 
baby  and  starting  a  picture."  Well,  that's 
enough  to  keep  anybody  occupied! 

The  Dick  Haymes'  are  certainly  the  quietest 
guests  I  ever  had  under  my  roof — or  should 
I  say,  my  tent?  Since  their  reconciliation, 
they  seem  more  devoted  than  ever  and  sat 
at  a  table  near  the  dance  floor  holding  hands 
most  of  the  evening.  Dick  pulled  a  very  funny 
crack.  Someone  asked  him  if  he  resented  bring 
asked  to  sing  at  social  affairs.  "Nope,"  re- 
torted Dick,  "but  sometimes  the  guests  do!" 

The  Robert  Youngs,  who  were  expecting 
their  fourth  child  any  minute,  startled  every- 
one by  saying  that  Mrs.  Young  would  prob- 
ably drive  straight  from  the  party  to  the  hos- 
pital! They  were  kidding,  of  course,  because 
the  little  girl  came  a  week  later. 

One  of  the  most  distinguished  and  interest- 
ing guests  of  them  all  was  Major  Thatch  who 
came  with  Commander  and  Mrs.  Milton  Bren. 
He  was  on  the  battleship  Missouri  with  Gen- 
eral MacArthur  when  the  Japanese  signed  the 
peace  terms,  and  his  description  of  the  de- 
feated warriors  held  us  spellbound.  Darryl 
and  Virginia  Zanuck  and  Elsa  Maxwell  hung 
on  to  his  every  word.  In  fact,  Elsa  later  de- 
scribed it  all  on  her  radio  show. 

The  Nicholas  Schencks  came  with  Joseph 
Schenck  which  meant  that  the  big  boss  of 
M-G-M  and  the  big  boss  of  20th  Century-Fox 
were  present  and  having  a  happy  evening. 
So  were  Sam  Goldwyn  and  his  charming 
wife,  Walter  Wanger,  Mervyn  LeRoy  and 
Jack  Benny  with  his  Mary. 

David  Seiznick,  who  never  fails  to  arrive 
late,  came  just  as  the  orchestra  was  playing 
"Home  Sweet  Home."  Well,  maybe  Anita 
Colby,  the  glamor  girl  who  is  fashion  direc- 
tor for  David,  told  him  about  the  party.  She 
came  with  Noel  Busch,  magazine  writer. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the 
crowd  had  begun  to  thin  out,  I  was  a  tired 
but  pleased  gal. 

Hollywood  had  just  said  a  big  "Hello"  to 
the  Delacortes  and  all  their  poll-winning  stars 
in  a  way  that  made  me  very  happy.  Wish 
you  all  could  have  been  with  us. 

But,  anyway,  please  contiiue  to  write  me 
letters.  I  love  to  hear  from  you. 


Are  you  in  the  know  ? 


How  to  belittle  a  too-big  foot? 

J7|  Wear  shoes  wrth  instep  interest 

I   j  Choose  cut-out  toes 

I   I  S/iun  fussy,  light-hued  shoes 

To  "shorten"  king-size  tootsies,  mind  all 
three  admonitions  above.  Choose  shoes  with 
a  bow  (or  suchlike)  at  the  instep.  Go  in  for 
open-toed,  sling  back  types.  But  not  for  you 
the  over-elaborate  light  hued  models — they 
make  your  foot  conspicuous.  Be  as  cautious 
in  choosing  sanitary  protection.  Remember, 
Kotex  is  the  napkin  that  is  really  inconspicu- 
ous, for  those  special  flat  tapered  ends  of 
Kotex  don't  show!  The  fact  is,  Kotex'  flat 
pressed  ends  actually  prevent  revealing  out- 
lines. So  there's  no  worrisome  "give-away" 
bulge  with  Kotex! 


Is  this  the  technique  for  a — 

I  I  Wafer  wave 
□  Pin  curl  wave 
I   I  Finger  wave 

You,  too,  can  set  a  pin  curl  wave!  Starting  at 
forehead,  moisten  small  strand  of  hair  with 
water  or  wave  lotion.  Hold  strand  taut  .  .  . 
wind  "clockwise"  in  flat  coil  from  ends  to 
scalp,  and  pin  flat.  Alternate  the  winding  di- 
rection of  each  row.  It's  smart  to  learn  little 
grooming  aids.  And  to  discover,  on  problem 
days,  how  Kotex  aids  your  daintiness,  your 
charm.  Now,  Kotex  contains  a  deodorant. 
Locked  inside  each  Kotex,  the  deodorant 
can't  shake  out — for  it's  processed  right  into 
every  pad,  not  merely  dusted  on!  A  Kotex 
safeguard  for  loveliness. 


Do  you  think  she's  carrying  a— 

□  Ditty  bag 
I   I  Knitting  bag 
I   I  Bicycle  bag 


T 

la 


Grand  carry-all  for  those  umteen  gadgets 
jrou're  always  cramming  in  your  purse.  A 
arge  charge — the  bicycle  bag!  No  need  to 
wait  for  cycling  weather.  You  can  tote  this 
high-wide-and-handsome  job  practically  any- 
where, right  now.  And  any  day,  you  can  be 
carefree,  confident — when  you  have  the  plus 
protection  of  Kotex.  You're  confident  for 
you  know  Kotex  has  a  special  safety  center 
that  won't  betray  you.  It  keeps  moisture 
away  from  the  sides  of  the  pad.  You're  as- 
sured because  you're  safe — -with  this  ex- 
clusive Kotex  feature. 


Should  you  let  him  pay  your  way  if — 

I   I  It's  a  pre-arranged  date 
_]  You  meet  unexpectedly 
I   1  You  never  saw  him  before 

Whether  you  meet/  him  at  the  movies  or  the 
"Marble  Slab,"  go  dutch — unless  it's  a  pre-arranged 
date.  He  may  not  have  the  moola  to  spare.  And  you 
don't  want  to  embarrass  him.  Know  the  right  thing 
to  do  at  the  right  time.  At  "those"  times,  you're 
always  at  ease  when  you  choose  the  right  napkin 
for  comfort.  That's  Kotex!  Because  Kotex  has  last- 
ing softness — different  from  pads  that  just  "feel" 
soft  at  first  touch.  Kotex  is  made  to  stay  soft  while 
wearing.  And  you're  free  from  bunching  .  .  .  roping! 


*T.M.  BeK.  U.S.  Pat. 


More  choose  /COTEX 

f/ian  a//  of  tier  san/Yary  na/?/c/hs 


1 


I'm  going  all  the  way 
in  the  fight  against 
polio... the  torturing, 
crippling  enemy  of 
America's  children. 
Won't  you  please  go 
along  with  me? 


TOGETHER  WE  CAN  REALLY  HELP 


PLEASE  GIVE 

TO  THE  SISTER  ELIZABETH 
KENNY  FOUNDATION 
1945  APPEAL 

Half  of  everything  you  give  remains  in  your 
state  to  help  fight  polio  locally. 

The  other  half  goes  to  the  Sister 
Elizabeth  Kenny  Foundation  in  Minne- 
apolis to  help  train  additional  technicians 
in  the  Kenny  method  of  treating  polio 
victims.  These  technicians  will  eventually 
man  Kenny  clinics  in  your  community. 

Please  send  in  your  contributions  today, 
friends!  Everything  you  give  will  be  per- 
sonally acknowledged  by  me. 

National  Chairman 
Sister  Elizabeth  Kenny 
1945  Appeal 

I 

|     BING  CROSBY  17 

9028  Sunset  Blvd. 
I     Hollywood,  Cal. 

Count  me  in  to  help  sock  polio! 

I     Enclosed  is  $  for  the  Sister  Elizabeth 

Kenny  Foundation  1945  Appeal. 

I 

I      Name   _    

j  Address    

I      City  _    Sfore.  


64 


FAIRY  TALE  FOR  JUNE 

(Continued  from  page  37) 


bered  were  those  smiling,  pathetic  eyes. 
"Don't  ask  me  what  it  is,  I  don't  know 
myself,"  I  said.  "But  the  girl  has  some- 
thing—" 

So  after  that  many  months  went  by, 
and  the  whole  girl  slipped  my  mind.  There 
was  no  reason  for  her  to  stay  there.  No- 
body talked  about  her,  certainly  nobody- 
raved  about  her.  Many  little  girls  come  on 
the  lot  and  go  quietly  away,  and  you  don't 
even  know  if  they  came  or  went.  Only  with 
June,  God  put  His  finger  in.  And  it  could 
be  that  Junie  helped  Him  a  little — 

Now  I  have  to  interrupt  myself  to  tell 
you  something  I  believe.  You  hear  it  said, 
this  producer  discovered  that  one  or  the 
other.  A  producer  never  discovered  any- 
body. It's  God  who  pushes  you. 

Well,  we  started  to  work  on  a  script 
called  "Two  Girls  and  a  Sailor"  for  Judy 
Garland  and  Kathryn  Grayson.  My 
writers  k^pt  asking;  "What  happens  if 
Garland  and  Grayson  are  busy?"  Writers 
worry,  you  know — maybe  still  more  than 
producers — 

I  said:  "Don't  worry.  God  never  miscast 
a  picture  yet — " 

"Then  who  miscasts  them?" 

"Producers,"  I  told  them.  So  all  right, 
they  were  very  nice  about  it,  they  prob- 
ably thought  Pasternak's  a  little  screwy 
or  he  makes  a  joke,  and  we  go  ahead. 

At  the  same  time  I  was  doing  "As 
Thousands  Cheer,"  with  an  all-star  cast.  I 
remember  we  wanted  to  use  Bob  Crosby's 
band,  and  I  said  to  George  Sidney,  my 
director:  "If  only  we  could  get  a  couple 
of  young  kids  to  sing  with  the  band — " 

And  George  said:  "Yes,  it  would  be 
nice — " 

As  I  walked  out  of  the  commissary  that 
day,  somebody  bumped  into  me,  but  so 
hard  that  I  had  to  hold  myself  from  fall- 
ing over.  All  I  heard  behind  me  was  this 
little  out-of-breath  voice — "Oh,  I'm  so 
sorry — "  and  I  turned  around  and  there 
she  stood,  and  I  remembered  her  from  New 
York  and  I  remembered  the  test.  But  al- 
ready she  looked  different.  In  the  test  she 
was  a  little  girl  with  flat-heeled  shoes, 
frightened  to  death.  Now  her  hair  was 
different,  her  smile  was  different,  and  she 
wasn't  so  frightened  any  more,  even  when 
she  said  excuse  me — 

I  thought  to  myself,  "Well,  wait  a  min- 
ute— "  And  then  who  came  walking  over? 
Gloria  De  Haven.  And  they  looked  awfully 
cute  together — 

I  said,  "You  kids  are  in  'Best  Foot 
Forward?'  "  - 

They  said,  "Yes,  we  are — "  like  a  chorus, 
and  I  said  thanks  very  much  and  found 
George  and  told  him  we  had  two  girls. 

found:  two  sisters  .  .  . 

Then  we  come  to  the  day  when  they're 
shooting  the  scene,  and  all  of  a  sudden 
it  flashes  through  my  head — there  they 
are!  If  we  have  any  trouble  casting  the 
other  picture,  here  are  my  two  sisters! 
I  rushed  up  quick  and  brought  my  writers 
down.  I  said,  "Look!"  and  they  looked — 

"Aha!"  they  said.  "We  knew  it  all  the 
time.  You  never  intended  to  use  Garland 
and  Grayson — " 

"Wait.  Don't  say  I  never  intended.  I 
only  say,  if  we  have  any  trouble,  here  are 
the  sisters — " 

So  of  course  we  had  trouble.  Judy  and 
Grayson  went  into  other  pictures,  and  I'm 
left  with  my  idea.  Maybe  you'll  ask,  how 
can  he  take  a  girl  whom  he  knows  only 
from  a  bad  test  and  put  her  in  a  big  pro- 
duction? But,  well,  call  it  a  hunch — 

And  this  is  where  Louis  B.  Mayer  comes 
in.  I  went  to  him,  I  said:  "Here's  my  idea, 
and  I  think  we  should  take  a  chance — " 


And  he  not  only  approved,  he  appreciated 
How  many  others  would  do  the  same? 

All  right,  I  have  the  green  light  frorr 
Mr.  Mayer,  but  I  also  have  a  policy.  I  don' 
like  to  tell  people  something  before  Vn 
absolutely  sure.  Because  too  many  heart: 
are  broken  by  rash  statements,  which  latei 
you  have  to  cancel — maybe  even  for  theh 
own  good.  So  I  brought  my  problem  to  £ 
lady  on  this  lot  who  deserves  a  lot  o: 
credit — Lillian  Burns. 

Lillian  coaches  our  young  talent,  and  L 
kind  enough  to  act  for  us  as  a  soundinjj 
board.  "Let  me  read  the  script  with  them,' 
she  said.  "I'll  tell  them  it's  just  for  prac- 
tice or  something — " 

which  part  for  june  .  .  . 

I  wait  and  wait,  and  finally"  she  calls  me 
"They're  both  good.  I  don't  think  you  ca; 
go  wrong  with  them.  Would  you  like  t< 
have  them  read  for  you?" 

I  said.  "No,  I'm  afraid  they'll  be  ner- 
vous. We'll  go  ahead  with  the  tests — " 

So  she  tells  the  girls,  and  now  the  sus 
pense  is  on.  The  studio  thinks  the  dra 
matic  part  should  go  to  Gloria.  I  don' 
agree.  I  feel  Gloria  is  the  more  flirty-girl; 
type  and  June  is  more  quiet. 

Meantime.  Lillian  works  on  both  part 
with  both  girls,  and  she  agrees  with  me 
And  every  time  June  meets  me  on  the  lo 
it's  always  the  same  question.  "Whic 
part  am  I  going  to  play?" 

"All  I  can  tell  you  is,  you'll  be  in  th 
picture.  Isn't  that  enough?" 

"Yes,  it's  enough,"  she  kept  on  sayinr 
but  I  knew  it  wasn't. 

Anyhow,  we  made  the  tests  the  way  th 
studio  wanted.  Strangely  enough,  Glori 
was  very  good  as  Patsy  too,  but  June  wp 
not  very  good  in  the  flirty  part.  Whic 
convinced  me  that  I  was  right  in  the  fir. 
place.  And  being  100  percent  convincec 
I  was  able  to  get  the  parts  reversed. 

The  privilege  of  telling  June  I  gave  tj 
Miss  Burns,  because  I  thought  she  de 
served  it.  Her  office  is  a  mile  away,  bit 
knowing  the  time  June  was  supposed  (J 
go  in,  I  could  almost  hear  her  yelling.  C  j 
maybe  I  imagined  it.  When  she  came  i  \ 
me,  she  was  still  laughing  and  crying  th; 
she  didn't  believe  it.  .  .  . 

"All  right."  I  said.  "Now  I  want  to  as 
you   two   questions.    In   the  commissar; 
that  day — did  you  bump  into  me  on  pui 
pose  or  v/as  it  an  accident?" 

To  that,  I  didn't  get  an  answer.  But  tl- 
second  question,  "Was  there  anythir 
wrong  with  playing  the  other  part?"  si 
answered  very  clearly. 

"Nothing  wrong.  Only  my  heart  w. 
set  on  Patsy,  and  I  couldn't  concentrate— 

"But  now  you're  happy,  right?  The 
you  have  to  do  something  for  me.  Remen 
ber  this,  June.  You're  playing  a  ver 
warm  part,  and  my  whole  picture  depen 
on  you.  If  you're  good,  I'm  a  good  pr< 
ducer.  If  you're  bad,  I'm  a  bad  produc 
and  not  even  a  genius.  So  you  have 
stop  talking  through  your  nose — " 

This  she  didn't  expect.  But  when  s 
looked  at  me  with  her  serious  little  fa  j 
and  said,  "Oh,  I  voilT"  I  didn't  worry  aij 
more. 

How  she  played  the  part,  I  don't  ha 
to  tell  you,  because  you  told  its.  And  nc 
that  we  pleased  you  once,  our  problem  w 
to  go  on  pleasing  you — to  find  for  Jur  | 
other  parts  where  the  public  will  like  h 
About  this  I  can  tell  you  a  story,  wh 
shows  again  how  God  does  things,  and  r 
how  we  do  them.  .  .  . 

I  was  preparing  a  picture  called  "Mu 
for  Millions."    The  director  was  my  t 
friend,  Bobby  Koster,  who  came  over 
work  for  M-G-M.  thank  God.  Bobby  wa: 


i 


Susan  Peters,  I  want  Susan  Peters,  every- 
body wants  Susan  Peters.  Junie  hears 
about  the  story,  but  she  doesn't  know 
who's  going  to  play  it.  Maybe  June  Ally- 
son? 

I  said:  "Look,  that's  for  Susan  Peters, 
-that's  not  for  you.  For  you  I'm  preparing 
something  else — " 

She  made  a  sad  face.  "All  right,  you'll 
be  sorry."  But  June  is  very  honest,  even 
when  sad,  and  right  away  she  took  it 
back.  "No,  you  won't,  Joe.  Susan's  a  thou- 
sand times  better." 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  it  looked  as  if 
Susan  couldn't  finish  another  picture  in 
time.  I  went  upstairs  and  tried  to  postpone 
our  picture,  but  it  was  impossible  because 
too  many  things  didn't  co-ordinate.  So 
Susan  was  out  and  we  had  to  find  some- 
body else,  and  finally  we  came  to  Donna 
Reed.  Donna's  just  the  girl — sweet,  sympa- 
thetic, a  good  little  actress,  we'll  make  some 
tests.  But  a  certain  director  finds  he  can't 
finish  with  her  for  a  certain  length  of  time, 
and  the  dickering  goes  back  and  forth,  and 
before  we  know  it,  Donna's  out,  too. 

romance  or  realism?  .  .  . 

Again  Miss  Allyson  starts  woofing  with 
a  faraway  noise,  again  I  tell  her  no.  But 
cow  I'm  not  so  sure,  I  feel  something's 
haunting  this  picture.  It  wasn't,  you  un- 
derstand, a  question  of  June's  ability,  but 
only  should  we  put  her  so  soon  in  a  dra- 
matic part?  When  you  decide  to  let  Bing 
Crosby  play  a  priest,  you  don't  decide  in 
a  minute,  you  pray  over  it.  Well,  here's 
a  gay  little  girl  who  made  a  hit  in  a  gay 
little  story,  and  maybe  the  public  won't 
like  her  in  a  piece  of  realism. 

Well,  just  because  who  knows  what  can 
happen,  I  asked  Mr.  Koster  to  take  a  look 
at  June.  And  the  minute  he  looked,  the 
minute  he  saw  those  eyes,  that  face,  he 
said:  "That's  the  girl,  that's  the  girl,  that's 
the  girl."  Not  once — three  times.  "Let  me 
;all  her  right  away — " 

I  said:  "Don't  call  her  and  don't  tell 
her,  because  once  you  tell  her  and  nothing 
happens  and  she  doesn't  get  the  part,  I 
don't  want  to  send  any  flowers  to  a  funeral. 
Because  that's  how  serious  she  takes  it — " 

So  I'm  running  around,  trying  to  find 
June  Allyson,  and  I  hear  she's  sick,  she's 
lome  with  a  cold.  I  go  in  to  Koster.  "You're 
still  sure  you  want  Junie?"  He's  still  sure. 
'Now  you  want  to-  see  something?  Come 
into  my  office — "  We  go  in,  I  pick  up  the 
phone,  thinking  I'm  going  to  tell  June 
something  very  new — 

"Hello,  June,  how  are  you?" 

She  can  hardly  talk,  she  croaks.  But 
she  doesn't  even  answer  me  how  she  is — 
not  I'm  fine  or  I'm  sick  or  how  are  you? — 
no — "Am  I  going  to  play  the  part?" 

I  put  Bobby  on  the  phone  and  let  him 
ell  her,  but  I  listened,  too.  Comes  a  silence 
:or  I  don't  know  how  long,  then  a  whis- 
iper:  "Thank  you,  oh  thank  you — I'll  be 
good — you'll  see — " 

The  doctor  told  her  she  should  stay  in 
:  ned  yet  a  week.  I  ask  her  when  she  thinks 
:;he  can  come  in.  "Tomorrow,"  she  says. 

Well,  tomorrow  I  wouldn't  let  her  come, 
out  on  Saturday  she  was  in,  sniffling  and 
rying  on  her  clothes. 

Sometimes  people  ask  me,  what  is  it 
about  June?  They  feel  it,  the  same  as 
il  felt  it  that  time  on  the  stage  and  with 
:  he  bad  test,  and  now  I  think  I  put  my 
inger  on  it. 

Every  ten  years  or  so  a  personality  cornes 
ip  like  Janet  Gaynor  came  up — always  a 
simple,  sweet  American  girl,  who  could  be 
Mrs.  Maloney's  girl  or  Mrs.  Nelson's  or 
Mvs.  Greenberg's.  Not  too  beautiful,  so 
;he's  not  being  envied  like  some  women, 
;he's  being  loved  for  what  she  is.  I  think 
he  average  American  girl  feels  she  can 
oak  like  June,  be  like  her  and  get  the 
hings  she's  getting.  And  the  average 
?ood  American  boy  would  be  very  happy 


Star  of  Stage  and  Screen       •  have 


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Q  Glowing  Tea  Rose  Clusters. 
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66 


to  find  a  sweetheart  like  her.  And  every 
American  mother  and  father  would  be 
satisfied  to  have  such  a  girl,  or  that  their 
boy  should  bring  home  such  a  wife.  Which 
Dick  Powell  did,  God  bless  him. 

For  me,  she  represents  a  certain  idea 
which  is  very  close  to  my  heart.  I  love 
America.  I  believe  our  way  of  life  is  a 
wholesome  and  a  clean  one.  When  we 
made  the  Durbin  pictures,  I  tried  to  put 
across  this  very  same  idea.  With  June,  I 
feel  I  can  express  the  same  idea  through 
her  warmth  and  honesty  and  courage — ■ 
which  is  the  spirit  of  the  average  Amer- 
ican girl. 

You  know  that  June  was  crippled  for 
four  years,  and  the  doctors  said  she'd  never 
walk  again.  Due  to  her  own  courage,  she 
walked  again  and  danced  and  became  a 
movie  star.  That's  what  gave  me  the 
thought  of  "Her  Highness  and  the  Bell- 
boy." That,  and  a  fan  letter  which  I  re- 
ceived about  "Thrill  of  a  Romance."  To 
me,  fan  letters  are  very  important.  They 
come  from  people  who  see  my  pictures, 
and  without  these  people  I'd  have  to  stop 
making  pictures.  And  from  some  of  them 
come  very  sweet  and  sincere  thoughts.  .  .  . 

love  on  a  budget  .  .  . 

As  with  this  girl,  for  instance,  who 
wrote — maybe  I  don't  tell  it  in  the  exact 
words,  because  my  English  I  didn't  learn 
in  American  schools — but  this  was  the 
idea:  "Can't  you  make  once  a  picture 
that  a  girl  and  a  boy  on  thirty  dollars  a 
week  could  be  happy,  too?  Not  always  big 
hotels  and  all  the  glamorous  way  to  live. 
Because  I  am  very  much  in  love  with  a 
boy  who  makes  thirty  a  week,  and  I 
know  we  are  going  to  be  happy — " 

So  we  made  a  fairy  tale,  which  is  also 
real,  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  Because  life 
is  full  of  fairy  tales.  Our  sophisticated 
people — which  we  have  so  few,  thank  God 
— don't  believe  it.  But  in  the  majority  we 
do,  otherwise  we  couldn't  exist.  Isn't  June 
Allyson's  life  a  fairy  tale?  Or  General 
Wainwright's  story? — with  a  very  dark 
chapter  but  also  the  strength  and  heart 
to  live  through  to  a  happy  ending.  Didn't 
they  think  MacArthur  was  crazy  when  he 
said,  "I'll  be  back — ■"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Henry 
Kaiser  didn't  come  in  the  world  with  a 
Liberty  ship  in  his  mouth,  and  God  had 
to  show  Roosevelt  the  hard  way  to  be 
president.  If  I  believe  nothing  else,  I  be- 
lieve this — there  is  always  faith  and  hope. 
And  if  you  can  inject  them  through  the 
medium  at  your  disposal,  then  it's  your 
duty  and  privilege  to  do  so.  .  .  . 

Now  I  brought  the  train  off  the  track  a 
little,  so  we'll  blow  the  whistle  and  go 
back  to  June.  If  you  ask  me  what  kind 
of  girl  she  is,  she's  the  same  kind  of  girl 
as  in  pictures.  In  the  head,  she's  a  little 
older  than  her  age,  with  great  judgment 
for  what  she  wants  from  life — more  so 
than  a  lot  of  people  with  more  experience. 
She  is  one  of  the  most  conscientious  girls 
where  money  is  concerned.  For  others, 
she  is  generous.  But  to  spend  on  herself, 
she  first  has  to  think  twice. 

One  day  she  came  to  me.  "Joe,  all  my 
life  I  dreamed  of  one  luxury — -a  mink  coat. 
Do  you  think  I  should  buy  it?" 

I  said:   "Why  not?" 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  glamor  girl — " 
"Don't  worry,"  I  said,  "you'll  never  be 
one — " 

"And  it  costs  so  much — "  She  took  a 
paper  and  pencil  and  began  to  figure  that 
in  New  York  she  would  have  to  work  36 
weeks  or  something  to  save  that  much. 

"You're  not  in  New  York,"  I  said,  "and 
you  didn't  take  the  money  from  someone, 
you  worked  for  it  hard.  If  your  dream 
is  a  mink  coat,  my  opinion  is  that  you 
earned  the  right  to  your  dream — " 

She  bought  the  coat,  and  the  newspapers 
spoiled  her  pleasure  by  saying  Dick  gave 
it  to  her.   This  happened  last  Christmas 


and  June  got  so  mad  that  she  gave  the  coat 
back.  Now  Dick  bought  her  one  for  a  wed- 
ding present,  which  is  better.  Because  she 
loves  it  three  times  as  much — once  for  the 
coat,  and  twice  for  Dick. 

Another  thing.  Junie  is  small,  and  she 
looks  as  if  you  have  to  protect  her.  But 
she's  also  wise.  If  she  never  proved  it 
before,  she  proved  it  by  her  actions  when 
she  fell  in  love  with  Dick  Powell. 

All  of  us  who  knew  her  had  to  be 
dumb  or  blind  not  to  realize  that  she's  in 
love.  We  asked  no  questions,  and  Junie 
gave  no  answers. 

Then  she  was  ready,  and  then  she  told 
me.  Notice,  she  told — not  asked  an  opinion. 
It  was  her  business  and  Dick's  business — ■ 
nobody  else's.  I  was  happy  that  she  didn't 
ask.  But  if  Junie  had  asked,  I  would  have 
said:  "Do  whatever  you  feel  in  your  heart 
to  do — "  And  this  she  was  wise  enough 
to  know,  without  asking  somebody. 

People  ask,  are  movie  stars  always 
changed  by  success?  The  answer  is  no. 
As  many  as  it  spoils,  just  as  many  it  leaves 
unspoiled.  In  June,  I  see  only  one  change. 
She's  so  much  prettier  than  she  used  to  be, 
she's  lighted  up  with  a  light  that  doesn't 
come  from  any  marquee,  but  from  the 
happiness  of  loving  and  being  loved. 

Soon  I  hope  to  do  another  picture  with 
her,  but  the  name  is  a  secret.  Because 
with  June  I  discovered  one  very  important 
thing.  Though  in  certain  ways  she  is  so 
mature,  in  other  ways  she  is  like  a  child, 
and  to  a  child  you  must  never  be  careless 
with  words  or  break  a  promise.  She  will 
take  this  story  and  probably  not  believe 
any  of  the  nice  things  I  told  about  her, 
but  the  name  of  the  picture  she'll  believe 
as  a  word  of  honor. 

One  promise  I  made  her,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  keep  it.  Whenever  we're  start- 
ing a  picture,  before  the  first  shot  we 
take  a  long  table,  fill  it  up  with  glasses, 
and  everyone  drinks  to  the  picture  in  a 
glass  of  champagne.  Then  I  break  my 
glass,  as  they  used  to  do  in  old  Europe, 
when  they  drank  to  the  king. 

Well,  on  "Two  Girls  from  Boston,"  June 
didn't  work  the  first  day,  so  I  promised  to 
break  a  glass  with  her  at  the  end  of  the 
picture.  On  the  last  day,  she  worked  only 
with  Peter  Lawford.  I  brought  the  cham- 
pagne and  poured  it  into  three  glasses — 

June  said:  "To  the  picture — " 

But  Peter  and  I  had  at  once  the  same 
idea.  We  lifted  our  glasses  and  said:  "To 
Mrs.  Richard  Powell — "  and  after  we  drank, 
I  broke  the  glass. 

You  remember  I  once  told  June  Allyson 
she'll  never  be  a  glamor  girl.  But  in  that 
moment,  no  glamor  girl  ever  looked  more 
beautiful  than  Dick  Powell's  wife. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

It  was  a  rainy 
}evening  in  July, 
when  my  friends 
and  I  were  walking 
along  Fifty-Second 
Street.  We  passed 
a  restaurant  and  a 
short,  stocky  gent 
A  wearing  a  straw  hat 
I  came  out.  He  walked 
over  to  us  and  said, 
"Don't  mind  the  big 
stiff  that's  following  me,  he's  drunk." 
When  he  walked  away  a  tall,  thin  man 
wearing  the  same  type  of  clothes  came 
over  to  us  and  said  "Hi  girls,  nice 
night,"  while  we  walked  on.  Later, 
when  we  passed  the  Winter  Garden 
Theater,  we  saw  those  two  self -same 
men  peering  out  at  us  from  a  poster, 
captioned  "Olsen  and  Johnson  in 
'Laughing  Room  Only.'" 

Estelle  Feldman 
Nem  York.  N.  Y. 


MY  BUDDY 

(Continued  jrom  page  47) 


good  news  to,  clear  across  the  whole  con- 
tinent, was  me. 

That's  the  way  it's  been  with  Buddy  and 
me,  always  and  all  along.  That's  why  I 
know  him  and  love  him  like  I  do  and 
always  will.  We've  spent  the  happiest 
hours  of  our  lives  together — and  our  sad- 
dest ones,  too. 

I'D  never  forget  the  day  our  Mother 
died.  Bud  and  I  were  learning  to  act 
at  Reginald  Goode's  summer  stock  com- 
pany in  Clinton  Hollow,  New  York.  I'd 
tagged  along  when  Buddy  decided  to  be 
an  actor.  As  usual,  what  he  wanted  to 
do  became  my  dearest  wish,  too.  We  were 
just  kids  then,  I  was  18  and  Buddy  17, 
living  with  a  bunch  of  other  stage-dizzy 
kids  like  ourselves  in  a  boarding-house. 

double  heartbreak  .  .  . 

I  was  home  alone  that  afternoon  when 
the  phone  call  came.  Buddy  was  at  after- 
noon rehearsal.  The  news  stunned  me. 
Mother  hadn't  even  been  ill.  First  came 
the  awful  thought,  "Now  Buddy  and  I  are 
orphans,"  because  our  father  had  died  only 
shortly  before.  Then  the  second  pang 
struck  me,  more  for  Buddy  than  myself. 
How  he  would  miss  her!  How  much  there 
was  of  her  in  Buddy.  How  close  they'd 
been.  I  couldn't  tell  him  news  like  this 
over  a  telephone.  Still,  I  knew  we  would 
have  to  leave  that  night  for  New  Rochelle. 
That  might  upset  Mr.  Goode's  plans.  I 
called  him. 

"Please  don't  tell  Buddy,"  I  begged  him. 
"Just  let  him  go  on  as  if  nothing  had 
happened."    He  promised.  . 

By  the  time  Buddy  rolled  up  in  the 
bus,  I  had  had  my  tears.  I  wasn't  crying. 
I  thought  there  was  nothing  to  betray  my 
anguish.  I  planned  to  break  the  news 
softly.    I  was  even  smiling. 

Buddy  bounced  up  the  stairs,  laughing. 
But  the  minute  his  eyes  met  mine  he 
stopped  dead,  as  if  he'd  been  shot.  His 
face  froze  and  turned  white.  "Something 
terrible  has  happened,"  he  said.  "Mother 
has  died."  I  burst  into  new  tears.  "Come 
on,  Claire,"  he  said  quietly,  "let's  go  home." 

I  still  hadn't  said  a  word.  But  words 
between  Buddy  and  me  have  never  been 
necessary. 

That's  why  I've  always  thought  the 
greatest  performance  Buddy  ever  gave  was 
the  time  our  father  left  us.  I  suppose 
Buddy  felt  about  me  with  Daddy  as  I'd 
felt  about  him  and  Mother.  He  knew  how 
close  we'd  been,  how  I  worshipped  the 
ground  he  walked  on.  I  knew  he  was  ill,  in 
the  hospital.  But  they  didn't  tell  me  when 
he  died  and  Buddy  was  determined  that  I 
should  be  spared  the  prolonged  grief. 

There  were  two  whole  days  until  the 
funeral.  All  that  time  Buddy  knew  and 
I  didn't.  That's  a  pretty  long  perform- 
ance— forty-eight  hours — but  Buddy  never 
faltered.  I  never  saw  him  so  merry  and 
gay,  so  much  fun  to  be  with.  It  was  a 
wonderful  act,  because  underneath  his 
heart  was  in  pieces. 

Buddy's  act  was  a  triumph,  because  I 
never  even  suspected  anything  was  wrong 
until  an  hour  before  the  funeral,  when 
Mother  told  me  to  get  dressed. 

That  was  how  Buddy  and  I  became 
orphans,  tragically  early  in  our  lives.  And 
perhaps  that's  why,  like  the  Babes  in  the 
Wood,  we  huddled  together  instinctively. 

After  Mother  died,  a  relative  was  ap- 
pointed our  guardian  and  there  was  a  fam- 
ily meeting.  When  Buddy  and  I  arrived, 
the  plans  were  made.  Our  guardian  ex- 
plained them.  I  was  to  go  north  to 
Syracuse  and  live  with  my  aunt.  And 
there  would  be  a  job  for  Buddy  with  Beth- 
lehem Steel  Company  in  Pennsylvania. 


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My  heart  dropped  to  my  toes  and  tears 
welled  up  in  my  eyes.  But  Buddy  wasn't 
even  looking  at  me.  His  jaw  tightened 
and  he  said,  "No." 

Legally,  he  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  on.  We 
were  both  minors  and  we  could  have  been 
forced  to  obey  the  plans  of  our  appointed 
guardian.  But  while  Buddy's  voice  was 
low,  it  was  absolutely  firm. 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  stock  company," 
Buddy  said,  "and  Claire's  going  with  me." 
We  drove  back  to  Clinton  Hollow  that 
night — and  from  that  minute  until  I  mar- 
ried, Buddy  and  I  were  never  apart. 

Because  we  were  a  team  then,  too,  in 
everything  we  did,  right  from  the  start.  We 
shared  the  same  nursery  at  the  big  Dutch 
Colonial  house  on  Elk  Street  in  New 
Rochelle  and  the  same  Finnish  nurse, 
Mary,  who  had  both  of  us  speaking  Finn- 
ish before  we  could  make  sense  in  English. 

animal  kingdom  .  .  . 

And  I  remember,  when  we  were  just 
moppets,  we  developed  a  mutual  craze  for 
cats.  Dogs  were  welcome  at  home — both 
Mother  and  Daddy  loved  them — -and  the 
names  "Jeff,"  "Missy,"  "Annie,"  "Stony" 
and  "Laddie"  can  always  bring  mixed 
memories  of  laughs  and  heartaches  to  both 
Tom  and  me.  But  an  old  orange  alley 
cat  we'd  dragged  home  and  ecstatically 
hugged  gave  Buddy  the  worst  case  of 
impetigo  the  neighborhood  had  known  and 
Mother  put  her  foot  down. 

That,  of  course,  didn't  change  our  deep 
feelings  on  the  subject,  and  one  day  at 
a  church  bazaar,  Mother  turned  us  loose 
very  unwisely  with  a  dime  spending  money 
apiece.  The  first  thing  Buddy  and  I  spied 
on  our  rounds  was  an  auction.  And  up 
under  the  hammer  was  the  cutest  inky 
black  kitten  in  the  whole  world.  We 
stared  and  then  looked  at  each  other. 
"Let's  buy  that  kitty,"  said  Tom.  I  nodded. 
"Yes,  let's."  I  always  did  think  he  had 
the  most  wonderful  ideas. 

We  stepped  up  to  the  booth.  "One 
penny,"  said  Buddy.  There  was  a  roar 
from  the  crowd.  Somebody  bid  "two  cents" 
with  a  laugh,  and  I  chirped  right  up, 

"Three  pennies!" 

"Four  cents." 

"Five  pennies — a  whole  nickel,"  cried 
Buddy. 
"Six!" 

I  shouted,  "Seven  pennies!"  recklessly. 
It  went  on  up. 

"Two  nickels,"  cried  Buddy  and  the 
hammer  went  down.  "Sold  to  the  young 
man  for  two  whole  nickels,  one  dime," 
laughed  the  auctioneer.  When  Mother 
saw  our  prize,  she  almost  swooned,  but 
we  got  to  keep  the  cat. 

There  was  the  time  Bud  saw  a  wonderful 
pedigreed  puppy  dog,  a  great  Dane,  which 
has  always  been  his  favorite  breed  of  dog. 
The  price  was  $75,  so  immediately  he 
started  denying  himself  candy,  ice  cream 
and  other  luxuries.  But  it  took  a  long, 
long  time,  because  $75  to  us  was  a  huge 
sum.  By  the  time  Christmas  came  along 
Buddy  had  $30  saved  up  for  his  dog.  But 
he  saw  a  quilted  satin  bathrobe  in  a  store 
window  that  he  knew  Mother  would  love. 
That  was  the  end  of  the  dog  dream.  But 
Mother's  tears  of  joy  were  worth  it. 

I  was  always  certain  that  Buddy  would 
grow  up  and  become  a  millionaire  some 
day — some  day  maybe  he  will.  Our  Dad 
was  a  pretty  successful  business  man  and 
even  as  a  kid  Buddy  started  right  out  as 
a  chip  off  the  block.  We  had  a  wooden 
wagon — as  what  kids  don't — and  one  day 
when  he  was  just  a  little  boy,  Buddy 
loaded  it  up  with  everything  salable  he 
could  find  in  our  house — toothpaste,  canned 
goods,  soap,  potatoes — he  practically 
cleaned  out  the  place.  Then  he  started 
selling  this  load  around  the  neighborhood. 

Of  course,  the  raid  was  discovered  that 
night,  and  while  poor  Daddy  had  to  make 


the  rounds  of  the  neighbors,  and  repair 
the  damage  as  well  as  stock  up  the  house 
again,  the  incident  tickled  him. 

"If  you  really  want  to  sell  things, 
Buddy,"  he  told  him,  "I'll  set  you  up  in 
a  real  business."  He  got  in  touch  with 
the  office  of  a  national  magazine  in  New 
York  and  arranged  for  Buddy  to  sell  sub- 
scriptions in  New  Rochelle.  And  in  two 
years  Buddy  sold  so  many  subscriptions 
that  the  magazine  which  then  had  the 
greatest  circulation  in  America  sent  a  mar 
up  to  New  Rochelle  to  meet  this  high- 
pressure  salesman  and  offer  him  a  job 
In  two  years,  Buddy  had  sold  more  nev. 
subscriptions  than  any  of  their  salesmer 
in  the  U.S.A.!  The  man  almost  fainted  wher 
he  discovered  that  the  unknown  whirlwinc 
was  a  kid  less  than  12  years  old. 

In  the  end  Daddy  made  Bud  give  all  hk 
profits  to  the  Salvation  Army  because,  aftei 
all,  he  felt  Buddy  had  put  pressure  on  oui 
friends.  But  he  was  always  proud  of  th( 
way  his  son  came  through. 

Both  our  parents  always  wanted  Budd? 
and  me  to  do  things,  keep  active,  enjoj 
every  minute  of  every  day,  and  with  them 
if  possible.  Perhaps,  because  when  wi 
were  just  tiny  kids — Tom  was  five  and 
was  six — our  sixteen-year-old  sister,  Mo 
nona,  died.  Monona  lives  now  in  Buddy' 
and  my  memory  as  a  fragile,  lovely  an' 
almost  unreal  princess.  She  was  ill  a  Ion 
time,  gradually  weakened,  and  died  in  th 
flower  of  her  youth  and  beauty.  Monon 
was  named  after  the  northern  lake  wher 
Daddy  and  Mother  had  spent  their  honey 
moon.  To  both  Buddy  and  me  there  i 
still  magic  in  her  memory.  I  remembe 
when  her  collie.  Laddie,  died — after  Mc 
nona  did — Buddy  and  I  and  Mother  an 
Daddy  buried  him  reverently  in  a  speck 
pet  cemetery  up  in  Connecticut,  with 
satin-lined  coffin  and  all.  Laddie  was  th 
last  love  of  Monona's  life. 

keeping  up  with  brother  .  .  . 

I  think  this  shocking  loss  helped  kn 
our  family  affections  closer  than  most.  W 
did  everything  together.     The   trips  u 
Long  Island  Sound   on  excursion  boa 
stand  out  in  my  memory  and  the  wondei 
ful  days  at  Saltair,  near  Fire  Island,  i 
the  summer.    Daddy  caught  most  of  tl 
fish,  of  course,  but  he'd  let  Buddy  br£ 
when  we  got  back  and  never  expose  h 
fish  stories.    That's  where  Buddy  learne 
to  swim.     Daddy  taught  him  when  h 
was  only  three  years  old.  He  was  a  regv; 
lar  fish,  right  from  the  start,  and  he  stH 
is.    I  tried  to  keep  up  with  Buddy  in  tl 
water,  but  it  just  wasn't  any  use.  He  w;  I 
too  good.  I  tried  to  tag  along  with  Bud  i 
his  other  great  passion,  horseback  ridin 
too,  but  again  I  failed.  We  were  gallopii  j 
along  a  road  one  afternoon,  when  my  sadd  ; 
girth  broke.  I  clutched  my  horse  around  tl 
neck  desperately,  my  legs  dangling,  whi(  j 
only  made  him  bolt  all  the  faster.    I  w 
slipping  off  dangerously  close  to  his  flyk 
hooves    when    Buddy    sensed   somethh  i 
wrong,  looked  back  and  wheeled  to  n 
rescue.     He  stopped  the  pony  just  as 
slid  sobbing  to  the  ground.  Then 
picked  me  up  and  we  walked  back  horr 
There  were  no  secrets  in  our  family, 
we  told  Mother  and  from  then  on  Bud 
rode  alone.  As  we'd  always  thought  tb 
Monona's  illness  came  from  a  riding  fc 
I  never  blamed  Mother  and  Daddy  1 
keeping  me  off  horses  from  then  on. 

But  that  was  the  only  family  ban.  Bud 
and  I  always  trotted  along  with  Dad 
and  Frank,  our  nurse  Mary's  Finn) 
husband,  to  the  baseball  games  in  N< 
York  every  Saturday  afternoon.  We'd  coi 
home,  round  up  the  neighborhood  kids  a 
play  ball  in  the  yard  until  the  lightni 
bugs  came  out.  Buddy  would  be  Babe  Ri 
and  I'd  be  Carl  Hubbell,  and  I  was  furk  j 
because  I  couldn't  grow  up,  as  Bud 
swore  he  was  going  to.  and  be  a  big  leaf 


king  of  swat.  I  should  have  taken  a  lesson 
from  Mother.  She  never  let  her  sex  stop 
her  from  doing  anything  for  a  minute. 

Once,  I  remember,  we  went  up  into  the 
Adirondacks  for  a  Christmas  vacation. 
Buddy  and  I  could  ski  a  little  and  Daddy 
was  pretty  good.  Mother  determined  to 
learn  if  it  killed  her — and  it  almost  did. 
She  tumbled  head  over  heels  on  the  icy 
snow,  slammed  into  trees  and  tangled  her 
legs  in  every  possible  obstacle  on  the 
mountains.  She  was  middle-aged  then 
and  not  physically  rugged  at  all.  But  she 
got  up  every  time,  grinning  and  swearing. 
"I'll  beat  this  yet."  Finally  she  did,  too — 
although  she  was  black  and  blue  for  days. 

Buddy  inherited  his  spunk  and  deter- 
mination to  win  out  from  her.  As  a  boy 
he  was  undersized,  actually  tiny.  Today 
Bud's  a  six-footer,  but  lie  didn't  start  to 
grow  until  very  late  and  even  at  17  I  was 
as  tall  as  he  was,  a  fact  which  was  very 
mortifying  to  Buddy.  One  of  the  few  times 
he  really  looked  as  if  he'd  love  to  beat  me 
to  a  pulp  was  the  time,  when  he  was  13, 
that  I  caught  him  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"Oh,  oh,"  I  heckled,  "you  oughtn't  do 
that,  Buddy.    You'll  stunt  your  growth." 

"I'm  bigger  than  you  are!"  he  cried,  his 
face  turning  dark  with  anger. 

I  teased.    "Prove  it." 

He  couldn't  prove  it,  of  course,  and  that 
made  him  madder.  And  it  made  him  drag 
away  all  the  more  recklessly.  I  ended 
up  making  him  let  me  smoke  one,  too. 
Pretty  soon  both  of  us  were  too  dizzy  to 
be  very  mad. 

They'd  call  Buddy  "shrimp"  or  "tiny" 
or  "dink"  at  school  and  whenever  they  did 
it  was  a  fight.  Poor  Buddy  was  always 
showing  up  back  home  with  black  eyes 
and  a  claret  stained  nose.  Because,  while 
most  of  his  school  mates  towered  above 
him,  they  didn't  scare  him  one  bit. 

spunky  shrimp  .  .  . 

But  the  very  spunk  that  messed  up  his 
face  most  of  the  time  made  Buddy  a  popu- 
lar kid  at  school.  His  size  was  a  chal- 
lenge to  excel,  so  he  knocked  himself  out 
i  at  baseball,  handball,  football — and  he  was 
good.  Not  as  good  as  in  the  water,  but 
good  enough  to  win  the  respect  of  his 
pals — and  the  girls,  too.  Buddy  always 
had  a  gallery  of  females. 

Buddy  went  to  Iona,  a  Catholic  boys' 
school,  and  I  attended  a  convent  in  New 
Rochelle.  We  weren't  of  Catholic  faith, 
but  our  parents  respected  the  brothers 
and  sisters  as  teachers.  Half  the  time  I 
was  hanging  around  Iona  with  some  smit- 
ten little  neighborhood  chick,  breathlessly 
watching  Buddy  play  handball  or  hockey. 
P  We  gazed  devotedly  at  every  move  he 
I1  made  and  did  the  sub-deb  version  of  a 
swoon.  That  made  him  knock  himself  out 
all  the  more,  because  even  then,  Buddy 
liked  an  audience. 

I  always  thought  Buddy  was  the  hand- 
somest boy  in  New  Rochelle,  and  I  cer- 
tainly wasn't  the  only  one.  He  had  a  mop 
of  chestnut  hair  that  was  always  curling 
down  over  his  eyes,  which  were  a  spark- 
ling brown,  with  those  sweeping  lashes  that 
always  seem  to  be  wasted  on  boys.  Like 
all  of  us,  his  eyes  tilted  up  at  the  corners, 
'Vanderbilt  eyes"  people  called  them. 

I  can  always  tell  when  Buddy  is  mad, 
even  today,  by  his  eyes.  The  corners 
draw  back  and  the  skin  goes  white. 

He  carried  himself  straight  as  a  stick, 
and  even  though  he  was  small,  he  had  a 
0  wiry,  athletic  figure.  And  I  never  knew  a 
boy  to  take  such  pride  in  his  clotnes. 
I  think  the  time  he  was  most  pleased  with 
himself  was  the  day  of  his  "wedding"  to 
pretty  Jimmy  Eastman. 

Come  to  think  of  it,  that  must  have  been 
Buddy's  first  acting  part.  He  wasn't  really 
married,  of  course — he  was  only  twelve 
hen.     But  Jimmy  was  one  of  his  first 


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of  age.  That's  why  so  many  doctors 
recommend  Gerber's  Cereal  Food 
and  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal,  both 
of  which  have  generous  amounts  of 
added  iron.  Both  are  pre-cooked- 
mix  right  in  baby's  dish  by  adding 
milk  or  formula,  hot  or  cold. 


Remember,  it  is  always  wise  to  check  your 
baby's  feeding  program  with  your  doctor 


Cere*' 


Is 


erber's 

FREMONT.  MICH.  OAKLAND.  CAL 

3/iee  s temple  f!r!°Jl _  .ITL"!^ !d.5.  .  5!l°rS  .d.F;°.di  


15  kinds  of  Strained 
Foods,  8  kinds  of 
Chopped  Foods,  2 
special  Baby  Cereals. 

©  1943.  G.  P.  C. 


My  baby  is  now  months 

old.  Please  send  me  samples  of 
Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and 
Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal. 


Address:  Gerber  Products  Co.,  Dept.  DEI-6,  Fremont,  Michigan 


Name. 


The  Brown  Derby 
starts  our  cook's  tour  of  Hollywood 

eating  places! 


Betty  Hutton  and  her  secretary,  Susan  Hawkins,  combine  the 
fun    of   reading   fan    mail    with    a    quick   snack   at   the  Derby. 


The  Vine  Street  Brown  Derby,  made  famous  by 
film    stars    who    come    here    for    food    and  fun! 


On  fhe  walls  are  gaily  done  caricatures  of  your  favorite  movie 
stars    up   to   the    time    military    service   called    favorite  artists. 


J)  2*1 


e 


■  How  would  you  like  to  trip  over  celebrities?  To  see  Frank  Sinatra  turn 
the  menu  this  way  and  that  and  finally  order  what  he  wanted  all  along 
anyway — Spaghetti  Derby?  To  watch  the  Silver  and  Lux  Theater  casts — one 
and  all,  hero,  heroine  and  villain — troop  in  on  Mondays  for  refills  after 
rehearsals?  To  listen  to  the  banter  between  Bing  Crosby  and  his  favorite 
waiter  as  waiter  Benny  tosses  a  delicious  Cobb  Salad  for  him? 

You'll  find  a  regular  Big  Dipper  full  of  stars  at  any  of  the  three  Brown 
Derbys  in  Hollywood,  especially  the  Vine  Street  Restaurant.  The  other  two 
are  on  Wilshire,  one  across  from  the  Ambassador,  the  other  across  from 
the  Beverly  Wilshire  Hotel.  The  Vine  Street  Derby  is  almost  never  without 
somebody  exciting.  NBC  and  CBS  studios  are  within  easy  walking  distance 
so  that  you  get  the  sound-effects  of  mobs  of  radio  personalities  deciding 
between  Corned  Beef  Hash  and  Mexican  Tamales.  Bing  comes  here  with 
his  guest  stars  on  Thursday  nights;  Frankie  is  sure  to  pop  in  on  Wednesday! 
After  the  fights  at  the  Hollywood  Stadium,  the  place  is  jammed  with  Turkey 
Derby  fans  until  guess-what  o'clock.  Most  fun  is  Sunday  at  brunch  time 
when  the  place  is  like  a  college  town  snack  shop  with  movie  stars  taking 
the  place  of  sophomores;  everyone  is  relaxed  and  informal,  wearing  peasant 
dresses,    slacks,    shorts    and    sport    shirts,    enjoying    Derby  specialties. 


70 


y  Nancy  Wood 

There  is,  of  course,  a  reason.  The  food 
glamorized    American    cooking — home 
;yle  with  added  dashes  of  sherry  and 
ever  spicing. 

When  we  asked  the  Brown  Derby, 
retty-please  to  let  us  have  recipes  for 
)me  of  their  most  popular  dishes,  they 
ery  graciously  gave  us  the  following, 
ince  chefs  are  experts  in  the  pot-and-pan 
epartment,  they  are  likely  to  take  it  for 
ranted  that  all  of  us  know  just  how  long 

certain  pie  should  bake  or  how  much  of 
-hat  is  needed  to  "season  to  taste."  In 
?sting  these  recipes  we  took  the  liberty 
E  suggesting  approximate  amounts  (in 
iose  rare  cases  where  not  given)  and 
>und  the  resulting  dishes  delightful. 

COBB  SALAD 

1  medium  size  head  romaine 

>  head  lettuce 

i  bunch  watercress 

L  small  head  chicory 

L  peeled  tomato  c  iced 

1  strips  crisp  bacon,  cut  fine 

i  avocado,  cut  in  V4  inch  dice 

L  bunch  chives,  chopped  fine 

5  ounces  Roquefort  cheese,  grated  fine 

1  cup  finely  diced  cooked  chicken 

1  hard   cox>ked   egg,  finely  chopped 

lace  thoroughly  chilled  chopped  mixed 
reens — romaine,  lettuce,-  watercress  and 
licory — in  bottom  of  bowl.  Arrange  re- 
oining  diced  ingredients  in  even  strips 
.er  greens.  Cover  with  French  dressing 
id  mix  as  it  is  being  served.  Serves  4. 

HAMBURGER  DE  LUXE 

i  pounds   lean   ground  round  steak 

\  e39  ■ 

.  teaspoon  dry  or  English  mustard 

'  tablespoons  Worcestershire  sauce 

teaspoon  salt  (or  to  taste) 

teaspoon  pepper 

cup  chicken  broth  or  consomme 
medium  size  onions 
cups  tomato  sauce 

ix  meat,  egg  and  seasonings  thoroughly, 
id  consomme  gradually,  blending  well, 
tape  into  patties.  Brown  quickly  in  fat; 
ash  cooking  over  low  heat.  Remove 
mburgers  from  pan  and  keep  hot.  Add 
inly  sliced  onions  to  fat  remaining  in 
n.  Saute  over  low  heat  until  brown, 
id  tomato  sauce  and  heat  thoroughly, 
jrve  with  hamburgers. 

TURKEY  DERBY 

ute  1  cup  flaked,  cooked,  white  meat 
turkey  in  2  or  3  tablespoons  butter  over 
v  heat  until  light  brown.  Place  in 
>  of  double  boiler  and  add  1  cup  light 
am,  a  tablespoon  sherry,  or  to  taste, 

teaspoon  salt  and  2  slightly  beaten 
I  yolks.   Cook  until  mixture  thickens, 

ring  constantly.   Serve  on  patty  shells 

toast.   Garnish  with  cranberry  jelly. 

ves  3  or  4. 

SOUR  CREAM  RAISIN  PIE 

up  raisins,  cooked 
up  sour  cream 
iispoon  vanilla 
iblespoon  flour 

up  brown  sugar,  firmly  packed 

iblespoon  vinegar 

-inch  unbaked  pie  crust 

imer  raisins  in  enough  water  to  keep 
m  from  sticking.  When  tender,  drain, 
:  remaining  ingredients  and  blend  thor- 
ihly.  Pour  into  pie  crust.  Bake  in  hot 
m  (425°  F.)  for  10  minutes,  reduce 
t  to  moderate  (350°  F.)  and  bake  20 
nates  longer,  or  until  set. 


MARIE  McDONALD,  a  hunt  stromberg  star,  appearing  in  the 

EDWARD  SMALL  COMPANY  PRODUCTION,  "GETTING  GERTIE'S  GARTER" 


YOU  can  have  "Hands  that  Delight". 

Have  Marie  McDonald's  own  lovely  hand  care — 
Jergens  Lotion. 

The  Stars  use  Jergens  Lotion  Hand  Care,  7  to  I 

NOW  MORE  EFFECTIVE  THAN  EVER.     Thanks  to 
wartime  research,  Jergens  scientists  can  now 
make  your  Jergens  Lotion  even  finer. 
"My  hands  feel  even  softer,  smoother;" 
"Protects  longer;"  women  said  after 
■stesting.     Those  2  skin-smoothing  ingredients 
many  doctors  use  are  included  in  this  even 
finer  Jergens  Lotion.     In  the  stores  now 
in  the  familiar  bottle  —  still  100  to 
$1.00  (plus  tax).  Lovely!  None  of  that 
oiliness  ;  no  sticky  feeling. 

^'JERGENS  LOTION 

Now  more  Effective  than  ever—  thanks  to  Wartime  Research  71 


(Continued  from  page  69) 
heart-throbs.  Her  parents  lived  nearby  and 
one  anniversary  they  gave  a  big  garden 
party.  Jimmy  and  Buddy  were  all  dressed 
up  to  stage  a  mock  wedding  tableau. 

I  can  see  Buddy  now,  with  his  curls 
slicked  back,  draped  in  striped  trousers 
and  tiny  cutaway,  with  a  huge  gardenia  in 
the  lapel.  And  Jimmy  all  lacy  and  white 
and  beautiful  in  her  bridal  veil,  walking 
down  the  aisle  to  "get  married."  I  know 
Buddy  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it.  Even 
the  ghastly  fact  that  Jimmy  towered  above 
him  didn't  bother  him  that  afternoon. 

Buddy  had  lots  of  sweethearts  and  some- 
how I  always  managed  tc  work  myself  in 
on  the  romances  with  a  brother  or  cousin 
of  one  of  his  "wimmen." 

dreams  of  glory  .  .  . 

It  was  even  that  way,  later  on,  with 
Chris  Dunne,  who's  now  separated  from 
Tom.  Chris  was  my  pal  primarily  up  at 
Goode's,  a  little  colt-legged  kid  of  sixteen 
with  a  terrible  crush  on  Buddy  which  I 
pushed  along  the  best  I  could  and  eventu- 
ally it  worked — and  how! 

I  was  fit  to  be  tied  when  Buddy  left  Iona 
and  entered  junior  high  at  New  Rochelle. 
I  couldn't  understand  why  my  family 
wouldn't  let  me  attend  public  school, 
too.  We'd  meet,  though,  every  Satur- 
day, as  we  always  had,  at  the  movies. 

I  don't  think  our  movie  craze  set  any 
Hollywood  ideas  buzzing  around  in  Buddy's 
brain  then,  although  he  was  a  natural 
born  actor  from  the  start.  Even  as  a  boy 
he  could  mimic  anyone  to  a  T;  he  loved 
to  be  the  center  of  the  stage  with  a  little 
group  of  friends  around  him — as  he  still 
does — and  he  had  a  humor  and  wit,  as  he 
still  has,  that  is  hard  to  match. 

But  if  Buddy  did  have  a  juvenile  eye 
on  the  movie  world,  I  can  guess  the  main 
attractions.  Racy  motor  cars  and  Great 
Dane  dogs.  He  used  to  sit  up  in  his  seat 
at  the  movie  when  a  shiny  Hollywood 
super  roadster  swept  into  the  scene  or 
one  of  the  kingly  Danes  leaped  into  view. 
I'm  sure  he  thought  every  movie  star 
owned  scads  of  both. 

We  had  an  old  Buick  for  years  until 
we  loved  it  like  a  member  of  the  family  and 
Tom  has  had  his  present  car  six  years. 
I  suppose  we're  sort  of  silly  about  some 
things,  or  maybe  you  could  call  it  sen- 
timental. I  know  my  brother  is  sloppily 
sentimental  in  a  hundred  ways  and  one 
of  the  biggest  ways  is  dogs. 

The  other  day  when  his  Great  Dane, 
Sigmund,  caught  distemper  and  died,  he 
mourned  around  the  house  for  a  week. 
It  was  almost  as  if  one  of  our  family  had 
passed  away.  Siggy  weighed  165  pounds, 
but  he  slept  every  night  on  Bud's  bed  like 
every  Dane  Buddy  ever  owned.  "Wrinkle" 
had  the  same  soft  spot.  "Wrinkle"  was  the 
Dane  Buddy  had  when  we  were  in  Clinton 
Hollow.  We  took  him  on  down  to  New 
York  during  Bud's  broke-Broadway-pave- 
ment-pounding days  and  many's  the  time 
Buddy  and  I  skipped  a  meal  so  "Wrinkle" 
could  eat.  And  always  "Wrinkle"  snoozed 
peacefully  away  with  Bud  on  a  soft  mat- 
tress, which  pleased  Bud  no  end,  but  at 
times  was  rough  on  his  room-mates  who 
were  forever  moaning  about  "monsters 
roaming  the  dorm." 

I  have  so  many  marvelous  memories 
of  Life  With  Buddy  that  it's  hard  to  sort 
them  out  arid  label  them.  Some  of  the 
best  cling  around  our  "college  days"  at 
Clinton  Hollow.  That's  what  they  were, 
really,  because  Buddy  gave  up  the  idea  of 
Princeton  when  Mary  Cary,  a  New 
Rochelle  girl,  with  some  theatrical  experi- 
ence, assured  Bud  he  was  born  to  act.  The 
slogan  of  Reginald  Goode's  summer  stock 
school — "Learn  to  act  by  acting,"  was  right 
up  his  alley. 

I  drove  him  up  in  Mother's  little  Dodge 
and  then  drove  back  to  New  Rochelle.  I 


had  no  idea  of  turning  actress  myself. 
But  back  home  alone  I  got  so  blue  and 
everything  Buddy  had  ever  planned  al- 
ways seemed  to  fit  me  so  perfectly,  too, 
that  1  packed  right  up  again  and  joined 
him.  I  called  him  first  and  I  can  still  hear 
his  laugh,  "Hurry  up.  I  need  support." 

That's  what  I  was  mainly,  too:  Support. 
I  was  the  perfect  stooge  for  Buddy 
throughout  our  dramatic  days.  Deep  down 
I  was  never  too  serious  about  a  career 
myself.  But  I  was  always  backing  up 
Buddy  with  every  ounce  of  enthusiasm. 

With  that  strictly  backer-upper  attitude, 
it's  not  surprising  that  I  didn't  set  the 
dramatic  world  on  fire  myself.  Oh,  I 
walked  around  in  a  part  or  two  that  sum- 
mer, but  more  often  I  was  Miss  Utility  Girl. 

A  lot  has  already  been  written  about 
Tom  Drake's  days  in  stock,  and  the  Broad- 
way crashing  era  that  followed.  There's  no 
point  in  my  reviewing  all  that  again, 
except  to  say  that  as  far  as  Buddy  and  I 
were  concerned,  it  was  exactly  the  same 
story  as  down  in  New  York.  I  went  there 
because  he  did.  I  tried  to  fix  up  the  apart- 
ment we  found  on  Riverside  Drive  into 
something  like  home — although  that  was  a 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

H  Recently,  several 
~ stars  were  sched- 
uled to  appear  at 
the  military  hospi- 
tal where  1  am  em- 
ployed. The  stars 
were  to  have  lunch 
in  the  mess  hall  at 
a  given  time,  and 
we  civilian  employ- 
ees who  were  for- 
tunate enough  to 
have  a  rest  period  at  that  time  were 
hovering  around  the  mess  entrance, 
eager  for  a  close-up  of  the  celebrities. 
A  soldier  on  crutches  was  standing  at 
the  edge  of  the  crowd,  patiently  await- 
ing the  appearance  of  his  idol.  "Gee,'' 
he  remarked  worriedly,  to  a  pretty, 
dark  girl  standing  nearby,  "Dottie 
Lamour  is  supposed  to  be  here,  but 
she  hasn't  shown  up  yet."  "Well,"  the 
girl  twinkled,  "she  has  now." 

"You're  Miss  Lamour,"  the  em- 
barrassed soldier  stammered,  looking 
as  though  he  wanted  to  pass  out — and 
he  almost  did! 

Charlene  McCarroll 
Penryn,  Calif. 


struggle  with  the  crowd  of  crazy  ex- 
Clinton  Hollowers  we  ganged  with.  But 
my  heart  was  never  in  my  career — only 
Buddy's.  Pretty  soon  I  expanded  my  in- 
terests. 

Buddy  introduced  me  to  Bob  Kennedy. 
We  were  having  lunch  at  Walgreen's  when 
this  handsome  Irish  guy  walked  over. 
"Bob,"  said  Buddy,  "I  want  you  to  meet 
my  sister,  Claire."  That  was  it.  Bob  invited 
us  both  to  a  party  at  his  house  and  we  all 
had  dinner  afterwards.  And  not  too  long 
afterwards,  Bob  and  I  were  standing  be- 
fore a  preacher  up  in  Greenwich — and 
Buddy  was  giving  me  away. 

But  not  even  a  home  and  husband  of 
my  own  could  dim  my  standing  as  Number 
One  Rooter  for  Tom  Drake.  Bob  was  a 
young  Broadway  agent  then  and  that  made 
show  business  even  more  of  a  family  mat- 
ter. I  thrilled  with  every  outside  chance 
Buddy  had  at  a  show  and  when  it  fizzed 
out,  as  did  his  chance  at  "Brother  Rat," 
I  gloomed  miserably.  When  his  first  break 
finally  came  in  "June  Night,"  the  tryout 
debut  was  in  Philadelphia.  Buddy  phoned. 

"Promise  you'll  come  down.  I  couldn't 
think  of  going  on  without  you  around." 

"Are  you  crazy?"  I  flared.  "Try  and  keep 
me  away." 


I  sat  in  the  front  row  and  suffered,  as 
I  had  up  in  summer  stock.  "That's  my 
brother,"  I  hissed  proudly  to  my  seat- 
neighbor,  "isn't  he  wonderful?" 

The  drama  critics  didn't  agree — at  least 
not  about  "June  Night."  Together  we 
pored  over  the  paper  pannings  all  that 
night  and  I  was  just  sick.  But  Buddy 
wisecracked  about  the  debacle  with  all 
his  old  spunk.  I've  never  known  him  to 
lose  his  sense  of  humor  over  a  flop — and 
Heaven  knows  he  had  plenty  of  oppor- 
tunity in  the  fiascos  that  followed.  But 
I'd  always  manage  to  send  him  a  telegram 
like  "Stow  that  turkey  away  and  we'll 
have  it  for  Thanksgiving,"  or  "Lay  another 
egg  and  I'll  make  you  an  omelet."  I  knew 
he  liked  that  routine  far  better  than  sym- 
pathy. 

Buddy's  just  as  wrapped  up  in  my  life 
by  now  as  I  am  in  his,  thank  goodness.  He 
and  Bob  have  always  hit  it  off  like  brothers 
and  I  can't  imagine  a  better  uncle  for  my 
little  girls  than  Uncle  Bud.  He  was  in 
the  middle  of  his  first  fling  at  Hollywood 
when  Christopher  was  on  the  way,  but  he 
flew  back  for  the  event.  It  took  three  days 
for  Chris  to  be  born  and  Buddy  showed 
up  every  half  hour  on  the  half  hour.  By 
the  time  she  arrived,  he  had  over  a  hun- 
dred names  picked  out,  including  his 
favorite,  "Jean."  He'd  even  opened  a  bank 
account  for  the  baby  in  the  name  of  "Jean 
Kennedy."  But  Buddy  knew  he  hadn't 
quite  hit  the  name  to  please  me.  So  on 
the  third  day  when  we  were  huddled  in 
the  hospital  room,  Bob,  Buddy  and  me, 
worn  out  with  waiting,  I  burst  out,  "Oh, 
Christopher  Columbus,  I  wish  my  baby 
was  here!" 

"Christopher!"  cried  Tom.  "How  about 
that?"  We  all  looked  at  each  other  and 
smiled  like  tabby  cats.  That  was  it.  Chris 
arrived  promptly  and  Buddy  changed  the 
bank  account. 

bud's  family  .  .  . 

When  Buddy  clicked  in  "Janie"  at  last 
and  signed  the  contract  that  brought  him 
to  Hollywood,  we  were  separated  seven 
long  months.   I  could  tell  from  Buddy's 
letters  that  he  was  horribly  lonely  for  his 
"family."  AH  the  fun  Hollywood  can  offer' 
a  young  bachelor  couldn't  dull  that  ache; 
for  his  own  that  Buddy  always  carriest 
with  him.   I  knew  that.    So  the  minutea 
Buddy  found  a  house  in  Beverly  HilL 
big  enough  to  cover  our  heads,  out  w« 
trooped,  Chris  and  Casey  and  I.  Uncle 
Bud   jumped   with  joy   and  right  awaj 
started  spoiling  my  girls  rotten.  He  buil 
them  a  sand  slide  in  back,  bought  al 
the  toys  he  could  find  in  the  stores,  includ 
ing  a  giant  Dumbo  elephant  that's  twid 
as  big  as  they  are,  candy  by  the  boxe 
and  so  many  treats  of  ice  cream  and  suck 
ers  that  I  finally  had  to  put  my  foot  dowr 

So,  if  there's  one  fault  I  can  find  in  in- 
famous brother,  it's  generosity.  He  doesn 
care  a  whoop  about  holidays  and  is  likel 
to  forget  birthdays  and  anniversaries  an 
even  Christmases,  but  in  between  he's  al 
ways  thinking  about  those  he  loves  an 
how  to  make  them  happy.  I  have  boxe 
of  gifts  that  Buddy  has  showered  me  wit 
through  the  years — jewelry,  clothes,  book 
china,  silver — all  sort  of  things,  all  thought 
fully  selected  and  lovely. 

But  the  bracelet  I'm  wearing  now  I  thi 
I  prize  as  much  as  any,  and  I  think,  to  j 
it  rather  sums  up  how  I  feel  about  Budc 
and  how  he  feels  about  me.   It's  just 
plain   silver   identification   bracelet.  Bi, 
it's  perfectly  designed,  simple  and  sturd 
There  was  no  occasion,  no  birthday,  hoi 
day  or  common  excuse  for  the  gift.  Budi  I 
just  had  it  made  and  gave  it  to  me  one  ds  j 

It  says — "Claire" — that's  all.    No  fan 
dedication,  no  flowery  phrase.  When 
comes  to  expressing  how  we  feel  abo  I 
each  other,  we've  never  needed  wor'ls  | 
not  Buddy  and  me. 


A  CHRISTMAS  HE'LL  NEVER  FORGET 

(Continued  jrom  page  49) 


xteen.  And  he  had  a  special  reason  for 
anting  his  parents  to  be  happy: 
Except  for  the  war,  they'd  have  been 
i  Monte  Carlo.  Now  there  was  talk  of 
ermuda  or  the  Bahamas.  Peter  had 
othing  against  either.  They  were  lovely 
laces  but  they  weren't  Hollywood. 
At  three,  Peter  decided  to  become  a 
Lovie  actor.  Dressing  up  was  his  favorite 
:cupation.  All  he  ever  wanted  for  Christ- 
Las  was  a  makeup  box  so  he  could  paint 
imself  to  look  like  an  Indian  brave. 
At  7,  he  was  a  movie  actor,  hailed  by 
le  British  press  as  England's  Jackie 
oogan.  At  9,  his  career  was  halted  by  his 
arents'  decision  to  travel  round  the 
orld,  stopping  for  six  months  here,  for 
year  some  place  else.  Peter  was  schooled 
y  tutors.  He  found  the  four  quarters  of 
le  globe  highly  interesting,  but  never 
nee  abandoned  his  fixed  idea:  To  be  a 
lovie  actor.  Mother  had  given  her  word 
E  honor.  "When  you're  18,  you  can  go 
ack  to  the  movies."  Originally,  Dad  had 
□posed  the  whole  thing.  Knighted  for  his 
:rvices  in  World  War  I,  General  Sir  Sid- 
ey  Lawford  had  assumed  that  his  only 
m  would  join  his  old  regiment.  But  even 
'ad  had  yielded  to  the  single-tracked  in- 
:nsity  of  Peter's  ambition. 
At  13,  he  crashed  his  right  arm  through 
glass  door.  By  a  miracle,  the  arm  was 
ived,  but  the  nerves  were  permanently 
ljured.  Never  again  could  he  live  in  a 
Did  climate.  So  Mother  and  Dad  took 
im  to  California,  the  Mecca  of  all  his 
reams.  To  Peter,  California  meant  Holly- 
ood  and  the  movies.    He  got  a  part  in 


"Lord  Jeff."  Then  came  adolescence,  a 
changing  voice  and  a  marked  indifference 
on  the  part  of  the  studios.  Meantime, 
Mother  and  Dad  hankered  for  the  Riviera. 

In  Peter's  circle,  you're  not  sassy  to 
your  parents — even  in  levity.  And  you 
don't  argue.  When  Mother  and  Dad  said, 
"We've  decided  to  go  to  Monte  Carlo," 
that  was  the  end  of  it.  Finished. 

Passage  was  booked  on  the  Rex.  Mean- 
time they  waited  in  New  York.  As  they 
waited  for  the  Rex  to  sail,  Hitler's  shadow 
lengthened  over  Europe.  Disquieting  let- 
ters came  from  friends.  At  length  Lady 
Lawford,  who'd  once  been  a  journalist, 
heard  from  a  former  colleague  with  unim- 
peachable sources  of  information.  "I  don't 
know  whether  you  realize  that  the  greatest 
war  in  history  is  about  to  break.  I  think 
you'd  be  wise  to  delay  your  return — " 

long  live  the  king  .  .  . 

Dad  cancelled  their  passage.  On  Sep- 
tember 3rd  they  stood  quietly  at  the  radio, 
listening  to  the  King  declare  war  against 
Germany.  Peter  choked  up.  Mother  let 
the  tears  come.  "Well,  that  does  it,"  said 
Dad  gruffly,  and  turned  his  back  to  stare 
unseeingly  through  the  window. 

The  bank  notified  them  that  all  funds 
from  England  would  be  stopped.  Dad 
cabled  the  London  bank  and  the  lawyers. 
They  cabled  back  that  everything  was 
frozen.  Sir  Sidney  would  be  allowed  so 
much  a  month  and  no  more.  The  allow- 
ance was  a  small  fraction  of  their  normal 
income,  but  to  that  they  could  have 
adjusted  themselves.    What  happens  hap- 


pens, and  you  cut  your  coat  to  your  cloth. 
And  you  don't  whine.  But  the  trouble  was 
that  they  couldn't  count  on  what  little  of 
the  cloth  remained.  One  month  the  small 
check  would  arrive,  next  month  it 
wouldn't.   This  threw  them  off  balance. 

Meantime,  since  Peter's  arm  couldn't  be 
exposed  to  a  New  York  winter,  they'd 
gone  down  to  Florida,  and  taken  a  tiny 
house  in  West  Palm  Beach.  Cables  were 
still  shooting  back  and  forth,  plans  were 
being  discussed.  Nothing  was  settled.  But 
there  was  more  and  more  talk  of  Eermuda 
or  Nassau.  In  British-held  territory,  they 
could  get  at  their  money.  There  seemed 
no  alternative,  because  what  were  they 
going  to  live  on? 

To  all  this,  Peter  listened  with  a  sinking 
heart  and  a  mind  torn  between  conflicting 
viewpoints.  He  was  young.  With  the 
future  ahead,  having  no  money  didn't 
bother  him  much.  But  what  he  could 
accept  for  himself,  he  had  no  right  to  ask 
his  parents  to  share.  It  was  pretty  tough, 
after  a  lifetime  of  comfort,  to  submit  to  an 
uncertain,  meager  existence.  Especially  if 
you  had  a  choice,  and  they  had.  In  Nassau, 
things  would  be  easier  ... 

On  the  other  hand,  once  they  quit 
American  soil,  how  did  he  know  when 
he'd  get  back?  Especially  with  a  war  on. 
If  the  war  lasted,  he'd  enlist.  Yet,  be- 
cause of  his  arm,  he  might  be  rejected. 
It  was  all  pretty  confusing,  and  the  very 
confusion  kept  him  clinging  to  the  one 
thing  he  was  sure  of.  He  had  to  stay  here. 
Even  at  the  risk  of  unfairness  to  Mother 
and  Dad.    It  wouldn't  be  too  long  before 


Guaranteed 
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for  3  pairs 
only— one  size. 

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Your  deposit  will 
be  applied  to  your 
order,  and  you  will 
receive  a  priority 
number. 

Your  Nylons  will 
be  delivered  to  you 
in  order  of  your  priority 
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NAME  .. 
ADDRESS 
CITY  


.ZONE  STATE. 


he  could  make  it  up  to  them. 

And  so  Peter  deviated  from  type  and  be- 
came the  family's  loyal  opposition.  He 
waited  till  the  matter  came  up  for  discus- 
sion again.    Then  he  butted  in — 

"If  I  go,  it'll  be  the  end — " 

They  looked  at  him,  startled.    "The  end 
of  what,  for  heaven's  sake?" 

"There's  nothing  more  disgusting,"  he 
continued  firmly,  "than  a  young  man  who 
lives  on  his  father—" 

"That's  laudable,"  said  Dad,  "but  you're 
a  little  young  to  worry  about  it.  You 
haven't  finished  your  studies  yet — " 

"When  I'm  18,  I  want  to  be  self- 
supporting — " 

"When  you're  18,  I'll  give  you  an 
allowance — " 

"No,  it's  not  the  same  thing.  I've  got 
to  stand  on  my  own  feet.  When  I'm  18, 
I've  got  to  start  working.  The  only  place 
for  that  is  Hollywood.  If  I  leave  now, 
it'll  be  the  end — " 

His  eyes  turned  to  Mother,  who'd  given 
her  word  of  honor.  She  hadn't  forgotten. 
"Of  course,"  she  said,  "I've  got  more  fur 
coats  than  I  need.  I  can  always  sell  them. 
Or  a  ring,  or  a  pearl  necklace.  But  they 
won't  last  indefinitely,  either — " 

There,  for  the  time  being,  they  left  it. 

With  all  his  heart  Peter  prayed  that  it 
should  be  right  for  them  to  stay  in 
America.  Lying  in  bed  one  night,  he 
thought:  "But  I  shouldn't  ask  for  a 
miracle.  If  only  we'd  stayed  in  Hollywood! 
There  I  could  find  some  job — " 

He  broached  the  subject  next  day  with 
elaborate  carelessness.  "I  could  go  out  and 
get  a  job,  you  know — " 

"Of  course  you  could,"  said  Mother. 
"You  could  also  climb  a  ladder  and  bring 
down  the  moon — " 

"It's  not  so  impossible.  Lots  of  boys  who 
aren't  even  sixteen  find  work — " 

She  could  have  wept  at  the  earnest 
young  face.  "Oh  Peter,  you've  never  even 
put  away  your  own  clothes — " 

He'd  never  had  to,  Peter  argued.  He'd 
never  needed  a  job  till  now.  If  you  were 
observant,  you  didn't  have  to  do  a  thing  to 
know  you  were  capable  of  doing  it.  He, 
Peter,  had  observed.  He  knew  he  could 
pick  up  his  clothes  and  he  also  knew  he 
could  handle  a  job.  Would  Mother  and 
Dad  object  if  he  looked  for  one — ? 

Mother  turned  to  Dad — who  deliberated 
while  Peter  held  his  breath.  At  last  the 
verdict  came.    "Fair  enough,"  said  Dad. 

At  breakfast  next  -  morning  Peter  was 
very  businesslike.  His  motor  scooter  waited 
at  the  door.  He  ate  with  dispatch,  and 
asked  to  be  excused.  "Going  out  for  a 
job,  you  know — "  he  murmured. 

Scooting  across  the  bridge  to  Palm 
Beach,  Peter  decided  to  consult  his  friends. 
They  might  be  able  to  give  him  a  lead. 

that  oxford  touch  .  .  . 

They  did.  The  manager  of  the  Worth 
Street  parking  lot  was  leaving.  The  owner 
of  the  lot — call  him  Mr.  B.,  since  Peter's 
not  sure  he'd  like  his  name  used — was  a 
leading  citizen.  Peter  felt  he  couldn't  do 
better  than  apply  directly  to  Mr.  B. 

Mr.  B.  was  a  busy  man.  Not  till  evening 
did  Peter  catch  up  with  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — " 

"Hello.    You're   Peter   Lawford,  aren't 

you?"  -  . 

"Yes,  sir.  And  there  s  a  business  matter 
I'd  like  to  discuss  with  you.  I  under- 
stand Bill  is  leaving.  May  I  propose  my- 
self for  the  job?" 

Mr.  B.  blinked.  "Well,  Peter — you've 
never  had  any  experience,  have  you?" 

"That's  true,  sir.  But  you  see,  no  money 
is  coming  out  of  England  and  no  one  will 
cash  an  English  check.  So  I  really  need 
the  work;  therefore,  I'll  work  hard.  Only 
I  must  be  honest  with  you.  I  don't  expect  to 
make  a  career  of  it.  My  idea  is  to  make 
enough  money  to  get  back  to  Hollywood. 


But  I  will  -work  all  winter — you  can  cov 
on  that,  sir.  I  know  you'll  need  referenc 
I  believe  the  British  consul  will  give 
one,  and  you  can  find  my  father  in  1 
British  'Who's  Who.'  I  don't  think  yo 
be  taking  a  chance,  sir — " 

"No,"  Mr.  B.  said  slowly,  "I  don't  th: 
I  will—" 

At  nine-thirty  Mother  and  Dad  he; 
the  motor  scooter.  At  nine-thirty-i 
Peter  burst  in.    "I've  got  a  job — " 

The  effect  was  about  the  same  as 
you'd  thrown  a  harmless  bomb.  Devast 
ing  but  with  pleasant  repercussions  . 

let  'em  eat  bread  .  .  . 

Peter   couldn't   have    asked   for  m 
wholehearted  co-operation  than  he  seen 
to  be  getting  from  Mother  and  Dad.  Mot 
was  learning  to  cook  and  Dad  appoin 
himself  handyman.  What  encouraged  Pe 
most  was  their  unfailing  good  humor.  Tl 
fell  in  with  almost  every  suggestion  t 
poured    from    their    son's    fertile  bi 
through  his  eager  lips.   One  night  he 
down  with  a  list  of  things  they  could 
without.  "We  can  cut  out  the  phone, 
don't  have  to  send  things  to  the  launc 
A  woman  by  the  day  will  cost  much  1 
We  don't  need  half  the  food  we  eat — 
"There  I  draw  the  line,"  said  Dad.  "Y 
mother's  coping  with  enough  noveltie: 
the  moment.    Let's  leave  starvation 
another  day — " 

Peter  grinned.  But  the  sharp  1 
teeth  of  anxiety  dug  themselves  in  foi 
extra  jab.  Because  he  still  wasn't  £ 
He  could  tell  that  Mother  and  Dad  v 
pleased  with  the  way  he'd  taken  ho 
amazed  but  pleased.  But  in  spite  of  ev< 
thing,  they  hadn't  committed  themse~ 
As  the  holiday  season  approached, 
grew  more  uneasy.  The  news  was 
There  wasn't  much  fighting — just  an  c 
nous  something  in  the  air,  reflectet 
letters  from  friends,  in  the  movemenf 
children  from  England  to  America.  Mc 
and  Dad  hung  on  the  radio. 

The  days  slipped   by.    "I  haven't 
heart  for  a  tree,"  Mother  said.  "Let's 
celebrate  by  going  to  church — " 
"Good  idea,"  said  Dad. 
"Right,"   echoed   Peter,   but  his 
must  have  given  him  away. 

Mother  looked  up.    "Of  course  we  o 
to  have  something  special  for  Chris 
dinner.    Turkey's  beyond  me,  and 
pudding  I  don't  even  venture  to  con 
plate.    If  you  two  are  willing  to  tak 
chance,  however,  I'll  try  a  chicken — " 
But  it  wasn't  the  turkey  and  plum 
ding  Peter  cared  about,  nor_the  gifts 
the  tree,  but  the  sadness  of  his  pa 
A  thought  struck  him.   They'd  a 
made    Christmas    merry    for  him. 
shouldn't  he  do  it  for  them  this 
That's  why  he  was  waiting  in  his 
Christmas  Eve  till  the  house  was 
He  waited  till  midnight — to  be  sure  M 
and  Dad  were  sound  asleep — before 
ing  out.  Cautiously,  he  opened  the 
door,  thumb-tacked  the  wreath  up 
closed  it  again.    Then  he  turned  or 
small  lamp  in  a  corner.    Using  cha: 
ladders,  he  strung  the  paper  chains 
chandelier   to   wall   brackets.  Tha" 
only  the  tree.    Funny.    Heaped  up  i 
closet,  it  had  looked  like  a  lot  of 
but  it  spread  out  pretty  thin — 

He  set  the  tree  on  the  table  and  spri 
snow  over  it.  What  a  time  he'd  hac 
ting  it  home  on  his  scooter,  trying  tc 
it  steady  between  his  feet.  He  stood 
and  eyed  it.  It  seemed  even  smalle 
than  it  had  in  the  dime  store — 

Time  dissolved  for  a  moment,  and 
was  looking  again  at  his  biggest  tre 
He  was  six  years  old.  They  w« 
Water  Eaton,  his  Aunt  Ethel's  lofty  n 
house  near  Oxford,  which  had  once 
a  monastery. 
"If  you'll   come  for  Christmas,'" 


:hel  had  said,  ''I'll  give  you  a  very  big 

He  wouldn't  have  believed  a  tree  could 
?  so  big.  They  opened  the  doors  of  the 
awing  room  on  the  old  stone  hall,  where 
great  Yule  log  blazed  in  the  fireplace, 
id  the  glittering  tree  rose  high  beyond 
e  staircase  and  towered  to  the  ceiling, 
here  Peter's  wondering  eyes  were  held 
r  a  fairy  with  a  star-tipped  wand — 
Nobody  said  a  word  till  he'd  looked  his 
I — till  he'd  run  to  Aunt  Ethel  and  flung 
-s  arms  around  her  in  a  wordless  rapture 

thanks  .  .  . 
Then  Christmas  dinner — the  turkey  and 
anberry  sauce,  the  twelve  tiny  mince- 
es  for  twelve  happy  months,  the  breath- 
ss  moment  when  the  plum  pudding  was 
>rne  in  aflame.  And  the  pieces  and  pieces 
>u  ate  hoping  to  bite  against  one  of  the 
killings  or  halfcrowns  it  was  stuffed  with. 
Lit  Peter  wound  up  with  a  thrupenny  bit. 
That  brought  him  ruefully  back  to  the 
esent.  Under  his  thrupenny  tree,  he 
id  Dad's  tie  and  set  the  goldfish  bowl 
;tween  the  legs  of  the  table. 
He'd  never  slept  well  the  night  before 
nristmas  and  this  was  no  exception.  He 
as  up  first,  waiting  when  Mom  and  Dad 
me  out  with  two  packages.  They  looked 

the  trees  and  the  chains  and  the  gold- 
h,  and  Peter  nonchalantly  opened  the 
ior  to  display  the  wreath— 


'"Oh  darling,  how  sweet  of  you!"  said 
other,  her  eyes  shining,  while  Dad  ad- 
ired  his  tie  and  Peter  opened  his  own 
rts — a  sweater  and  a  model  plane.  And 
ough  nothing  much  more  was  said,  there 
emed  to  be  a  general  lift  in  the  air. 
pecially  after  they  got  home  from  church 
id  Mother  started  the  chicken.  Even  Dad 
pt  running  to  the  kitchen  to  look  and 
off,  as  the  bird  turned  unbelievably 
lien  brown,  exactly  as  if  someone  else 
d  cooked  it  .  .  . 

In  fear  and  trembling  Mother  watched 
em  take  their  first  bite. 
"It's  good,"  said  Peter. 
'Excellent,"  Dad  agreed. 
Only  then  did  she  find  the  courage  to 
1  her  own  fork.   "Good?"  cried  Mother 
iignantly.    "It's  simply  delicious!" 
The  dishes  were  done.    A  fire  blazed, 
d  the  little  tree  glimmered  on  the  table, 
vtside,  the  voices  of  children  rose  in  a 
rol.   Mother  went  to  the  door  to  give 
;m  some  cake,  came  back  and  sat  down. 
'Peter,"  she  said  quietly,  "your  father 
Id  I  have  another  gift  for  you.  We  think 
u'll  like  it.   We've  decided  to  stay  in 
nerica — " 

'Oh."  The  world  whirled  for  a  moment, 
sn  righted  itself.  "Thank  you,  Mother — 
d."  His  voice  caught  a  little.  "I — I'll 
to  see  that  you  don't  regret  it — " 
..ater,  Mother  came  to  his  room  to  say 
xinight.     "Happy,  darling?" 

.  'Terribly  happy.    Mother,  there's  some- 

!ng  I  want  to  tell  you.  I  realize  what 
j  and  Dad  are  doing  for  me.  I  shouldn't 
ve  asked  it  if  I  didn't  think  it  was  right 
me  to  work  at  the  only  thing  I  ever 
nted  to  do.  Remember  what  you've  al- 
ys  said? — if  you  ask  God  for  something 
:h  all  your  heart  and  it's  right  for  you 

I  have  it,  you'll  get  it.    I  asked  Him  with 

'  my  heart,  Mother — " 
f  his  mother  needed  compensation,  she 

d  it — brimful  and  running  over. 

'  Tiat  was  six  years  ago.  Peter  tried  to 
ist,  but  his  arm  kept  him  out.  The 
er  Lawfords  never  regretted  their  de- 

\  on,  even  when  the  sledding  was  rough- 

;  At  the  pace  Peter's  going,  there's 
all  chance  they  ever  will. 

^"he  war's  over  now.  This  will  be  a 
rrier  Christmas.  But  nothing  Peter  finds 
ler  any  tree  will  bear  comparison  with 
at  his  parents  gave  him  out  of  their  love 

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76 


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YOU  KNOW  ME,  AL 

{Continued  from  page  39) 


the  Manhattan  newspaper  guys  (I  was 
one  once  myself  in  California)  and  telling 
my  story  to  the  magazine  editors.  I  was 
able  to  meet  quite  a  few  of  them — because 
— lucky  me — I'd  just  been  in  a  picture  that 
people  liked — "This  Gun  For  Hire."  For 
the  first  time  in  my  life  a  few  people  were 
interested  in  me — and — let's  face  it — I  liked 
it.   What  struggling  actor  wouldn't? 

That's  how  it  was,  Al.  I  was  a  country 
boy  from  California  in  your  home  town, 
New  York  City — and  you  didn't  know  it — 
but  the  one  editor  I  wanted  to  meet  more 
than  anyone  else  was  a  fellow  named 
Albert  Delacorte.  Reason?  Well,  I  figured 
Modern  Screen  and  I  spoke  the  same 
language  about  Hollywood. 

where's  al?  .  .  . 

Except  that  you  weren't  speaking  to  me. 
I  didn't  know  that  until  my  New  York 
visit  was  almost  over.  I  met  a  lot  of  people 
but  I  still  hadn't  met  this  Delacorte  and 
finally  I  mentioned  it  to  the  Paramount 
public  relations  guy  who  had  me  in  tow. 
"Seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "I've  talked  to  every 
magazine  but  the  Youth's  Companion  and 
the  Police  Gazette — but  there's  one  editor 
I'd  like  to  meet— Al  Delacorte  of  Modern 
Screen.  Is  he  in  town?" 

The  publicity  fellow  nodded.  "Oh,  sure," 
he  said,  "but  he  doesn't  want  to  see  you. 
I  asked  him  and  he  said,  'No.' " 

"Delacorte  says  he's  too  busy,"  explained 
my  friend.  "Says  he'll  see  you  later  on. 
But  here,"  and  he  stuck  out  a  sheaf  of 
paper,  "are  some  questions  he  wants  you 
to  answer." 

I  took  the  stack,  frowning.  Eight  pages, 
and  every  page  black  with  typed  question 
marks.  How  I  combed  my  hair,  brushed 
my  teeth,  which  side  I  slept  on,  how  I 
liked  my  eggs — eight  pages!  I  stuffed  the 
quiz-biz  angrily  in  my  bag.  I  was  from 
Hollywood  and  I  knew  the  old  brusheroo 
when  I  saw  it. 

"Tell  Delacorte,"  I  snapped,  "not  to  hold 
his  breath  waiting  for  the  answers!" 

That  was  in  the  spring  and  I  seriously 
doubt  if  Al  practiced  Yoga  until  the  Fourth 
of  July,  because  that's  when  I  finally  got 
around  to  scribbling  the  answers  to  that 
questionnaire.  Sue  and  I  went  up  to  Lake 
Arrowhead  for  a  holiday  and  I  tossed  the 
quizzes  in  my  bag.  The  firecrackers 
matched  my  mood.  While  they  popped  I 
sat  down  and  answered  Al's  questions. 
Born?  "There's  a  rumor,"  I  wrote.  Edu- 
cation? "Reform  School."  I  went  on  like 
that,  having  fun.  I  dropped  the  envelope 
in  the  mail  box  with  a  note.  "Dear  Mr. 
Delacorte:  Here  are  the  answers  to  your 
questions.  Light  'em  and  see  if  they  pop. 
Happy  Fourth  of  July.  Alan  Ladd." 

Well,  Al,  I'm  afraid  it  wasn't  much  of 
a  feud.  You  forgot  about  it  and  so  did  I. 
Then  one  day  on  the  set  of  "China"  a 
fellow  from  the  front  office  collared  me 
betwe«n  scenes.  "Want  you  to  meet  some- 
one," he  said.  I  walked  over.  There  was 
a  good  looking  young  guy,  about  my  age, 
unpretentious,  grinning,  sticking  out  his 
hand.  I  mought  he  must  be  another  actor 
visiting  the  set,  or  maybe  a  new  stock 
player  studying  at  the  drama  school. 

"Alan,  I  want  you  to  meet  Al  Delacorte." 

It  was  a  good  thing  those  sound  stage 
floor  boards  were  solid.  I'd  have  dropped 
right  through. 

Al  looked  about  as  much  like  my  pic- 
ture of  a  Modern  Screen  editor  as  I  look 
like  Abraham  Lincoln.  When  I  got  over 
the  shock,  I  tried  to  work  up  that  scowl 
I  wore  in  "This  Gun  For  Hire"  but  it 
wouldn't  work.  I  forgot  how  miffed  I'd 
been.  Besides,  Al  beat  me  to  the  punch. 


"Sorry  I  couldn't  get  to  see  you  in  Nev 
York,  but  I  was  all  tangled  up  in  a  dead- 
line," he  explained.  "How  about  having 
dinner  with  me  tonight?" 

It  was  impossible  to  be  mad  at  thi 
friendly  guy.  I  grinned  and  said  "Sure.' 
So  that's  how  we  met — with  a  misunder- 
standing— just  like  in  the  movies — anc 
how  do  you  like  that? 

But  I  started  this  story  to  take  you  anc 
your  gang  apart,  Al,  and  it's  no  time  foi 
bouquets  yet.  First  off,  I'm  going  to  accus< 
you  of  fooling  the  public.  I  still  cherish  mi 
favorite  picture  of  you  as  a  magazin* 
editor — a  hard-bitten  old  goat  wrapped  h 
pipe  or  cigar  smoke  with  a  green  eyeshade 
And  you  still  look  like  a  kid  just  out  o 
college.  I'm  going  to  prove  that,  too. 

Remember  the  time  on  my  second  trij 
to  New  York  when  Sue  and  I  stayed  in  ; 
hotel,  up  by  the  Park?  This  afternoor 
there  were  Sue,  Al  and  myself,  and  w< 
came  out  of  the  lobby  to  meet  the  mob 
Not  after  me,  understand,  after  other  star, 
at  the  hotel,  but  they  consoled  themselve 
with  me  while  they  were  waiting,  an: 
pretty  soon  hands  were  grabbing  me  fron 
all  angles  and  a  couple  dozen  autograph 
books  were  being  waved  under  my  nose 
Al  tried  to  shove  in  to  where  I  was  an 
save  the  pieces  and  then  this  young  toughi 
grabbed  him  and  said,  "Hey,  you,  tak 
yer  turn!"  He  thought  Al  was  another  ki 
trying  to  pull  a  fast  one! 

When  it  began  getting  late  for  the  radi 
program,  I  called  on  Al.  First,  I  told  th 
kids  I'd  sign  all  their  books  that  nigl 
when  I  got  back  and  give  them  bac 
the  next  day.  "Al,"  I  panted,  "will  yo 
take  these  into  the  desk  and  leave  'em  fc 
me?"  And  he  said  sure.  So  in  he  wer 
lugging  those  autograph  books  to  the  des 
and  the  clerk  gazed  down  at  him  with 
fish  eye  and  gasped  icily,  "the  nerve 
that  kid!"  And  in  less  than  a  minute  tv. 
bellboys  had  given  Al  the  bum's  rush  rig' 
out  to  the  street,  dead  sure  that  he  b< 
longed  to  that  gang  of  teen-agers.  Honei 

hairbreadth  henry  .  .  . 

It  must  be  catching — this  youth  mov< 
ment  around  Modern  Screen.  Take  Hen 
Malmgreen.  With  that  crew  cut  he  loo 
as  if  he'd  just  walked  out  of  Nassau  H 
down  in  Princeton.  My  little  girl,  Alar 
touched  those  spikes  of  his  last  time  s 
saw  him  and  said  "hairbrush!"'  You  cai 
fool  a  kid.  But  on  the  other  hand,  like 
said,  it  must  run  in  your  family. 

I  remember  that  night.  Al,  right  aft 
we'd  met  on  the  "China"  set.  and  I  show 
up  at  your  cottage  at  the  Garden  of  All? 
I'd  come  fresh  from  the  set  and  I  had 
wash  up  and  shave  before  we  went  on  c 
to  the  Derby.  So  I  barged  in  and  the 
was  another  young  looking  man  and  j 
said,  "Alan,  meet  the  other  Delacorte"  £ 
I  mumbled,  "Pleased-to-meet-you,"  ( 
plained  about  the  washup,  and  you  poin 
out  the  bathroom.  Then  when  I  yel 
out,  "Say,  Al," — somehow  I  started  call 
you  Al  right  away — "have  you  got  a  ra 
blade?"  you  said,  "No,"  and  I  said.  "/ 
your  brother  if  he's  got  one."  Ther 
heard  you  two  laughing  and  I  came 
covered  with  soap  and  confusion. 

Because  the  other  Delacorte  grinned 
said,  "I'm  not  his  brother.    I'm  his  da 
Was  my  face  red  to  tag  George  Delaco 
the  head  of  Dell  Publishing  Company, 
a  youngster! 

Well,  I  suppose  I  know  part  of 
answer  to  that  Ponce  de  Leon  stuff  in 
Delacorte  tribe  by  now,  Al — although 
was  fairly  rugged  finding  out.   The  rea 
vou  and  your  Dad  and  all  of  you  cha 


ii-ound  like  the  Light  Brigade,  spouting 
itom-energy  right  and  left  without  tiring, 
s  because  you  know  how  to  keep  fit. 

I've  already  given  out  the  facts  of  my 
ife  at  school.  1  played  a  little  football 
md  liked  track,  besides  knocking  myself 
mt  regularly  from  a  high  dive  board.  I've 
-Jways  tumbled,  done  calisthenics,  ridden 
lorseback — kept  active.  But  how  was  I  to 
mow  an  editor — of  all  people — would  turn 
*ut  to  be  a  muscle  man?  So  here's  another 
tory  on  you,  Primo  .  .  . 

I'd  asked  Al  up  to  the  house  to  meet 
he  family.  The  minute  we  got  home,  there 
vas  a  guy  waiting  with  something  to  read 
rid  sign — business.  I  excused  myself  to  Al 
jid  said,  "Make  yourself  at  home." 

So  I  was  sitting  in  the  room  going  over 
his  matter  and  suddenly  I  heard  a  rattling 
ut  in  back,  a  kind  of  cross  between  a 
lachine  gun's  rat-a-tat  and  a  riff  on  a 
nare  drum.  I  took  a  look  out  the  door  and 
'.iere  was  Al  busy  at  my  punching  bag 
nd  making  it  say  "Uncle!" 

"Want  a  turn?"  he  grinned.  "Don't  be 
illy,"  I  said.    "I  have  my  pride."  And 

asked  him  straight,  "How  did  a  swivel 
sat  softie  learn  to  punch  a  skin  like 
lat?"  And  guess  what  he  replied? 

"My  mother  taught  me." 

1  had  to  sit  down  on  that  one  and  we 
ot  to  talking.  Turned  out  Al  has  been  a 
oy  athlete  all  his  life.  He's  a  bicyclist 
ipreme,  has  pedalled  himself  all  over 
le  U.  S.  at  various  times  and  you  don't 

0  that  when  the  fellows  yell  "Hey, 
kinny"  on  the  beach  as  those  Lionel 
trongfort  ads  say.  You  need  legs.  At 
rep  school  and  Princeton,  too,  Al  was 
ime  shakes  at  gym  and  swimming,  and 

2  boxed  around  like  a  shipping  clerk. 
Well,  my  own  reputation  went  right 
own  the  drain  that  same  afternoon,  be- 
luse  that  week,  in  a  fight  scene,  I'd  slipped 
om  a  flight  of  steps  on  the  prop  boat  at 
ar amount  and  I'd  got  a  gimp  in  my  back. 

3  I  could  keep  working  without  yelling 
Dueh"  every  time  I  took  a  step  and  spoil- 
ig  a  take,  I  had  a  Swedish  masseur  come 
p  to  give  me  a  rub  to  get  the  kinks  out. 
e  was  due  then,  and  after  watching  Al 
ss  himself  around  with  that  bag,  I  sug- 
?sted  he  get  a  treatment,  too. 

He  finally  did,  just  to  be  polite.  But  you 
•uld  tell  he  didn't  think  much  of  the  idea. 

iddy  duet .  .  . 

Al  Delacorte  and  I  had  a  lot  of  private 
terests  in  common  from  the  day  we  met. 
le  and  I  were  looking  forward  to  the 
rival  of  our  Alana  about  then  and  Al 
d  his  wife,  Letitia,  had  an  option  on  the 
.by  who's  now  their  son,  Peter.  Prospec- 
7e  daddies  have  to  stick  together  and 
&  took  the  approaching  situation  apart 
all  angles,  in  Hollywood  and  New 
3rk.  When  we  got  together  on  facts, 
rned  out  it  was  practically  a  stork  derby, 
ther  one  of  us  might  be  a  daddy  first  by 
matter  of  days.  So  we  made  a  bet  and  Al 
on.  The  Delacortes'  Peter  is  a  few  weeks 
ier  than  our  Alana.  But  Al  paid  right 

1  ck  by  sending  Alana,  when  she  arrived, 
e  biggest  teddy  bear  this  side  of  Kodiak 
and  She's  been  trying  to  grow  up  to 
now  for  over  two-and-a-half  years. 

As  for  kids — can  you  take  another  ex- 
se,  Al?  It  was  on  that  hitch-hike  trip 
took  home  from  Hollywood  to  New 
>rk  last  year.  He  was  thumbing  a  ride 
WB  South  and  a  migrating  family  of 
-mers  slowed  down  and  took  him  aboard, 
th  the  dogs,  chickens,  furniture,  pots 

F  d  pans — and  kids — all  over  the  car.  That 
s  exactly  what  Al  wanted  most— I'll  have 
tell  you  more  about  his  meet-the-people 
irs— and  he  didn't  mind  a  bit  when 

,  2'  Put  the  youngest  baby  on  his  lap. 
•Veil,  came  time  to  haul  into  a  roadside 
ery^  and  Al  said  lunch  was  on  him. 

^iiatll  you  have?"   he   asked.  "Ham- 

'  rger,  with  onions."  said  Mama.  "Make 


<^e^^m/dt  little  employment 
hath  the  daintier  senseJl 


William  Shakespeare 


Little  employment"?  These 
days ?_ Don't  be  silly,  Willie! 

Nowadays,  it's  polish  and  paint . . .  scrub  and  scour 
till  your  hands  are  scratchy  and  rough  and  un- 
romantically  red.  Protect  your  hands  with  snowy 
Pacquins  Hand  Cream.  Pacquins  helps  give  your 
hands  a  dainty  "young  skin"  look. 


Ask  your  Doctor  or  his 
Nurse  about  keeping  hands  in  good 

condition  in  spite  of  30  to  40  scrubbings  a  day. 
That's  hard  on  hands!  Pacquins  Hand  Cream  was 
originally  formulated  for  their  professional  use.  It's 
super-rich  with  "humectant". . .  an  ingredient  that 
helps  make  dry  skin  feel  softer,  more  supple. 


Creamy-smooth  .  .  .  not  sticky,  not 
greasy.  More  hands  use  Pacquins  than 
any  other  hand  cream  in  the  world! 


AT     ANY     DRUG,  DEPARTMENT, 


OR     TEN-CENT  STORE 


77 


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78 


it  two,"  said  Pop.  "I  want  a  hamburger, 
too,"  piped  up  three  or  four  Juniors.  It 
was  down  to  the  sixteen-month  baby  Al 
had  cradled  all  the  way.  Al  turned  to  the 
mother.  "What  will  we  order  for  the 
baby?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,"  said  the  woman.  "He'll  have  the 
same — with  onions."  Al  gasped,  but  he 
did  what  Mama  said. 

Speaking  of  that  cross-country  hitch 
home  from  Hollywood,  Al — that's  one  for 
the  book — at  least  my  book.  I  knew  you 
were  public  opinion  minded  all  right,  with 
that  Modern  Screen  poll  picking  Hollywood 
popularity  winners  every  month,  but  I 
didn't  know  until  then  that  you  liked  to 
meet  the  people  in  person  and  find  out 
what  ticks  in  their  minds.  I  didn't  know 
it  was  a  hobby,  that  you  and  Letitia  had 
even  spent  your  honeymoon  thumbing 
rides  all  over  Florida,  and  not  because  you 
couldn't  afford  the  railroad  fare,  either. 

That's  why.  I  suppose,  I  still  couldn't 
face  the  obvious  facts  that  time  after  I'd 
knocked  myself  out  getting  you  train 
transportation  back  home  from  Hollywood. 

reluctant  guest  .  .  . 

When  the  hotel  situation  was  so  tight 
in  Hollywood  and  Al  was  parking  his  suit- 
case on  the  curb  I  almost  had  to  wrestle 
him  to  make  him  put  up  at  my  house 
where  there  was  plenty  of  sleeping  room. 
Once  there,  he  relaxed  and  we  gave  him 
the  home  folks  treatment,  but  to  get  him 
there  you  had  to  twist  his  arm  all  over 
the  place.  "I'll  be  in  the  way,"  said  Al, 
and  Sue  and  I  said,  "Nuts,  don't  be  silly!" 

Well,  the  time  drew  near  for  Al  to  get 
back  to  his  editorial  offices,  and  one  morn- 
ing at  breakfast  what  did  he  do  but  casu- 
ally drop  the  remark  that  he  had  no  train 
reservations.  He  was  leaving  in  a  couple 
of  days.    I  almost  dropped  the  coffee  cup. 

"Good  gosh,  then,"  I  exclaimed.  "You'd 
better  get  busy,  Al.  Maybe  some  of  the 
studios  can  help  you." 

"Oh,  no,"  he  objected.  "I  wouldn't  ask 
any  favors.  I'd  be  obligated." 

This  was  in  the  pinchiest  time  for  train 
space.  There  just  wasn't  any.  But  I  knew 
that  all  the  Hollywood  studios  kept  a  few 
well  worn  seats  for  executives  to  use  rattl- 
ing back  and  forth  to  Washington  on  gov- 
ernment training  film  business.  Some- 
times a  change  in  plans  gave  out  with  a 
cancellation.  I  got  busy  on  the  phone  that 
morning.  I  called  everyone  I  knew,  used 
all  the  pull  I  had.  It  was  no  soap. 

The  next  day  I  picked  up  where  I'd 
left  off.  Not  a  chance — until  late  in  the 
evening  the  phone  on  the  set  jingled  for 
me.  "There's  a  last  minute  cancellation 
on  the  Chief  for  tomorrow,"  said  a  friend 
of  mine  in  a  studio  transportation  depart- 
ment. 

"Don't  let  it  out  of  your  hands,"  I  cried. 
I  hopped  in  my  car,  raced  across  town,  got 
the  precious  space,  hurtled  back  to  the 
house.  "Al,"  I  said,  handing  him  the  paste- 
board, "you  are  looking  at  stuff  more 
precious  than  gold." 

"Why,  thanks,  Alan,"  said  Al.  "But  I 
really  don't  need  this." 

"Oh,"  I  groaned.  "Are  you  going  to 
start  that  'I  can't  put  you  to  this  trouble' 
stuff  again?  The  trouble's  all  over.  There's 
your  seat  back  home  to  New  York." 

"But  you  see,"  said  Al,  "I'm  going  to 
hitch-hike." 

And  the  next  morning  he  bought  a  suit 
of  long  underwear  and  a  raincoat  and 
waved  Sue,  me,  and  Sylvia  Wallace  good- 
bye on  the  outskirts  of  Los  Angeles.  We 
watched  a  truck  driver  pick  him  up.  I 
don't  know  whether  he  was  more  thrilled 
climbing  in  the  cab  of  that  truck  to  hit  the 
open  road,  or  greeting  all  the  Hollywood 
stars  at  his  party  the  night  before. 

So,  Al — let's  face  it:  You're  an  individ- 
ualist.   I'll  make  it  a  rugged  individualist. 

He  drinks  milk  when  any  normal  person 


goes  for  tea  or  coffee.  He  doesn't  smok 
a  thing.  He  plays  the  piano  but  won 
admit  it.  (I  caught  him  at  my  house.)  He 
a  hep  cat  from  away  back  and  a  hot  platte 
hoarder  deluxe,  and  he's  green  with  env 
at  Sue's  and  my  collection  of  old  Crosb 
recordings  (we  sat  up  until  dawn  one  nigr 
running  them  over  and  over).  He's 
camera  nut  supreme. 

He  reads  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  som 
time  every  day  and  he  can  quote  fror 
the  Scriptures  to  prove  a  point.  He's 
softie  for  holidays  and  he  never  forgets  a 
anniversary  or  a  birthday  or  anythin 
where  a  present's  called  for.  And  Al  ca 
make  a  holiday  out  of  anything.  He  one 
sent  me  a  beautiful  pair  of  gold  cuff  link 
from  Tiffany's.  I  wrote  and  thanked  hii 
but  was  forced  to  ask  how  come?  "An 
niversary  of  the  day  you  made  Moder 
Screen's  popularity  poll,"   explained  A 

He's  a  nut  on  physical  culture  and  wort 
out  daily  with  his  dad  in  Manhattan  gym 
as  I've  pointed  out,  but  maybe  his  bigge 
outdoor  hobby  is  sailing  on  Long  Islan 
Sound.  Al's  worst  dissipation  is  sittir 
up  until  3: 00  a.m.  with  someone  like  m 
and  taking  the  world  apart  with  words  i 
his  New  York  apartment,  with  probab 
Henry  Malmgreen,  "the  Brow,"  to  give  hi 
a  good  argument.  "21"  is  his  favorite  Ne 
York  cafe  and  he  likes  Romanoff's  in  Holb 
wood.  He  gets  a  great  bang  out  of  partie 
especially  if  he  can  toss  them  himself.  . 

The  biggest  kick  Al  Delacorte  gets  o  i 
of  life,  I  know,  is  working  with  MoDEij 
Screen's  popularity  poll,  and  then  helpiii 
boost  the  players  along  to  a  permane  j 
place  in  the  Hollywood  sun.  You'd  thii 
all  the  movie  guys  and  gals  on  his  p< 
were  members  of  his  own  family,  to  he 
him  talk.  He's  that  wrapped  up  in  the 

One  feature  of  a  Poll  Party  thrown  at  r 
house  gave  Al  Delacorte  one  of  the  warr 
est  thrills  he  ever  got  in  Hollywood.  Ma 
ing  out  the  guest  list,  Sue  teamed 
Johnny  Payne  with  one  of  the  cutest  gi 
in  town,  Gloria  De  Haven. 

You  know  what  happened.  From  tr 
night  on  John  and  Gloria  decided  th 
were  meant  for  each  other.  It  was  mc 
than  a  Hollywood  romance  note.  Tt 
was  one  for  the  preacher.  Playing  Cuj 
was  a  new  role  for  Sue  and  me  and 
grinned  at  the  mental  image  of  Al  De. 
corte  wearing  wings. 

All  right,  Al,  school's  over.  Now  y 
know  how  it  feels  to  have  somebody  { 
you  into  a  goldfish  bowl,  right  in  your  o 
backyard,  right  in  Modern  Screen.  If  1 
experience  has  been  painful,  remember 
hurts  me  more  than  it  does  you.  But  dc 
forget,  what's  sauce  for  the  goose  is  app 
sauce  for  the  gander,  as  we  say  he 

So  before  you  send  this  sailing  into  y< 
wastebasket  as  gross  libel  and  a  malici' 
fabrication  on  one  Albert  P.  Delacort 
consider: 

You  know  me,  Al — but  I  know  you,  t 


AUTHOR.  AUTHOR! 

Stand  up  and  take  a  bow,  you  bud 
ding  genius,  you!   And  while  you'r 
at  it,  take  five  dollars,  with  our  com 
pliments.  Because  that's  what  we  pa 
for  stories  we  accept  about  what  hap 
pened  when  you  met  a  star.  So  spea 
it  true  and  write  it  clear  (ink  or  type 
writer)  and  send  your  tale  to  our 
Saw    It    Happen"    Editor,  Moder 
Screen,   149   Madison   Avenue,  Ne 
York  16,  N.  Y.  And  if  we  seem  slow  \ 
answering,  puh-lease  forgive  us!  We\ 
been  swamped  with  letters,  and  sini 
we  read  every  word,  it  takes  quite 
while  sometimes  before  you  hear  fro 
us.    But  don't  despair;  you  send  'c? 
and  we'll  read  'em  .  .  .  even  if  we  g 
cross-eyed  after  the  first  thousan 


A  BOY'S  BEST  PAL .  . 

(.Continued  from,  page  45) 


life  so  far. 

In  both  his  public  and  his  private  life, 
Greg  and  his  Dad  are  still  a  team — and 
both  of  them  like  it  that  way. 

When  you  meet  Gregory  Peck.  Senior, 
vou  know  right  away  that  he's  as  much  a 
part  of  Greg  Peck  as  Greg  himself.  It"s  not 
looks  so  much.  Greg's  dad  is  shorter  and 
huskier.  But  he's  as  handsome  a  man  for 
Lis  fifty-odd  years  as  Greg  is  for  his  thirty. 
Ee  walk;  with  the  easy,  —-oscular  carriage 
of  an  athlete  and  he's  a  dead  shot  with  an 
iron  and  wicked  with  a  putter  on  a  golf 
green.  I  know — I  spent  a  couple  of  days 
with  him  and  he  took  me  to  the  cleaners 
on  the  links.  But  it  was  worth  it  to  come 
up  with  such  a  heart  warming  tale. 

It  starts  back  in  1915.  the  year  Greg  was 
born.  That  was  an  anxious,  gloomy  year 
cor  Gregory  Peck.  Sr.  He'd  come  out  West 
iom  Michigan  University  with  a  phar- 
macist's diploma  in  his  hand,  read^  to 
make  his  fortune.  He'd  bought  a  drug 
store,  the  only  one  in  the  little  town 
o:  La  Jolla.  California.  He'd  married  a 
□retry  girl  from  Missouri.  Bernice  Ayres. 
ind  things  should  have  been  looking  up. 
But  in  Europe  a  World  War  had  burst 
*>ose  and  business  was  dropping  off.  He 
rtood  to  lose  his  shirt  unless  he  could  sell 
out  And  somehow  he  and  the  pretty  girl 
weren't  hitting  it  off  too  welL 

The  separation  was  friendly,  and  later 
*rhen  his  mother  remarried  and  moved 
oack  West  to  San  Francisco.  Greg  divided 
lis  time  between  both  mother  and  father. 

Being  his  son's  dad  was  the  prime  mean- 
rg  of  Gregory  Peck.  Senior's,  life.  It 
lever  stopped  being  that 

■  long  came  junior  .  .  . 

;  Everywhere  his  dad  went  Peck,  Junior, 
agged  along.    Gregory  Peck  got  the  job 
>f  night  pharmacist  in  the  La  Jolla  drug 
tore,  so  his  days  could  be  devoted  to  his 
;«n.  They  moved  into  a  little  place  on  Fay 
•treet,  near  the  beach.  A  housekeeper  took 
are  of  Baby  Greg  and  cooked  his  meals. 
.Jut  half  the  time  it  was  Greg  and  his  dad 
.  mo  "hached"  alone  or  boarded  out.  But  in 
o  time,  it  seemed,  young  Greg  was  grown 
tit  of  babyhood  into  boyhood  and  then 
.  is  dad's  days  of  joy  really  began. 
No  boy  could  have  asked  for  a  dreamier 
ad  than  Greg  Peck  had — if  only  because 
f  his  athletic  skill.    Gregory,  Senior,  had 
.  marred  at  basketball  and  football  on  the 
rniversity   of  Michigan   varsities.  He'd 
layed  semi-pro  baseball  after  college  in 
te  East  and  when  he  came  to  San  Diego 
e  plopped  right  into  the  athletic  swim. 
■  -.  made  another  semi-pro  team  there.  Ke 
-rganized  and  coached  a  basketball  team 
lat  won  the   city   championship  three 
ears  in  a  row.  He  coached  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
ad  San  Diego  Rowing  Club's  crews.  He 
■as  the  only  official  AA..U.  referee  in 
le  county — so  naturally  he  officiated  at 
'ery  big  sporting  event  within  Greg's 
crld.   Today  you  can  see  the  cups  Greg's 
ad  won  bowling  in  the  same  league  for 
enty-five   years   and   the   trophies  at 
';olf  where  he  still  boasts  a  10  handicap. 

Greg  and  his  dad  lived  near  the  rock 
:  iffs  and  blue  coves  of  La  Jolla,  world 
:  onous  now* for  its  summer  resorting.  Be- 
•re  Greg  could  walk  straight  his  dad 
v.-ered  him.  kicking,  into  the  white  surf, 
erore  he  was  ten  he  was  a  little  human 

■  3h,  swimming  and  diving  like  a  champion. 
Years  later  when  Greg  was  at  the  Uni- 
msity  of  California,  his  first  big  crew 

;  ice  as  stroke  on  the  Junior  Varsity  came 
o.  He  wrote  his  dad  and  asked  him  up  to 
^erkeley.    It  was  a  funny  time  to  take  a 


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vacation  from  the  store,  but  Dad  Peck  made 
it.  He  sat  on  the  sidelines,  and  with  a 
professional's  eye  watched  the  Washington 
Junior  crew  unmercifully  trounce  Greg  and 
his  bunch. 

After  his  shower  Greg  came  running  up. 
"Well,  Dad,"  he  asked,  "how  did  it  look?" 

"It  looked  like  about  ten  lengths,"  re- 
plied Gregory  Peck  drily.  "And  it  looked 
awful." 

His  boy  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed,  "I  know,"  he  said.  "We  just  got 
royally  whipped.  They're  too  good  for 
us."  There  was  no  soft  soap  or  alibis. 

Greg's  dad  was  a  boxer  in  college,  and 
early  in  life  he  taught  his  son  the  art  of 
self-defense.  They'd  spar  in  the  yard.  But 
he  warned  his  son.  "This  is  just  to  take 
care  of  yourself.  If  I  ever  catch  you  pick- 
ing fights  because  you  can  handle  your 
dukes — it'll  be  too  bad  for  you!" 

advice  from  pop  .  .  . 

Just  the  same,  his  severity  about  brawl- 
ing made  Greg  so  cautious  that  in  gram- 
mar school  he  used  to  duck  clashes  with 
the  school  toughies.  He  took  a  few  school 
yard  beatings  and  one  time  when  he  came 
running  home  with  the  marks  of  defeat 
all  over  his  face,  his  dad  took  him  aside. 

"Stick  up  for  yourself,"  he  said.  "Don't 
pick  any  fights,  but  if  some  kid  starts  one 
— remember  what  I've  taught  you  and  let 
him  have  it.  And,"  he  added  ominously, 
"you'd  better  lick  him  or  when  you  get 
home  I'll  lick  you!" 

That  night  a  neighbor  came  storming 
over  to  the  Pecks,  outraged.  "That's  a 
fine  thing  to  do,  Peck,"  he  ranted.  "Teach- 
ing your  kid  to  box  so  he  can  bully  and 
beat  up  the  other  kids.  My  son's  home, 
black  and  blue.   He  said  your  boy  did  it." 

Gregory  Peck's  face  tightened  but  his 
eyes  twinkled.  "I'll  ask  him  when  he  gets 
home,"  he  said,  "and  let  you  know." 

Greg  was  honest.  "Sure,"  he  said,  "I  let 
him  have  it.  But  he  conked  me  with  a 
rock  first!" 

Probably  the  proudest  athletic  triumph 
that  Greg's  dad  remembers  was  when 
Greg  captured  his  "killiefish"  at  the  Row- 
ing Club  water  tournament  and  regatta. 

He  was  much  too  young  to  enter  the 
swimming  races  at  the  Club.  But  he 
plunged  off  in  the  start  of  the  100-yard 
dash  to  earn  his  "dolphin"  and — he  got 
left  in  the  ruck.  The  kid  was  good  in  the 
water  but  not  strong  enough  to  paddle  the 
distance  in  the  required  time.  He  dragged 
back  to  his  dad,  panting  and  dripping  and 
mad.  "Never  mind,  son,"  his  dad  consoled. 
"Next  year  it  will  be  a  different  story." 

"Next  year's  too  far  away,"  gritted  Greg. 
"I'm  going  after  my  killiefish." 

But  that  afternoon  his  dad  could  hardly 
believe  his  eyes  when  his  glasses  picked  his 
own  boy  splashing  back  among  the  leaders. 
Pretty  soon  Greg  was  before  him,  blue 
from  the  water,  out  of  breath  and  barely 
able  to  stand  up.  But  he  clutched  the 
coveted  "killiefish."  That  made  the  Old 
Man's  heart  swell  with  a  pride  hard  to 
describe. 

But  there  was  more  to  Greg  Peck,  as 
a  boy,  than  mere  athletic  talent.-  Greg, 
Senior,  used  to  plan  his  vacations  so  he 
could  take  Greg  somewhere  new  every 
year.  They  sailed  to  Catalina  Island,  Yel- 
lowstone, the  Carlsbad  Caverns,  Sequoia 
and  Yosemite,  where  Greg  tumbled  off  a 
cliff  once  and  gashed  his  head  with  a  scar 
he  still  carries.  The  year  the  Olympic 
Games  were  staged  in  Los  Angeles,  they 
got  season  tickets  and  sat  together  through 
that  world  meet,  the  greatest  on  earth 
before  Hitler  used  the  last  one  for  Nazi 
propaganda. 

One  vacation,  Greg's  dad  planned  a  duck 
hunting  trip  to  Lake  Hodges  in  the  moun- 
tains. He  took  along  his  12-gauge  and  the 
little  .410  he'd  bought  for  Greg.  They 
hired  a  skiff  at  the  lake  and  hadn't  rowed 


a  hundred  yards  from  shore  before  a  little 
duck  swooped  down  on  the  water  right  off 
their  bow. 

"Get  him,  son!"  whispered  Mr.  Peck. 

Greg  reached  for  his  shotgun  and 
"boom!"  his  dad  felt  a  jolt  in  his  shoulder. 

"Row  to  shore,  son,"  he  gasped.  "Guess 
I've  been  shot." 

Poor  Greg,  shaking  like  a  leaf — he  was 
only  about  13  then — and  weak  from  the 
tragedy,  could  only  row  in  circles.  Luckily, 
other  hunters  on  shore  guessed  the  trouble, 
rowed  out  and  helped  them  in  and  soon 
Dad  Peck  was  on  his  way  to  a  San  Diego 
doctor.  They  got  all  the  shot  out  of  his 
shoulder  and  there  was  no  after  effect  of 
the  gunshot  wound.  Not  to  Gregory  Peck. 
But  his  son  had  to  be  kept  under  seda- 
tives several  days  and  when  he  went  back 
to  school  it  was  a  week  before  he  could 
stop  being  hysterical  every  night.  Greg 
gave  his  little  .410  away  that  tragic  day 
and  he  has  never  owned  a  shotgun  since. 

That's  how  deeply  the  boy  could  feel. 
That's  why  it  was  such  an  emotional  cli- 
max the  time  his  dad  told  him  he'd  been 
married.  Up  until  then  Greg's  world  of 
his  dad  and  himself  had  never  been 
threatened  with  invasion. 

They  were  on  one  of  their  summer  vaca- 
tion auto  tours.  This  time  they'd  driven 
to  Salt  Lake  City  to  see  the  salt  flats.  Greg 
and  his  dad,  and  this  time  a  San  Diegc 
girl  his  dad  had  known  seven  or  eighl 
years.  She  was  a  grown-up  pal  of  Greg's 
too.  He  knew  her  as  "Harriet"  and  there 
seemed  nothing  unusual  to  him  that  she 
went  with  them  on  the  vacation.  Gre£ 
and  his  dad  had  one  cabin  at  the  Lake 
and  Harriet,  of  course,  had  another.  Bu 
one  day  when  Greg  was  busy  at  the  lake- 
shore,  they  slipped  off  and  got  married 
Not  until  they  started  home  in  the  ca1! 
that  night  did  his  father  tell  him,  "Son 
Harriet  and  I  got  married  today." 

There  was  no  answer  from  Greg.  Th< 
news  was  too  unbelievable.  No  word 
came  to  his  trembling  lips,  only  tears  tc 
his  eyes.  He  wept  for  two  hours  on  th> 
silent  ride  toward  home.  Then  it  was  al 
over.  He'd  weathered  his  upset.  Fron 
then  on  Harriet  was  a  part  of  the  famil; 
and  it  was  one  for  all  and  all  for  one 
Luckily,  there  was  nothing  strained  abou 
the  Pecks'  family  set-up.  As  a  matter  c 
fact,  when  he  set  out  for  the  Universit 
of  California  on  his  own,  Greg  made  th 
grade  the  first  year  mainly  because  h 
landed  a  job  holding  down  his  stepfather 
San  Francisco  office  in  the  afternoons  an 
during  vacations.  They  bunked  him 
their  house,  too,  which  was  a  great  helj 

an  independent  kid  .  .  . 

Greg  was  about  sixteen  when  his  da 
remarried,  and  soon  he  would  be  on  h:; 
own  at  California.  But  for  little  more  tha 
a  year,  he  stayed  with  his  pop  and  Harrie 
at  their  San  Diego  house.  And  from  tf 
start,  Greg  had  his  down  quarters. 

"He  was  always  an  independent  boy 
Gregory  Peck  told  me.    "Carried  on  h 
own  business  without  asking  questions  an 
nobody  around  our  place  pestered  him.  W 
figured  he'd  be  more  self-reliant  if  h 
had  his  own  room."  The  room  was,  in  h 
dad's  words,  "usually  a  mess."  But  it  w; 
Greg's  teen-age  mess.  Oars,  tennis  racke* 
pennants,  the  trophies  he'd  collected 
school,  fishing  tackle,  adventure  thrillei  | 
balls  and  bats.  It  had  its  own  separa 
entrance  and  it  was  Greg  Peck's  castle. 

As  a  kid,  Greg  had  his  chores  and  b 
rules,  of  course.  He  had  to  mow  the  law 
keep  the  car  shiny  and  run  errands.  Evt 
when  he  got  into  high  school  he  had 
study  every  night  except  Saturday. 

Dad  Peck  didn't  try  to  dictate  religi< 
to  his  son,  although  from  the  time  he  w 
big  enough  to  walk,  Greg  had  trotted  aloi 
to  church  with  him  on  Sunday.  He  lik< 
religion  from  the  start  and  when  he  w 


at  St.  John's,  run  by  the  Sisters  of  Mercy, 
they  picked  Greg  right  away  as  material 
for  the  priesthood.  They  approached  his 
father.  "Wait  until  he  grows  up  and  de- 
cides for  himself,"  was  the  answer. 

Greg's  dad  didn't  believe  in  bending 
the  twig  one  way  or  another.  But  of 
course,  he  had  his  hopes.  Greg  would 
say  "gonna  be  a  policeman"  one  day  or 
"wanna  be  a  fireman"  the  next.  One  day 
he  said,  "When  I  grow  up  I'm  going  to  be 
a  doctor,"  and  that  made  Greg's  dad's  heart 
leap,  because  he  was  a  frustrated  doctor 
himself.  He  just  said,  "That's  fine  son," 
but  put  it  far  away  in  his  hopes. 

Early  in  his  boy  years,  Greg's  dad  tried 
to  give  him  every  advantage  he'd  missed. 
So  he  started  Greg  in  piano  lessons.  But 
practice  to  impatient  Greg  was  too  tedious. 
He  squirmed  on  the  hard  seat  in  the  after- 
noons when  the  rest  of  the  kids  were 
playing.  Soon  the  piano  lessons  fizzled  out. 

in  six  easy  lessons  .  .  . 

Then,  in  high  school,  Greg  got  the  music 
bug  again.  He  made  the  glee  club  and  he 
was  beginning  to  notice  the  girls.  Dances 
and  dance  music  swam  into  his  world  and 
he  came  to  his  dad  with  his  plans.  "We're 
getting  up  a  dance  band,  the  guys  and  me," 
he  said.  "I>  know  where  I  can  learn  the 
piano  fast — six  lessons  for  ten  bucks."  His 
dad  drew  out  the  ten  spot.  "Okay,"  he 
said,  "if  you'll  stick  to  it  this  time — al- 
though that's  no  way  to  learn  the  piano." 

"I'll  pay  you  back  out  of  the  profits — 
we're  gonna  play  a  dance,"  promised  Greg. 
Strangely  enough,  he  stuck  to  the  six  easy 
lessons,  did  learn  to  bang  out  a  few  chords 
and  did  play  a  high  school  dance,  but  one 
or  two  was  all.  The  budding  swing  career 
faded.  His  dad  never  reminded  him  about 
the  ten  dollars.  Somehow  he  just  couldn't 
play  the  stern  parent  when  he  saw  the 
kid  acting  just  about  like  he'd  acted. 

He'd  always  encouraged  Greg  to  grow 
'  up.  He  didn't  hold  him  back.  He  went 
downtown  to  buy  Greg  his  first  suit  of 
long  pants,  a  terrific  event,  and  when  a 
high  school  prom  came  along  that  was 
"formal,"  he  got  as  much  kick  out  of 
looking  over  tuxes  as  Greg  did.  As  usual, 
Greg  had  saved  up  something  on  the  dinner 
jacket  deal — but  as  usual,  too,  it  wasn't 
enough.  And  as  usual  again,  Mr.  Peck,  Sr. 
made  up  the  difference. 

But  Greg  Peck  was  developing  a  sensi- 
:  tive  pride  about  standing  on  his  own  feet. 
As  he  grew — four  inches  in  one  year  at 
high  school — and  as  he  developed  his  own 
personality,  the  independent  spirit  he'd  had 
all  his  life  solidified.  It  cropped  out  in  his 
second  year  in  San  Diego  State  College. 
"You've  been  carrying  me  long  enough, 
Dad,"  he  said.    "I'm  going  to  take  some 
of  the  load  off  you.   I've  got  a  job." 
[e    Gregory,  Sr.  protested.    He  asked  Greg 
Lnot  to  quit  school.    It  knocked  a  hole  in 
:  his  dreams  for  the  boy.   "Just  for  a  year," 
'  insisted  Greg.    "It'll  do  me  good  and  give 
tine  a  stake — and  take  the  load  off  you." 
"Okay,  if  you'll  promise  it  will  be  just 
a    year,"    his    dad    said  thoughtfully. 

"I  promise."    Greg  had  never  broken  a 
promise  yet. 
1    It  was  a  job  driving  trucks  for  the 
f  Union  Oil  Company.   A  man's  job,  but  by 
then  Greg  was  wide  in  the  shoulders  and 
strong  in  the  chest.    Two  weeks  later  he 
rolled  by  the  house  driving  a  heavy  truck, 
j  He  saved  his  money.    After  the  year  he 
:  had  about  $500,  besides  enough  to  put  a 
il  down  payment  on  a  Model-T  Ford  jaloppy. 

Dad  Peck  made  up  the  difference  in  the 
:,3350  price.   With  that  equipment,  and  that 
ri  stake,  Greg  said  he  figured  he  could  go  on 
to  Berkeley,  and  start  studying  to  be 
■  i  doctor. 

They'd  often  talked  Greg's  future  over 
;.  as  he  grew  up.    His  dad  plugged,  "Take 
:  ip  something  definite,  plan  a  profession. 
The  best  thing's  to  be  a  doctor."  Maybe 


If  your  hand  isn't  satin -smooth —  it's  time 
to  change  to  ^J^m***** 


Do  you  say,  "I  do  my  own  dishes — 
and  my  hands  cant  stay  soft  and 
smooth"?  Or  is  it  your  job  that  keeps 
you  from  having  lovely  hands? 

Don't  give  up!  Change  to  Luxor 
Hand  Cream  and  expect  to  see  a  real 
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You  see,  Luxor  Hand  Cream  gives 
real  help  to  skin  roughened  by  work 
or  weather.  For  Luxor 
contains  Carbamide  - 


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in  the  treatment  <5f  wounds) — and 
thus  helps  to  heal  tiny  cracks  you 
can't  even  see  with  the  naked  eye — 
relieves  these  cracks  that  make  skin 
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Just  one  jar  of  Luxor  Hand  Cream 
will  show  you  how  easy  it  is  to  have 
softer  hands,  smoother  hands — no 
matter  what  you  do! 


hand  cream 

not  sticky — not  greasy 


Before 
and 
after 


ft 


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BEFORE 

LOSES 

22  POUNDS 

IN  5  WEEKS 

New  Friends  and  Interests 
Make  New  World  for  Her 

Helen  Shariter  never  wanted  to 
believe  anything.  She  thought 
she  was  meant  to  be  stout  and 
unattractive.  A  friend  told  her 
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SUCCESS  THROUGH  BEAUTY 

Many  girls  say  they  don't  care  AFTER 
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world  famous 
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Pleas© 

Print 


82 


Joe  Bonomo.  Personal 

BONOMO  CULTURE  INSTITUTE.  Dept.  241 
1841  Broadway,  New  York  23.  N.  Y. 

Send  me  in  plain  wrapper  complete  Bonomo  Institute 
Home  Course  in  Success  through  Beauty  of  Face  and 
Form.  I'll  deposit  with  postman  §2.95  plus  postage.  If  not 
delighted,  I  may  return  Course  In  10  days  and  my  money 
will  be  refunded. 

Name   _ 


City   Zone  State  _ 

□ Check  here  if  you  enclose  $2.95  for  delivery  postpaid. 
(Canada  and  Foreign  $3.50  with  order.) 


he  was  prejudiced  in  that  direction,  Greg- 
ory Peck  admitted.  He'd  planned  to  take 
medicine  at  Michigan  but  his  love  for 
sports  got  in  the  way  and  he'd  settled  for 
the  quicker  profession  of  pharmacy. 

no  help  wanted  ... 

So  he  was  pretty  pleased  when  Greg 
made  his  decision  and  happy  to  help  all  he 
could.  But  Greg  wouldn't  take  much.  He 
drove  off  in  the  Model-T  with  his  job 
savings  and  at  Berkeley  he  worked  his 
way  through  with  his  parking  lot  project 
by  the  stadium  and  his  odd  jobs.  After 
every  party  he'd  always  drop  by  the  drug 
store  and  tell  Dad  all  about  it.  So  Gregory 
Peck  didn't  feel  like  he  was  out  of  his 
son's  life — not  yet.  Greg  was  always  roll- 
ing home  on  holidays,  the  Model-T  bulg- 
ing with  college  chums  and  boiling  over. 
Oh  he'd  be  taking  the  train  up  north  to 
see  Greg  row  on  the  Junior  Varsity. 

He'd  heard,  too,  scattered  mention  from 
Greg  and  hints  in  his  letters  about  dra- 
matics at  Cal  and  a  few  plays  he  was  doing 
around  the  campus.  But  it  never  occurred 
to  him  that  this  interest  was  squeezing  out 
medicine.  So  when  Greg  decided  to  quit 
Cal  and  go  to  New  York  and  be  an  actor, 
it  was  a  bolt  out  of  the  blue  for  his  dad. 

"I  want  to  be  an  actor,  Dad,"  he  said. 
"Medicine's  no  good  for  me.  I've  found 
what  I  like  and  what  I'm  good  at.  So  I'm 
not  going  to  waste  any  more  time.  The 
place  to  learn  to  act  is  in  New  York.  The 
American  Academy  of  Dramatic  Art.  It 
takes  a  little  money,  but — " 

"Son,  if  I — "  He  said  it  by  instinct. 

"Nope,"  vetoed  Greg.  "I've  got  it  figured 
out.  I've  got  the  dough  to  get  there  and 
I'll  get  a  job  this  summer  to  pay  tuition 
and  carry  me  through  the  winter.  All  I 
want  from  you  is  to  know  you're  backing 
me  up.    As  usual,"  he  grinned. 

"I'm  disappointed,  Greg,"  his  dad  found 
himself  saying.  "I  won't  kid  about  that. 
But  I'm  for  you,  son.  But  I'm  afraid — 
acting's  so  shaky — not  like  being  a  doctor. 
I  don't  want  to  see  you  ending  up  a  ham 
actor  like  a  million  others." 

Greg's  voice  was  level.  "I  won't,  dad. 
I  think  I've  got  the  stuff.    I  really  do." 

Dad  Peck  swallowed  and  braced  himself. 
"Okay,"  he  said.  "Then  go  to  it.  But 
make  me  a  promise:  Try  it  for  two  years 
and  then  if  you  aren't  getting  anywhere, 
promise  me  you'll  go  back  to  school  and 
finish  medicine?" 

"I  promise." 

"Shake?" 

Greg  stuck  out  his  hand.  "Shake." 
Gregory  Peck  knew  his  son's  word  was  his 
bond,  but  it  wasn't  a  happy  goodbye  he 
waved  when  Greg  took  the  train  East. 

But  after  two  years  Greg  Peck  was 
playing  with  Katharine  Cornell  and  as  his 
dad  grinned  to  me,  "What  could  I  do?" 

The  minute  he  heard  of  Greg's  tour  with 
Cornell  he  got  a  time  table  of  their  play 
dates  and  wrote  for  a  copy  of  every  paper 
in  every  town  they  played  just  to  find  out 
what  the  critics  thought  of  his  boy. 

Of  course,  by  now  Gregory  Peck,  Sr., 
is  pretty  proud  of  his  son  and  he'd  walk 
a  country  mile  just  to  catch  him  in  a  pic- 
ture. In  fact,  he  drove  600  miles  to  San 
Francisco  to  see  him  act  the  first  time. 

He  was  in  San  Diego  when  Greg  made 
"Days  of  Glory."  It  was  finished  but  it 
wasn't  released  and  Peck,  Sr.  was  getting 
pretty  restless  when  one  night  the  son  of 
one  of  his  old  Michigan  U.  college  chums 
came  down  from  Camp  Callan. 

"Say,"  he  told  Dad  Peck.  "Saw  some- 
thing on  the  bulletin  board  at  camp  that 
might  interest  you — tomorrow  night  they're 
showing  'Days  of  Glory.' " 

"Wow!"  cried  Greg's  pop. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  it?" 

"Would  I!" 

It  was  hard  to  fix,  and  against  the  rules, 
but  he  pulled  some  wires  and  wangled 


special  permission  for  the  civilian.  See- 
ing his  boy  in  the  movies  for  the  first  time 
is  a  thrill  Mr.  Peck  will  never  forget. 

They  never  lost  touch  for  even  a  week, 
all  the  time  Greg  was  East,  barking  at  the 
World's  Fair.  He  wrote  his  dad  about 
everything — about  his  plans  to  work  at 
the  Barter  Theater  in  Abingdon,  Virginia, 
about  the  breaks  he  hoped  for  and  the 
break  of  playing  with  Katharine  Cornell. 
Greg  kept  his  dad  posted  on  all  the  de- 
tails— except — as  usual,  the  intimate  ones. 

Then  one  day  he  got  the  letter.  He'd 
wondered  when  it  would  come  and  how 
he  would  feel  when  it  did. 

"Dear  Dad:  I've  got  some  big  news. 
Hope  it  will  be  all  right  with  you.  I  got 
married  Sunday.  She's  the  greatest  girl 
in  the  world  and — "  It  went  on  to  describe 
Dad  Peck's  new  daughter.  At  the  end. 
Greg  pleaded,  in  the  man-to-man  fashion 
his  dad  had  taught  him: 

"Be  a  good  sport  and  give  us  your  bless- 
ing." 

Gregory  Peck  sent  that  right  back.  He 
didn't  even  know  Greg  had  been  going 
with  a  girl.  He  didn't  know  her  name  or 
what  she  looked  like.  But  he  wrote  his 
son,  "I've  all  the  confidence  in  the  world 
in  your  selection,  boy."  And  to  Greta  he- 
wrote,  "You've  got  the  finest  fellow  I  know 
Take  good  care  of  him." 

The  Pecks — the  Senior  ones  in  Sar 
Diego — and  the  Juniors  up  in  Hollywood— 
don't  let  many  days  go  by  without  travel- 
ing north  or  south,  as  the  case  may  be,  tc 
see  one  another.  Greg's  particularly  in- 
terested in  his  brother,  Donald.  He's  ; 
smart  kid,  snappy,  wiry  and  ambitious 
who,  for  the  past  five  years,  has  held  dowi 
the  lead  in  every  school  play. 

One  evening  last  year,  Gregory  Peck 
Senior,  paced  the  front  room  carpet  of  hi 
San  Diego  home.  It  was  almost  time  fo  i 
him  to  go  downtown  to  work.  He  hadn  1 
missed  a  night's  work  for  over  a  score  o 
years  and  he  was  pretty  proud  of  that. 

But  this  night,  "Doc"  Peck  wasn't  think  I 
ing  about  his  customers.  His  birthday  wa 
almost  over  and  he  hadn't  heard  frori 
Greg,  way  down  in  Florida  on  locatio: 
making  "The  Yearling."  He'd  been  ex 
pecting  a  letter,  but  it  hadn't  come.  Son 
grow  up  and  change,  he  knew,  and  well- 
maybe  this  year  it  had  slipped  Greg's  mine 

Then  the  telephone  rang. 

"Hello,  Dad?"  came  the  voice  he  knew  s 
well.  "Happy  Birthday — and  many  mor 
of  'em!" 

"Thanks,  boy." 

"Dad,"  continued  the  voice,  "I  want  t 
take  this  occasion  to  tell  you  I'm  the  lucki 
est  guy  in  the  world  to  have  a  father  lik 
you." 

"That's  the  way  I  feel  about  you,  toe 
Greg." 

"I  can't  thank  you  enough  for  all  you'v 
done  for  me.  But  I  guess  you  know  he  | 
I  feel." 

"I  guess  I  do." 

"Well,  watch  out  crossing  the  streets!" 

"Don't  let  those  alligators  get  you." 

Dad  Peck  grinned  as  he  walked  dow 
the  front  steps  and  backed  the  car  oi 
of  the  garage.  All  the  way  downtown  r 
whistled.  It  had  been  a  good  birthds 
after  all.    He  still  had  his  boy. 


STRICTLY  G.  I.* 

Long  'n'  lanky  or  five-by-five, 
you  can  be  a  dream-queen  on  a 
date,  if  you  re  on  to  a  few  simple 
clothes  tricks.  We'll  exchange 
our  secrets  for  a  stamped,  self- 
addressed  envelope.  See  the 
Super  Coupon,  page  14. 

GLAMOR.  INC. 


NEITHER  HAIL  NOR  SLEET 

(Continued  from  page  60) 


e  humdingers  at  dissolving  the  particles 
■  areas  of  the  epidermis  which  have  not 
;en  removed  in  the  natural  process  of  the 
in  renewing  itself. 

Could  be  that  sometimes  you  make  only 
ilf-hearted  dabs  at  your  cheeks  with  the 
sansing  cream?  That  you  barely  sprinkle 
e  face  with  soap  and  water?  Sometimes, 
irrors,  you  fall  into  bed  too  tired  to 
move  your  makeup?  Which  is  all  so 
rong!  Spic-and-span  cleanliness  is  the 
sic  factor  in  skin  beauty.  And  skin 
■auty  is  definitely  a  basic  factor  in  in- 
.guing  your  pet  male. 
As  to  method:  First  whip  your  hair  out 
the  way.  Pin  it  up  or  tie  it  back  with 
net  Next  remove  lipstick  with  a  facial 
;sue.  It's  a  good  idea  to  do  this  before 
tacking  your  face  with  cream,  for  it 
events  large  red  smears.  Now  scoop  up 
generous  amount  of  cleansing  or  cold 
sam.  (Remember!  If  your  complexion 
oily,  try  a  liquefying  cream.)  Using 
th  hands,  pat  the  cream  into  your  skin, 
s  thorough  about  this.  Begin  at  your 
roat  line  and  work  up  to  your  hair  line, 
id  don't  forget  the  back  of  your  neck, 
ter  you've  done  a  thorough  job,  remove 
;am  and  soil  with  cleansing  tissue. 
Next  step  in  your  beauty  treatment  is  a 
using  soap-suds  scrubbing.  Choose  your 
:ial  soap  with  care  .  .  .  just  to  be  on  the 
'e-and-beautiful  side.  Work  up  a  really 
>rious  lather  and  remember,  again,  to 
dude  neck  as  well  as  face.  The  hair 
e  requires  particular  attention,  as  well 
the  area  around  the  base  of  the  nose, 
tother  point  where  stale  powder  and  dust 
e  apt  to  linger  is  around  the  eyebrows, 
est  scrub  your  eyebrows  against  the  di- 
:tion  in  which  they  grow,  then  smooth 
:m  back  into  shape.  When  your  face  is 
•roughly  invigorated,  rinse  away  the  suds 
th  warm  water.  Follow  this  with  a 
ash  of  cold  water,  the  icier  the  better. 
^Jow  before  settling  down  to  your  dreams, 
it  freshly  scrubbed  face  would  welcome 
oit  of  lubrication.  You  may  use  a  skin 
ion  that  can  be  patted  on  and  leaves  no 
adue,  or  you  may  use  a  lubricating 
jam.  Knead  it  well  into  the  skin.  After 
nas  remained  on  for  about  twenty  min- 
is, remove  the  excess  with  tissues, 
-et  your  skin  enjoy  cleanliness,  let  it  be 
'thed  with  creams  and  lotions,  and  you'll 
:  e  winter  with  a  daisy-fresh  complexion! 

*  *  * 
f  you  would  like  the  name  of  any 
st-defying  creams  and  lotions,  I'd  be 
d  to  supply  the  information.  Send  your 
sry,  with  a  stamped,  self-addressed  en- 
ope  to:  Carol  Carter,  Modern  Screen, 
Madison  Ave.,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y. 


:an  you  spare  $5,000,000? 

Roundish  sum,  isn't  it?  But  that's 
vhat  the  Sister  Kenny  Foundation 
ias  to  raise  in  its  drive  during  No- 
vember and  December,  says  Bing 
Crosby.  And  he  ought  to  know,  be- 
cause he's  chairman  of  the  campaign. 
7ou  know  Sister  Kenny;  she's  the 
amous  nurse  whose  treatment  for  in- 
antile  paralysis  victims  has  proven 
0  helpful.  Half  the  funds  collected 
Bill  go  toward  building  Kenny  Clinics 
hroughout  the  country,  and  the  rest 
Ml  be  used  for  research  to  find  out 
■jhat  causes  this  dread  disease,  how 
0  cure  it,  and — most  important  of  all 
a  you  who  have  little  brothers  and 
isters  or  children  of  your  own — how 
o  prevent  it.  So  give  for  all  you're 
'Jorth;  it's  worth  it! 


m 

Washed  in 

Nothing  washes  sweaters  so  QUICK!  EASY  TO  USE! 

clean  —  leaves  them  so  soft        WoolFoam  not  only  saves 

and  fluffy  as  WoolFoam  —        woolens  —  it  saves  time  and 

since  there  is  nothing  quite        money,   too!   One   25tf  box 

like  it!  This  soapless  powder        washes  as  many  as  16  sweaters 

makes  the  ideal  beauty  bath 

/or   sweaters,   sox,  blankets 

and  baby  things  because  it  is 

so  gentle— so  kind  to  woolens.        are  s0\^_ 

Colors    stay    bright  —  fibres       „,.„„„„      xo*5"'"  °W" 

Economy      ft  Guaron,eea  by  *> 


or  woolen  equivalent.  Sold 
at    Department,    Drug  and 
Grocery  stores  or  wher- 
ever magazines     ,  2  5  C 


stay  alive! 


Economy 
Size  50c 


l  Good  Housekeeping 


Made,  ioxWooC  {**  a  Wooi  IWttv 

WOOLFOAM  CORP.,  New  York  71,  N.  Y. 


PERFECT  j 

WOOL  WASH  \ 

H«  WA5HIHG  Sweeten  t 

llanleH.  M.nlVWe.',';  I 

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"SAD  SACK" 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


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'em  stored  up  from  years  of  collecting 
belly  busters. 

In  a  few  sees  it  was  Old  Home  Week. 
Half  those  hero  guys,  flat  on  their  backs, 
.  hadn't  met  their  home  bound  neighbors. 
Phil,  Frank  and  the  girls  ran  up  and  down 
the  aisles  getting  the  gang  together. 

"Missouri — you  from  Missouri?  Hey — 
where's  that  other  soldier  with  the  St. 
Louis  blues?".  .  .  and  Frankie  would 
go  running.  Or  "Miami,  Florida?  Why 
this  doughfoot  says  that's  just  a  sub- 
urb of  Los  Angeles!"  It  was  going  great 
until  Phil  Silvers  came  to  a  burly  rock- 
faced  guy  with  a  sheet  over  his  legs.  "Me?" 
he  grated.    "Say— I'm  from  Brooklyn." 

"Na'il  him,  Frankie!"  yelled  Phil.  "Brook- 
lyn, your  own  home  town."  Frankie  came 
running  up.  But  he  stopped  dead  in  his 
tracks  when  the  guy  growled, 

"Don't  you  come  near  me!" 

Frankie  turned  white.  The  soldier 
scowled  darkly.  Frank's  tongue  jammed, 
but  Phil  Silvers  jumped  into  the  breach. 

"Aw — don't  mind  Frankie,"  he  cracked. 
"He  just  wants  you  to  move  over  so  he 
can  lie  down.  That  bow  tie's  got  him 
weary — he — " 

"Don't  tell  me  about  Sinatra,"  broke  in 
the  soldier.  "Listen,  I  used  to  hack  in 
front  of  Lindy's.  I  know  de  guy.  He's 
dynamite.  Say — what  about  all  the  times 
dem  crazy  swoon  fans  wrecked  my  cab? 
How  about  dat,  Frankie?"  The  Brooklyn 
joke  was  over.  He  broke  into  a  whiskered 
grin.    "  'Member  me,  Frankie?" 

Frank  bent  over  and  a  happy  wave  of 
relief  smacked  him  like  a  welcome  show- 
er on  a  hot  day.  "Katzie!"  he  cried.  "You 
big  bum!" 

"Yeah,  Katzie — dat's  me,  Kid,"  the  sol- 
dier chuckled.  "But,  Frankie,  when  you 
come  to  Noo  Yawk — please — stay  away 
from  me,  pal — you're  poison!  And  listen 
— don't  tink  'cause  I  got  a  scratch  on  my 
leg,  I  ain't  gonna  be  back  at  de  old  stand." 

There  are  a  double  dozen  ways  Frank 
Sinatra  has  improved  with  his  overseas  ex- 
perience. He's  got  more  audience  poise.  He 
learned  to  send  his  voice  out  stronger 
when  there  wasn't  a  mike.  He  learned  to 
out-ad  lib  Fred  Allen.  He  turned  into 
such  a  comedian  and  laugh-louse  under 
Phil  Silvers'  guidance  that  Phil  finally 
cracked  crabbily,  "Look,  Frankie — you  tell 
the  jokes.  Let  me  wear  the  bow  tie  and 
sing!"  But  the  best  thing  of  all — and  what 
thrilled  Frankie  most — was  the  happy 
realization  that  at  last  he'd  smashed  to 
smithereens  the  old  ghost  of  absent  GI 
scorn. 

ripe  tomato  reception  .  .  . 

The  audience  he  aimed  to  tackle  had  been 
overseas  for  three  and  four  years.  When 
they  left,  Frank  Sinatra  was  nobody 
special.  But  they'd  heard  about  the  squeal- 
deals  and  the  swoon-sessions  going  on 
back  in  the  States,  while  they  were  blast- 
ing Krauts  out  of  the  Apennines  in  the 
slow,  rugged  drive  up  the  boot.  They  were 
not  amused. 

Hollywood  Victory  Committee  officials 
didn't  disillusion  him,  either.  They  were 
nervous.  "There  might  be  some  un- 
pleasantness," they  said.  Maybe  some  hoots 
and  boos.  Maybe  some  things  flying 
through  the  air — like  ripe  tomatoes.  You 
never  can  tell  what  a  bunch  of  hard-cooked 
GIs  sitting  around  bored,  waiting  for  a 
ride  home,  might  do.  The  war  was  over; 
discipline  was  naturally  a  little  relaxed. 
It  was  up  to  Frankie. 

He  knew  from  talking  to  Bing  that  you 
couldn't   ham   and   egg   to    an  overseas 


crowd.  "Those  guys  are  hep,"  stated  Bir 
when  he  got  back  from  his  last  year 
Atlantic  trip,  "but  when  you  hit  'e: 
right — brother,  they  eat  you  up.  What 
gang!" 

gathering  stars  .  .  . 

That's  how  come  Frank  asked  Phil  Si 
vers  and  Fay  McKenzie,  Betty  Yeaton  ar 
the  pianist,  Saul  Chaplin,  to  rally  roun 
Phil's  a  very  funny  man,  seasoned  1 
vaudeville  and  burlesque,  who  can  make 
rowdy  audience  eat  out  of  his  hand.  H€ 
played  dozens  of  service  shows  with  £ 
the  big  timers,  including  Bing  Crosby.  I 
knows  every  laugh  routine  ever  invent* 
and  has  come  up  with  sock  comedy  ft 
USO  units  ever  since  Uncle  Sam  start* 
the  draft.  Fay  McKenzie  you  could  ca 
the  original  Camp  Show  Kid  and  not  1 
far  off  the  beam.  She  started  a  ye; 
before  Pearl  Harbor  and  has  as  mar 
camp  stands  on  her  record  as  a  cat  h 
fleas.  Besides  looking  good  enough  to  e 
as  apple  pie,  Fay's  a  swell  personalii 
singer  who  has  done  all  right  for  herse 
around  her  home  town  of  Hollywood  ar 
in  radio  and  movies,  too.  Like  Phil,  she 
show  business  from  away  back;  her  d; 
ran  a  tent  show  and  made  early  flick 
silents  and  her  brother-in-law  is  Bil 
Gilbert,  the  sneeze-king  comic  old  time 
Frankie  sang  across  the  aisle  at  CBS  : 
one  season  from  Fay  on  the  Grouc! 
Marx  show.  He'd  never  met  her  but 
knew  about  the  soldier  sweetenin'  F 
fairly  oozed.  He  added  Betty  Yeaton, 
acrobatic  cutie  who  can  bend  herself  li 
a  pretzel  but  with  a  shape  that  shou 
never  be  wasted  on  a  beer  biscuit.  Sal 
Chaplin,  the  accompanist,  is  musical  c 
rector  at  CBS,  so  he  was  not  exac 
confined  to  Chopsticks. 

They  met  in  New  York  and  preview  I 
the  show  at  Camp  Kilmer,  over  in  Jers>  i 
Right  before  show  time,  Frank  came  up 
Phil  with  a  brain  storm. 

"Look,  Phil,"  he  said.  "Let's  beat  th< 
guys  to  the  punch.  None  of  this  And  h<  >. 
he  comes  now — the  great  King  of  Swo  1 
Frankie  Sinatra!'   Nuts  to  that.  Here's 
ticket:  Louse  me  up.  Make  me  a  silly  je 
with  every  joke.  Murder  me!" 

Phil's  eyes  rolled.  "Frankie,  my  boy,"  1 
grinned.  "It's  a  pleasure.  And  how  did  \  i 
read  my  mind,  Muscles?" 

That  night  at  the  Camp  Kilmer  previ< 
Phil  gave  Frank  the  business,  on  a  no  I 
experiment.  No  guinea  pig  ever  got  need  : 
more  thoroughly.  Every  time  Fran  i 
peeped  out  of  the  wings  he  got  slapi : 
down.  Frankie'd  walk  out  wistfully  ;  li 
hang  around  waiting  to  be  introduced.  1 

"Go  away,  Boy,  you  bother  me,"  snap  I 
Phil.  He'd  point  to  the  other  wing  .  i 
give  a  glamor  send-off  to  Fay  and  B<  j 
and  when  Frank  eased  out  again,  hea  A 
forlornly  for  the  mike,  Phil  would  mei  jj 
look  over  his  shoulder  and  crack, 

"Look,  son — there  must  be  a  rnistai  4 
the  Blood  Bank's  down  the  street." 

The  whole  show  took  it  up.  J  I 
worked  the  old  burlesque  routine  a 
pretty  Fay.  You  know,  the  one  where  m 
bets  a  half-dollar  he  can  kiss  her  witl  ,m 
touching  her.  Then  he  gives  her  a  « 
smack  and  she  says  "Yes,  but  you  )  a. 
You  touched  me!"  "H-m-m-m-m,"  it 
sighs,  "so  I  did."  and  drops  the  half  ck  * 
in  her  palm  for  the  bargain  buss. 

But  this  preview  night,  when  Fi  il 
muscled  in  on  the  gag,  it  was  just  ano  a. 
insult  for  Sinatra  swoon  appeal.  Bee.  Si 
when  Frankie  bussed  Fay,  handed  hei  K 
four-bits  and  walked  away,  she  ye  d 


"Hey,  Mister  Sinatra — wait  a  minute — 
come  back."  Frankie  grinned  and  strutted 
back  as  if  he  were  the  greatest  lover  since 
3arrymore.  "Here,"  said  Fay,  "is  a  quarter 
change!" 

That's  the  way  they  rode  and  ribbed 
Sinatra  all  through  the  show.  It  lasted 
two  hours,  and  it  was  an  hour  and  thirty 
minutes  before  Frankie  ever  got  to  stand 
in  the  spotlight  and  warble  one  note! 

A  pleasant  surprise  hit  Frankie  right 
under  the  heart  in  Newfoundland.  Frankie 
didn't  expect  to  do  much  there.  He'd  been 
tipped  off  the  GIs  took  a  pretty  dim  view 
of  most  everything. 

As  usual,  Frankie  played  the  Sad  Sack 
fall  guy,  but  when  he  got  into  his  songs, 
the  show-starved  soldiers  wouldn't  let  him 
stop.  Pretty  soon  he  ran  out  of  every  en- 
core number.  "Okay,  fellows,"  Frankie 
offered.  "Yell  out  your  requests." 

The  first  title  they  chorused  was,  "'Nancy 
With  the  Laughing  Face."  Frank  looked 
at  Phil  accusingly.  Phil  looked  at  Frank 
the  same  way.  Both  of  them  swallowed 
hard,  but  especially  Frank.  How  did  these 
guys  way  up  in  Newfoundland  know  about 
that?  Who'd  primed  them  to  ask?  Frankie 
was  puzzled,  but  he  sang  it,  then  he  sang 
it  again.  It  was  the  evening's  biggest  hit. 
But  when  the  show  was  over,  both  Frank 
and  Phil  chorused,  "How  come?"  Because 
''Nancy  With  the  Laughing  Face"  was  a 
private,  a  personal  Sinatra  song. 

Phil  had  written  it  one  day  when  his 
pal  Jimmy  Van  Heusen  (who  writes  most 
of  Crosby's  melodies)  was  noodling  away 
at  the  piano.  He  rippled  over  a  tune  and 
Phil,  who  never  writes  songs,  suddenly 
ourst  out,  "Jimmy,  I'll  give  you  a  lyric 
for  that  one!"  Evening  before,  he'd  had 
dinner  with  Frank  and  his  wife,  Nancy, 
out  in  the  Valley,  and  the  way  Nancy 
Sinatra's  eyes  always  twinkled  and  her 
lips  smiled  stuck  with  him.  Jimmy  said, 
'Okay,"  and  in  a  few  minutes  Phil  worked 
out  the  'words.  On  Nancy's  birthday 
Frankie  sang  it  over  the  air  on  his  show 
as  a  special  sentimental  tribute  to  the  gal 
ne  loves — and  that  was  all.  And  now 
nere  up  in  bleakest  Newfoundland — that, 
Df  all  songs,  was  the  people's  choice. 

9ow  ties  and  decollete  .  .  . 

One  thing  Frankie  insisted  on  was  being 
limself  in  his  Dogface  Debut.  So  he 
ugged  along  a  complete,  super-typical 
rrankie  Sinatra  wardrobe — ;a  sport  coat 
hat  would  blind  a  racehorse,  shoulders 
jadded  out  like  the  Brooklyn  bridge. 
ie  had  collar  points  that  tickled  his  tummy 
ind  some  of  those  black  bow  ties  Nancy 
nakes  for  him  whien  are  stricuy  irom 
L.atin  Quarter.  In  spite  of  GI  barbers,  he 
;ven  managed  to  keep  his  floppy  haircut. 
3hil  operated  in  civvies,  too,  and  his  turned- 
;ip  gag  hat.  Fay  McKenzie  had  nothing 
But  the  slinkiest  dream  formals  cut  down 

0  the  eye  treat  limit,  and  in  purples, 
ellows,  reds;  "exciting"  colors. 

•  It  was  swell  to  spell  back-home  glamor 
ind  take  the  curse  off  olive  drab.  But  it 
vas  also  a  problem.    Frankie's  gang  trav- 
lled  in  C-47s  all  the  way.    That  meant 
hey  had  to  squeeze  everything  into  tiny 
uitcases  for  the  weight  limit  and  live  out 
-»f  toilet  kits.    Of  all  the  capsule  tourists, 
.  towever,  Frankie  was  easily  the  neatest 
;  Jid  most  efficient. 

At  Caserta,  Fay  McKenzie  arrived  for 
'  tie  show  without  a  thing  to  wear.  All  her 
-  lamor  gowns  looked  like  they'd  been  slept 

1  by  a  flock  of  sheep.  She  hauled  out  the 
ed  job  that  had  accordion  pleats,  but  in 
re  wrong  places.  She  sang  the  blues  in 
~ont  of  Frankie.  "What  you  need,"  he  said, 
is  Sinatra's  Snappy  Service."  He  grabbed 
ie  dress,  slipped  it  on  a  hanger  and 
angled  it  behind  Fay's  shower.  Then  he 
orned  on  the  hot  water  full  blast.  "Oh 
rankie,"  she  wailed,  "now  I'm  really 
Jined!"  But  the  guy  just  chuckled,    in  a 


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few  minutes  he  lifted  the  dress  out,  as 
smooth  as  silk  and  tidy.  "The  steam  does 
it,"  said  Frankie.  "I  wish  I  had  a  dime  for 
all  the  suits  I've  pressed  that  way." 

At  Foggia  the  Red  Cross  asked  Frank  if 
he'd  care  to  meet  a  litter  ship  due  to 
arrive  that  night.  Frank  remembered  the 
plane  at  the  Azores  and  the  thrill  of  getting 
a  grateful  look  from  guys  who  had  stopped 
the  lead.    "Sure,"  he  said. 

"It  comes  in  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing," they  told  him. 

sweet  and  low  .  .  . 

Frank  worried  all  night  about  that  first 
litter  plane  p. a.  It  wasn't  like  the  one  in 
the  .Azores  in  the  daylight  with  the 
stretchers  out  in  the  sun.  He  didn't  mind 
a  bit  crawling  out  of  his  sack  before  dawn, 
but  he  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  enter- 
tain a  bunch  of  sleepy,  wounded  soldiers. 
Four  a.m.  is  no  time  to  croon  jump  tunes. 
He'd  be  inside  the  C-54.  He'd  have  no 
accompaniment.  But  they'd  expect  some- 
thing besides  "Hello." 

He  didn't  know  until  he  got  there,  with 
Fay  and  Phil  and  the  bunch.  It  was  half 
light  then  and  somehow  all  the  soldiers 
stretched  out  and  tucked  in  reminded 
Frankie  of  kids — like  his  own  kids  and 
himself  when  he  was  a  kid — being  put  to 
bed.  Without  thinking  he  crooned  softly 
the  words  of  Brahm's  beautiful  lullaby. 
"Go  to  sleep — and  good  night — " 
He  sang  it  soft  and  low  in  the  Sinatra 
voice  that  the  public  doesn't  often  hear 
but  which  is  mighty  easy  on  the  ears. 
Half  the  patients  didn't  know  who  was 
singing.  In  their  half  sleep  a  lot  of  them 
dozed  off  again.  Frankie,  Fay  and  Phil 
spoke  softly  to  the  ones  awake  and  then 
tiptoed  out.  From  then  on  he  never  failed 
to  meet  a  litter  plane  that  came  in.  And 
he  always  sang  Brahms.  He  sang  patients 
in  camp  hospitals  to  sleep  with  it,  too. 
Somehow,  it  was  just  the  ticket. 

The  funny  thing  about  Frankie's  night- 
and-day  schedule  abroad  was  that  it 
actually  put  meat  on  his  bones,  which  is 
some  kind  of  a  small  miracle  if  you  know 
Sinatra.  The  only  explanation  is  that  he's 
been  starving  himself  all  these  years  since 
he  got  famous,  eating  if  and  when  he  felt 
like  it.  But  when  you're  traveling  under 
Army  orders,  you  eat  when  they  say,  or 
else.  Even  on  the  notorious  diet  of  Spam, 
Vienna  sausage,  powdered  eggs  and  "beat- 
up  bread  and  meat,"  Sinatra  swelled  up 
five  pounds  worth. 

A  scene  that  touched  Frank  very  much 
was  the  sight  of  little  Italian  kids  begging 
for  food.  Sinatra's  a  sucker  for  kids  any- 
way, of  any  race,  color  or  country.  When 
he  saw  the  pinch-faced  Italian  moppets 
crying  "caramella"  and  raking  the  gutters, 
he  couldn't  take  it.  All  the  gang — Frankie, 
Phil,  Fay,  Betty,  Saul — had  army  ration 
books  entitling  them  to  PX  supplies  of  this 
and  that — cigarettes,  candy,  gum,  etc. — the 
hard-to-get  items. 

"Look,"  said  Frankie.  "let's  pool  our 
points  and  load  up  on  candy  for  these 
kids.  How  about  it?"  That  was  a  brilliant 
idea  that  went  into  force  pronto. 

What  blood  Frankie  has  (Crosby  will 
raise  doubts,  of  course,  that  there  is  any) 
is  Italian  and  on  his  first  trip  to  the  home 
of  his  ancestors  Frankie  was  intrigued  by 
the  Italian  people  —  also  vice  versa. 
Frankie  speaks  only  a  few  catch  words  in 
Italian.  And  after  a  certain  experience 
with  a  gondolier  in  Venice,  he  stuck  to 
English  as  she  is  spoke  in  America. 

They  had  rattled  down  in  an  army  com- 
mand car  to  Venice,  with  a  play  date  over 
on  Lido  where  an  army  camp  awaited. 
The  sleeper  jump — as  often  happened — was 
at  night.  They  arrived  in  Venice  at  3:30, 
tired,  bedraggled  and  dying  to  bed  down. 
But  something  had  snafued  and  nobody 
was  there  to  meet  and  ferry  them  across. 
Not  even  the  Navy  "duck"  that  usually 


rocked  them  over  the  waves. 

But  it  was  Lido  or  bust  and  nnall; 
Frankie  called  on  the  few  Italian  word 
he  knew  to  fast-talk  a  gondolier  int< 
paddling  them  across.  He  thought  he  die 
all  right,  because  the  bird  with  the  wickec 
black  moustachios  and  gold  rings  in  hi 
ears  said,  "Si,  Si,"  and  led  them  down  t 
a  decrepit  canal  canoe.  They  piled  u 
with  all  their  traps  and  the  thing  almos 
swamped,  but  Frankie  was  still  prett; 
proud  of  his  linguistic  feat.  He  kept  sling 
ing  pig  Latin  at  the  gondolier  who  kep 
saying,  "Si,  Si"  and  hiking  them  over  th 
water.  But  in  his  enthusiasm  he  caugh 
a  crab  with  his  paddle  and  drenche 
Frankie  and  Fay  with  a  spray  of  Venetia 
canal  water,  which  is  not  exactly  swee 
attar  of  flowers. 

They  were  all  tired  and  sore  and  eve 
Frankie  got  put  out.  "I  wish  that  jer 
would  watch  what  he's  doing,"  he  said  01 
loud. 

Whereupon  the  gondolier  turned  aroun 
and  scowled,  "If  I'm  a  jerk — you're  a  big 
ger  jerk!"  he  retorted. 

Turned  out  he  had  had  to  guess  wha 
Frankie  was  trying  to  tell  him  in  Italia 
but  American  was  his  meat.  He'd  lived  ha 
his  life  in  New  York  City! 

Wherever  Frank  went,  a  lot  of  his  aud 
ence  on  the  fringes  were  Italians.  Th< 
didn't  know  what  to  make  of  him.  They 
heard  about  America's  great  singer,  Frai 
Sinatra,  but  when  he  gave  out  with  F. 
Parade  tunes  they  just  looked  baffle 
Great    singing    to    them    meant  opei 

Even  his  Holiness,  the  Pope,  was  a  litt 
confused  on  this  score.  One  of  the  t 
highlights  of  Frank's  trip  and  one  of  t  j 
greatest  events  of  his  life,  was  his  audien  ] 
with  the  head  of  his  church,  the  Catho 
faith.  The  Pope  had  heard  of  Sinatra, 
right,  but  that  was  about  all. 

"You  are  a  tenor,  my  son?"  he  asked- 

"No,  Your  Holiness,"  corrected  Frank 
"I'm  a  baritone." 

"Ah,  a  baritone.  What  operas,  do  y 
sing?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  sing  operas,  Your  Holines 
Frankie  explained.  "You  see,  I  ne^ 
studied  singing." 

His  Holiness  smiled.  "I  see" — and  j 
conversation  changed  to  other  topics.  I 
afterwards,  Frankie  ruefully  mentioned 
embarrassment  to  the  gang.  "What  coi 
I  tell  him?"  he  asked,  "that  I  sang  '( 
Man  River'  and  'Candy?'" 

crosby  plugger  .  .  . 

All  of  Frankie's  troupe,  Fay,  Phil,  S 
and  Betty  went  with  Frankie  to  the  V; 
can  and  met  the  Pope,  too.  Phil  hat' 
out  three  rosaries  he  had  purchased, 
asked  His  Holiness  if  he  would  bless  th 
"I'd  like  to  take  them  back  to  Bing  Crosl 
sons,"  he  explained.  The  Pope  smiled 
blessed  the  beads.  He  knew  about  E 
Crosby,  too. 

But  afterwards,  Frank  needled  Phil, 
fine  thing,"  he  complained.  "I  take  yoi 
meet  the  Pope,  and  you  plug  Crosby." 
he  had  a  rosary  blessed  for  little  Na 
too.  It's  one  of  his  proudest  possess 
and  a  souvenir  of  his  most  reverent 
ment. 

Frankie  never  sang  any  operas  in  H 
He  wouldn't  know  where  to  start  or 
opera.  But  he  did  play  lots  of  oj 
houses,  the  big,  gilded,  rococo  jobs 
have  all  over  Italy.  They  needed  siz 
halls  to  handle  the  soldier  audie 
Sinatra  drew.  Sometimes  they  ran 
an  open  air  stadium  that  took  can 
the  crowds,  like  the  Forno  Italia 
Rome  that  Mussolini  built  for  his  Olyi 
■  athletes  and  then  used  to  train  the  Fa 
youth  for  war. 

Next  to  our  national  anthem,  the 
that  gave  Frankie  the  biggest  thrill  to 
before  those  patriots  who'd  proved  it, 


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Address. 


City. 


Zone  State . 


"The  House  I  Live  In,"  an  inspiring  anthem 
about  the  great  country  we  live  in  on  the 
order  of  "Ballad  For  Americans."  But  may- 
be the  biggest  tingle  he  got  down  his  spine 
on  the  whole  junket  was  hearing  thou- 
sands of  GIs  give  their  battle  cry.  Look- 
ing around  for  local  color  at  one  camp 
stop,  Phil  Silvers  uncovered  the  fact  that 
a  certain  battling  Yank  division  that  had 
blazed  its  way  .  up  the  boot,  owned  a 
rugged  yell  loosed  every  time  it  stormed 
into  battle.  Right  into  the  guns  the  leaders 
yelled  "Powder  River!" — -and  the  whole 
fighting  outfit  yelled  back,  "Let  'Er  Buck!" 

let  'er  buck!  .  .  . 

That  was  a  fearsome  yell  for  plenty  of 
krauts,  but  dear  to  the  hearts  of  that 
division,  so  one  night,  playing  before  them, 
Frankie  and  Phil  yelled  out  "Powder 
River!"  at  the  start  of  their  show,  and  ten 
thousand  heroes  gave  them  a  thrill  they'll 
never  forget  when  they  roared  back  as 
one,  "LET  'ER  BUCK!" 

It's  moments  like  that  that  stick  with 
a  guy.  Frank  Sinatra  packed  a  lot  of  them 
back  with  him — some  funny,  some  sad,  and 
some  that  reached  right  down  to  the 
ticker.  Like  singing  to  an  outfit  of  Japanese 
Nisei  who'd  hung  up  a  glorious  record 
fighting  in  a  tough  spot  for  their  own  coun- 
try at  war  with  their  own  race. 

There  was  the  running  fun,  too,  and 
camaraderie  of  sharing  good  luck  and  bad, 
laughs  and  gripes,  with  a  crew  all  plugging 
on  the  same  job.  Of  holding  breaths  when 
the  motor  conked  out  on  that  take-off 
from  Oran  and  the  landing  scare  at  foggy 
Foggia  when  a  crash  ambulance  waited  on 
the  field.  Of  kidding  air-scared  Phil  Silvers 
by  whispering,  "Don't  look  now,  but  our 
pilot's  drunk,"  and  draping  him  with  all 
the  "Mae  West"  life  preservers  in  the  ship. 
And  then  there  was  the  nice  kind  of  feel- 
ing it  gave  when  Betty  and  Fay  went  out 
in  romantic  Florence  with  handsome  Navy 
officers,  but  came  home  early  saying — "Oh, 
nobody's  as.  much  fun  as  you  and  Phil, 
Frankie." 

But  nothing  to  compare  with  the  tingle 
you  got — and  kept — when  you  discovered 
the  guys  who  might  be  against  you  were 
with  you — and  the  way  they  showed  it, 
faking  a  good-natured  swoon  before  they 
shook  your  hand,  shyly  asking  for  an  auto- 
graph, or  slipping  you  a  message  to  give 
a  back-home  sweetheart,  mother,  or  pal. 

When  finally,  their  C-54  swooped  down 
on  LaGuardia  Field  with  its  load  of  weary 
troupers  and  joyful  home-bound  Army 
nurses,  their  pilot  told  them  goodbye.  And 
maybe  just  a  bit  symbolically,  he  made  a 
gesture,  the  thing  that  a  guy  does  when 
he  thinks  another  is  okay.  The  pilot  took 
off  his  silver  wings  and  handed  them  to 
Frank.  "Here,"  he  said,  "take  these  home 
to  your  little  girl." 

But  Phil  Silvers  couldn't  resist  gagging 
about  the  way  it  all  ended.  "The  real  rea- 
son Sinatra  went  to  Europe,"  he  said,  "was 
to  show  the  starving  Italians  that  we're 
starving  over  here,  too."  Then  he  played 
his  topper.  "If  you  don't  believe  the  sad 
state  of  Frankie's  health,"  said  Phil,  "just 
look.  It  took  20  nurses  to  bring  the  poor 
guy  home!" 


FEBRUARY  ISSUE 

On  accounta  it's  G.  Washington's 
birthday,  we  cannot  tell  a  lie;  so 
we'll  just  have  to  admit  that  our 
February  MODERN  SCREEN— 
which  hits  the  newsstands  Jan- 
uary 14 — -is  a  humdinger  .  .  . 
And  why  not,  with  Shirley  Tem- 
ple our  rosy  cover  Valentine? 


VOUR  FIGURE 

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right  in  the  privacy  of  your  home. 

ffI  was  so  Undeveloped, 

Unattractive,  Lonesome" 

WRITES  ANN  YAGER  of  ELLWOOD  CITY,  PA. 


BEFORE 

Ann  Yager's  shapeless  body 
caused  great  unhappiness  and 
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1841  Broadway,  New  York  23,  N.  Y. 

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!§ay  goodbye  to  icy  feet! 

Pedees  assure  extrq  foot  warmtk 
and  longer  stocking  hie  .  .  aLsort 
perspiration  and  protect  against 
friction  1  S-t~r-e-t-c-li-a-b-l-e  from 
tip  to  toe     .  .  without  binding 
elastic  .  .  *tliey  hold  tneir  sL'ape 
with  glove-like  fit  For  greater 
comfort  through  wintry 
days         wear  Pede*0^ 


BOB  WALKER 

(Continued  from  page  35) 


Made  by 

HERBERT  HOSIERY  MILLS,  INC.,  NORRISTOWN,  PA. 

Distributed  by  GUS  GR1SSMANN  CO..  389  FIFTH  AVE..  N  Y. 
In  Canada:  Herbert  Hosiery  Mills  of  Canada,  Ltd..  Toronto.  Out. 


NEW  pure,  white  odorless  " 

LOTION  :,m, 
REMOVES  HAIR 


2. 


- 

3. 

4. 

5. 

M 

*l.  A  fragrant  white  lotion  without 
bad  clinging  depilatory  odor. 
Painless  .  .  .  not  messy,  quick 
to  use.  As  simple  to  remove  as 
cold  cream. 

No  razor  stubble.  Keeps  legs 
hair-free  longer.  Economical! 
Does  not  irritate  healthy,  nor- 
mal skin. 

Removes  hair  close  to  skin, 
leaving  skin  soft,  smooth, 
clean,  fragrant. 

Cosmetic  lotion  to 


were  already  three — Wayne,  12;  Walter, 
10;  and  Richard,  2.  Walt  and  Wayne 
from  the  aloofness  of  their  years  were 
almost  like  an  extra  set  of  parents.  From 
the  start,  Bob  adored  Walt.  He  resem- 
bled him,  people  said,  and  throughout 
his  stormy  teens  it  was  to  be  Walt  whom 
Bob  would  anchor  to  instinctively  when 
the  going  got  tough.  He  grew  up  along- 
side Dick,  almost  like  a  twin.  But  all 
three  were  cut  to  a  different  pattern 
than  Bob.  They  were  normal,  solid  Walk- 
ers— easily  adjusted  at  school,  ready  in 
their  lessons,  deft  on  the  playground, 
good  at  sports,  robust  and  healthy  with- 
out a  nerve  in  their  bodies  or  a  bizarre 
thought — such  as  acting  or  art — in  their 
brains. 

odd  pea  in  the  pod  .  .  . 

He  was  the  odd  pea  in  the  pod,  that  Baby 
Walker  kid,  and  felt  it.  As  soon  as  he 
could  crawl,  his  natural  reaction  was  to 
get  out  on  his  own.  When  he  was  still  in 
skirts  he  used  to  scurry  out  the  door  when 
his  mother  forgot  and  left  it  open,  and 
venture  out  on  the  Salt  Lake  City  streets, 
dragging  his  teddy  bear,  hunting  new 
worlds.  He'd  follow  the  postman  until  his 
legs  gave  out  and  then  Mrs.  Walker  would 
get  a  telephone  call  from  a  housewife, 
blocks  away.  "Mrs.  Walker,  have  you  a 
little  boy  named  Robert?  Yes — well  he's 
down  here  in  our  yard  and  I  think  you'd 
better  come  get  him." 

A  kid  as  individual  as  Bob  was  headed 
for  trouble  in  school.  Everybody  said  so, 
but  not  even  Horace  and  Zella  Walker,  who 
knew  their  Baby  Boy  best,  guessed  it 
would  come  as  soon  as  it  did.  When  he 
was  only  six  he  trotted  off  to  kinder- 
garten. Pretty  soon  he  trotted  back.  That 
afternoon  a  young  lady  pressed  Mrs. 
Walker's  door  bell. 

"I'm  the  kindergarten  teacher,"  she  ex- 
plained.   "It's  about  your  boy,  Robert." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Walker,  "he  came  home 
early." 

"I  know,"  said  the  teacher.  "I  sent  him 
home.    He  was  annoying  the  little  girls." 

Mrs.  Walker  gasped.  "Yes,"  said  the 
teacher,  "he  pulled  their  hair  and  then 
hugged  them.  I'm  afraid,  Mrs.  Walker," 
sighed  the  teacher,  "that  Robert  is  going 
to  be  a  problem  in  school." 

The  teacher  was  right.  Bob  was  a 
problem.  When  he  was  seven  he  started 
grade  school.  The  first  week  he  com- 
mitted the  cardinal  sin.  He  teamed  right 
up  with  some  of  the  "bad  kids"  and  at 
the  first  recess  they  ran  out  of  the  school- 
yard and  up  into  the  hills.  The  alarm 
went  out  and  the  search  was  on.  Late 
that  evening,  the  principal  and  some  teach- 
ers uncovered  Bob  and  his  renegade  gang 
hiding  in  the  bushes  up  in  the  canyon, 
dragged  them  out  by  their  ears  and  gave 
them  their  sternest  lectures  on  what 
happens  to  truants.  The  next  day  Bob 
did  it  again.  His  report  card  came  home 
black  with  demerits.  In  addition  to  black 
marks  in  deportment,  Bob  was  merrily 
flunking  almost  everything. 

Anything  that  Bob  could  pioneer,  direct, 
exploit  and  promote — that  was  a  ten- 
dollar  whiz — especially  if  it  had  drama  or 
adventure  connected  with  it,  was  his  meat. 
He  was  the  most  enterprising  kid  on  the 
block.  He  started  weeding  dandelions 
and  mowing  grass  when  he  was  barely  big 
enough  to  make  the  lawn  mower's  blades 
whirr.  He  snagged  a  magazine  subscrip- 
tion route  when  he  was  only  eight  years 
old  and  collected  enough  coupons  to  cash 
in  for  his  mother  and  dad's  Christmas  gifts 
and  an  electric  train  for  himself. 


Bob  found  some  fellow  spirits  a  couple 
of  blocks  away.  One  was  an  adventurous 
kid  named  Adrian,  who  was  to  be  Bob's 
best  pal  for  a  dozen  years  and  the  will- 
ing partner  in  his  escapades.  There  were 
a  couple  of  girls,  too,  Mabel  Anson  and 
Jean  Murdock.  Bob  herded  them  together 
and  produced  "plays"  back  in  the  garage, 
borrowing  sheets  from  his  puzzled  mother 
and  ballyhooing  his  epics  up  and  down 
F  Street  to  set  local  box  office  records  in 
pins  and  sometimes  real  pennies.  He  al- 
ways wrote  the  "plays"  himself,  and 
directed  the  whole  mammoth  production, 
naturally  copping  the  starring  part  as 
well.  One  had  a  disastrous  climax,  typical 
of  Bob's  insistence  on  make-believe. 

The  "play"  that  time  involved  some  cans 
of  sand,  props  representing  buckets  of 
water  which  figured  in  the  action.  At 
the  performance,  so  wrapped  up  in  realism 
was  our  hero,  that  he  tilted  the  can  full 
of  grit  in  his  mouth  and  swallowed  it. 
They  had  to  call  a  doctor  that  time  to 
sweep  him  out. 

One  of  his  Salt  Lake  treasures  and  a 
constant  spur  to  his  fertile  imagination  was 
the  old  Salt  Lake  Theater,  long  since  torn 
down.  In  Bob's  boyhood  the  Salt  Lake 
was  a  wonderful  palace  of  magic.  Tired  old 
touring  companies  played  there  several 
years  after  a  show  hit  Broadway,  but  to 
Bob  they  were  the  greatest  pageants  in 
the  world.  He  saw  his  first  play  there — 
a  religious  spectacle  about  the  Crucifixion, 
and  as  that  was  about  the  time  he  was 
awakening  to  a  spiritual  consciousness,  it 
impressed  him  as  no  other  play  ever  has. 
He  dreamed  about  it  for  days  and  when 
the  Salt  Lake  closed  its  doors  for  keeps  he 
hung  around  the  place,  peering  into  every 
corner  to  see  what  made  a  real  theater  go. 

In  the  box  office  of  the  abandoned 
theater  stood  a  ticket  machine,  full  of 
wonderful  rolls  of  real  printed  tickets. 
"If  we  had  that,"  said  Bob.  "we  could  put 
on  real  shows  with  real  tickets."  Pins 
suddenly  loomed  as  passe  and  impossibly 
amateurish  to  the  budding  producer.  He 
looked  at  Adrian  and  Adrian  grinned 
They  lifted  the  machine  and  spirited  it  out 
the  side  door.  For  years  it  stayed  in 
the  Walker  garage,  spewing  out  tickets 
for  Bob's  productions. 

"spin-the-bottle"  champ  .  .  . 

Mabel  Anson  was  a  brunette  and  Jean 
Murdock  was  a  blonde,  and  they  supplied 
the  two  types  of  feminine  beauty,  talent 
and   grace   for   Bob   Walker's  backyard 
theatrical  ventures.    But  both  had  a  more 
practical  interest  in  Walker  Productions 
Both  took  turns  being  Bob's  sweethearts 
Jean  had  the  headstart;  she  and  Bob  were 
sweethearts  at  the  age  of  six  and  Jean 
was  the  first  girl  he  ever  kissed.  Right 
away  Bob  liked  that.    With  Adrian  and 
Mabel  and  Jean  and  the  other  moppets 
scattered  up  and  down  F  Street  he  dis 
covered    an    amazingly    delightful  game 
called  spin-the-bottle.   The  enticing  fea 
ture  about  this  sport  was  that  it  ended  up 
with  a  kiss.    The  girl  who  spun  the  bottk 
in  the  circle  had  to  kiss  the  boy  it  stoppec 
by.    For  a  time  Jean  grew  very  clever  a 
spinning  the  bottle  so  it  would  roll  a' 
Bob  Walker's  feet.    Later  Mabel  got  ir 
practice,   too.     Romance  was  one  thinj 
"Walk,"  as  the  kids  called  him,  could  un- 
derstand very  early  in  life. 

Bob  wanted  to  grow  up  fast.  That,  a 
least,  was  the  official  verdict  of  a  Uni- 
versity of  Utah  psychiatrist.  But  long  be 
fore  they  employed  professional  opinion 
Horace  and  Zella  Walker  had  some  bout 
with  Bob's  growing  pains  that  they  handlei 


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very  efficiently,  indeed.  When  he  was  ten 
years  old  Bob  walked  up  to  his  father  and 
told  him.  "I'm  going  to  start  smoking.'' 

His  editor  dad  didn't  turn  a  whisker. 
"Okay.  Son."  he  agreed.  "Then  tonight 
after  dinner  you  and  I  will  go  out  on  the 
back  porch  and  have  a  nice  long  smoke.'' 

Outside,  his  father  handed  him  a  wicked 
looking,  black  cigar,  helped  him  light  it. 
Bob  puffed  importantly.  This  was  grand. 
He  swelled  out  his  scrawny  chest  and 
felt  very  manly  all  of  a  sudden.  "If  you're 
going  to  smoke."  suggested  Bob's  dad.  "I 
think  you'd  better  learn  to  chew  at  the 
same  time.  Here."  and  he  handed  Bob 
a  plug  of  black  chewing  tobacco.  Bob 
stuck  that  in  his  mouth.  "Go  ahead," 
said  his  pop,  "chew  it  good.''    Bob  did. 

Pretty  soon  he  had  turned  the  color  of 
a  sick  chicken  and  his  head  whirled  like  a 
top.  Green  lights  and  purple  flashes  filled 
his  watering  eyes  and  all  of  a  sudden  he 
was  hanging  over  the  porch  railing,  losing 
his  nice  dinner  very  ignominiously.  His 
pop  helped  him  back  in  the  house  and  up 
to  bed.  "Next  time  you  want  to  smoke." 
he  said,  "let  me  know.  I've  got  plenty  of 
tobacco.  But,"  he  added,  "if  you  don't 
smoke  until  you're  21  there's  a  nice  gold 
watch  waiting  for  you."  Bob  decided  to 
strike  for  that  watch. 

When  Bob  was  twelve,  the  Walkers 
moved  from  Salt  Lake  City  to  Ogden, 
Utah,  30  miles  down  the  Union  Pacific  main 
line.  Bob's  parents  weren't  rich  and  Hor- 
ace, like  most  newspaper  men  with  fam- 
ilies, decided  one  day  that  he'd  never  re- 
tire on  a  city  editor's  check.  He  found  an 
opportunity  to  join  an  advertising  agency 
in  Ogden,  so  it  was  farewell  to  the 
familiar  neighborhood  on  F  Street  for  Bob 
and  Dick.  Walt  and  Wayne  by  now  were 
of  college  age  and  off  to  school.  Unlike  j 
most  kids,  Bob  had  no  tearful  partings.  I 

new  world  a'eomin'  .  .  . 

He  felt  a  pang,  of  course,  leaving  Jean, 
Mabel  and  Adrian,  but  after  all,  Ogden 
was  only  30  miles  down  the  Union  Pacific 
Main  line,  and  that  was  hardly  more  than 
an  hour's  ride.    It  wasn't  really  like  mov- 
ing to  an  unfamiliar  place.    Still,  it  was  [ 
enough  of  a  change  to  give  Bob  a  new  i 
lease  on  his  budding  life,  and  for  a  while 
there  were  hopes  at  the  new  brick  Walker  j 
house  in  Ogden  that  Bob  had  quieted  down.  I 

For  one  thing,  he  had  officially  embraced  | 
the  Mormon  faith — something  none  of  the 
other  Walker  sons  had  done.    Matters  of  j 
religion  Horace  and  Zella  left  entirely  up 
to  their  children.    They  realized  that  a 
new  generation  had  new  spiritual  needs 
and  urges.    Very  early.  Bob  evidenced  a 
marked  spiritual  side  that  was  along  the  I 
line  of  his  thoughts — which  were  always  ! 
more  emotional  than  rational. 

When  he  moved  to  Ogden,  there  were 
further  flickering  signs  that  Bob  might 
be  settling  into  the  groove  of  a  solid 
citizen.  He  was  happier  at  Madison  Grade 
School  than  he  had  been  at  Lowell,  and 
seemed  to  take  a  more  sober  outlook  on 
his  studies.   As  usual,  there  was  a  reason. 

There  was  a  dramatic  class  in  Madison 
Grade  School — not  such  a  much — but  still, 
it  gave  kids  who  liked  to  express  them- 
selves a  chance.  The  school  staged  an 
operetta  and  Bob.  glory  be,  won  the  lead. 
He  was  the  major  of  a  pixie  army  and  he 
sang  and  strutted  around  the  stage  in 
what  he  was  sure  was  a  terrific  perform- 
ance. Actually,  looking  at  the  photo 
snaps  of  his  operatic  triumph.  Bob  is  now 
inclined  to  crawl  a  bit  inside.  He  was 
starting  to  string  out  then,  all  bones  and 
knees  and  elbows.  He  wore  a  suit  of  long 
underwear,  dyed  black,  with  enormous  gold 
epaulettes  at  the  shoulders  and  a  feather 
pillow  stuffed  down  inside  to  make  a 
mighty  bay  window. 

Bob  could  stand  respectability  for  just 
so  long.    One  school  weekend  when  he 


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was  13,  Bob  took  the  train  down  to  Salt 
Lake  City  to  visit  Adrian.  He  had  his 
ticket  and  one  silver  dollar  for  spending 
money  He  kicked  around  his  old  Salt 
Lake  haunts  with  Adrian  and  they  mo- 
seyed down  to  the  freight  yards  where 
they  used  to  watch  the  trains  puff  in  and 
out.  A  loaded  freight  was  crawling  slowly 
out  of  the  yards  headed  West. 

"Going  to  California,"  mused  Bob.  "I 
wonder  what  California's  like?" 

"It's  wonderful,"  said  Adrian,  "I've  got 
a  brother  there." 

In  a  second  they  had  hopped  the  iron 
ladder  of  a  freight  car  and  crawled  in- 
side. The  train  rocked  through  the  moun- 
tains and  ground  to  stops  at  other  Utah 
towns.  At  each  one  the  door  was  pushed 
furtively  open  and  ragged,  whiskered  men 
climbed  in.  They  explained  the  myster- 
ies of  hobo  life  to  the  two  kids. 

"We're  going  to  California,"  said  Bob. 

"Watch  out  for  the  yard  bulls,"  croaked 
a  weary  willie.  Just  then  a  flashlight 
came  swinging  down  the  line  of  cars.  The 
hoboes  slipped  off  into  the  night  and  Bob 
and  Adrian  closed  the  door.  "Jiggers," 
they  whispered,  "hide!" 

But  the  door  slid  open  and  the  flash- 
light felt  them  out.  A  husky  railroad  cop 
leaped  inside  and  grabbed  them  by  the 
collars  and  heaved  them  off  into  the  cin- 
ders. "Beat  it,  kids,"  he  growled.  "I'll  let 
you  punks  off  easy  this  time."  Bob  and 
Adrian  beat  it.  They  slept  that  night  in  a 
city  park,  padding  their  thin  clothes  with 
newspapers  to  keep  out  the  biting  mount- 
ain cold.  Next  day,  shivering  and  wan,  they 
went  from  door  to  door,  getting  an  odd  job 
now  and  then  and  buying  food  with  their 
pay.  Days  later,  Bob  and  Adrian  took  out 
on  a  freight  headed  back  to  Salt  Lake  City. 

Bob  wasn't  punished.  His  family  tried  to 
understand,  but  he  noticed  the  tears  in  his 
mother's  eyes  and  that  hurt  him  more 
than  anything.  He  resolved  never  to  yield 
to  temptation  again.  But  that  was  a  hard 
resolve  for  Bob  Walker  to  keep.  He  had 
another  spell  of  industry  and  hard  work 
and  saved  up  enough"  money  to  buy  an  old 
Star  touring  car  on  time.  That  made  him 
a  person  of  consequence  socially  at  Cen- 
tral Junior  High,  where  he'd  finally  ar- 
rived but  without  any  honors.  But  the 
car  was  too  handy  a  means  of  escape  when 
he  felt  the  unrest  coming  on.  And  pretty 
soon,  after  an  argument  he  had  with  his 
dad  and  mother  over  staying  out  late,  he 
packed  up  blankets  and  food  in  the  car 
and  disappeared  again.  This  time  he 
drove  out  in  the  desert  and  camped  all  by 
himself,  skipping  school  and  getting  him- 
self in  hot  water  there.  After  a  painful 
session  with  the  principal,  the  Walkers 
decided  something  had  to  be  done. 

quick  solution  .  .  . 

All  these  distressing  reports  and  bul- 
letins on  Wayward  Bob  had  been  sent 
right  on  to  the  lady  who  always  had  every 
Walker  boys'  interest  deep  in  her  heart. 
Hortense  McQuarry  Odium  was  Zella's 
sister,  one  of  the  three  who  had  left  the 
sands  of  Utah  early  to  make  a  career  in 
New  York  City.  A  brilliant,  capable 
woman,  Aunt  Hortense  had  risen  to  head 
the  great  New  York  women's  fashion  tem- 
ple of  Bonwit  Teller  in  New  York. 

She  kept  a  beautiful  summer  home  in 
Logan  Canyon  where  Bob  and  his  family 
went  for  vacations  every  time  Aunt  "Ten- 
ny"  came  West.  She  had  no  family  of 
her  own  and  being  wealthy,  she  delighted 
in  planning  the  education  of  her  favorite 
nephews.  When  she  added  up  all  the  re- 
ports on  Bob  she  came  right  back  with  an 
offer.  Find  a  good  military  academy  on 
the  West  Coast,  enroll  Problem  Bob — and 
she  would  foot  the  bill. 

That's  how  Bob  Walker  found  himself, 
next  school  season,  enrolled  as  a  "rat"  in 
the  San  Diego  Army  and  Navy  Academy, 


in  Southern  California.  At  the  start,  he 
hated  the  place.  At  San  Diego  you  ate, 
dressed,  studied,  played  and  slept  to  bells 
and  bugles.  He  was  to  live  in  a  barracks 
with  another  roommate,  wear  a  uniform 
modelled  after  a  West  Point  cadet's,  was 
to  carry  himself  like  a  ramrod  and  drill 
like  a  wooden  soldier. 

This  wasn't  for  him,  for  sure. 

old  story,  new  version  .  .  . 

And  so  it  was  the  same  old  story  for 
"Walk."  He  broke  rules,  he  talked  back 
to  the  officer  teachers,  he  was  sloppy  at 
drill,  he  missed  classes,  neglected  his 
books.  He  tramped  so  many  extra  duty 
tours  that  he  didn't  have  a  liberty  all  the 
first  month  he  was  there.  He  stayed  in 
the  awkward  squads  and  exasperated  his 
professors  with  his  bored  indifference. 
The  reports  going  back  home  were  grim. 

Luckily,  these  sad  sack  rumors  reached 
the  ears  of  Virginia  Atkinson,  a  lone  lady 
member  of  the  military  faculty  at  San 
Diego  A.  and  N.  Miss  Atkinson  taught 
a  dramatic  class  at  the  Academy,  and  she'd 
built  up  quite  a  thing.  More  kids,  she 
had  discovered,  got  rid  of  what  ailed  them 
by  play  acting  than  anything  else.  And  the 
Academy  was  faced  every  semester  with 
plenty  of  young  guys  who  were  as  mixed 
up  as  Bob,  although  not  all  with  the 
talent  he  packed — hot  at  all.  In  fact,  when 
she  had  called  him  in  for  an  interview 
she  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  our 
hero  pronto.  Bob  was  so  low  in  spirits  by 
then  that  he  couldn't  even  work  up  much 
enthusiasm  about  acting. 

But  the  minute  he  came  under  the  spell 
of  the  clever  Miss  Atkinson,  Bob  found  his 
blues  vanishing  before  the  path  she 
pointed  out.  First  time  he  read  for  Miss 
A.  she  knew  what  Bob  had.  She  cast  him 
right  off  in  the  lead  of  the  Academy  play 
of  the  season,  the  one  they'd  give  in  the 
annual  San  Diego  High  Schools  dra- 
matic contest,  which  by  now  had  become 
a  major  scholastic  event  of  the  year. 

So  the  dramatic  contest  came — and  when 
it  was  over,  "The  Other  Side" — that's  the 
name  of  the  play — won  first  honors  in  a 
walk.  Not  only  that,  but  Bob  got  the 
nod  for  the  best  acting  of  the  entire  tour- 
nament. Suddenly  the  problem  cadet  who'd 
dragged  morosely  around  the  parade 
ground  was  a  hero. 

He  couldn't  go  to  sleep  that  night  after 
the  play.  Instead,  he  sat  up  with  his 
light  behind  a  blanket — so  he  couldn't  get 
gigged  for  extra  duty — and  wrote  his  fam- 
ily all  about  it. 

"Dear  Mother,"  Bob  wrote,  "I  guess 
tonight  I  am  the  best  young  actor  in  all 
San  Diego — "  and  he  went  on  from  there. 
At  the  bottom  he  penned,  "send  this  on 
to  Aunt  Tenny."  He  got  letters  back  from 
them  all.  They  were  proud.  They  knew 
he  had  the  stuff.  And  right  away  Bob 
began  proving  it. 

He  started  getting  A's  in  every  subject. 
From  a  dunce  he  turned  into  a  shining 
light.  When  Bob  graduated  from  San 
Diego  A.  and  N.  four  years  later,  he  was 
class  president,  cadet  captain  and  second 
in  all  the  school  in  scholastic  standing! 
Besides  all  this  he  was  as  much  of  a  school 
hero  as  the  captain  of  the  football  team. 
Because  Virginia  Atkinson's  noble  dra- ' 
matic  experiment  had  flourished  like  the 
green  bay  tree  and  a  dramatic  contest  was 
just  as  much  an  occasion  for  school  spirit 
and  cheers  as  the  Big  Game.  The  contest 
spread  to  an  All-Southern  California 
event,  held  annually  at  the  Pasadena 
Community  Playhouse.  And  there  Bob 
led  his  Academy  acting  group  to  victory 
twice,  copping  the  Best  Acting  prize  him- 
self both  times. 

By  the  time  he  had  left  San  Diego,  Vir- 
ginia Atkinson  had  convinced  Bob  that 
he  was  born  to  be  an  actor.  "Make  this 
your  life's  work,"  she  urged,  "and  you'll 


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never  regret  it."  But  the  casting  director 
Aunt  Tenny  had  arranged  an  appointment 
■with  took  one  look  at  Bob's  youthful  face 
and  figure  and  advised.  "Wait  a  few  years.' 
Bob  was  crushed,  but  it  didn't  swerve  him 
from  the  only  idea  that  had  ever  seemed 
to  fit  perfectly. 

And  by  now  the  all-important  Aunt 
Hortense  Odium  was  on  his  side.  Aunt 
Tenny  had  lived  around  New  York  for 
years  and  she  had  very  definite  ine^s 
She  didn't  have  to  talk  much  to  Bob's 
family  about  the  project.  They  were  so 
pleased  and  relieved  that  Bob  had  found 
something  he  loved  and  could  shine  in 
that  they  backed  him  to  the  hilt — only  with 
three  other  boys  being  educated,  there 
wasn't  much  in  the  Walker  sock  to  carry 
through  the  ambitious  plans  Aunt  Tenny 
had.  Never  mind,  she'd  take  care  of  that. 
Nothing  but  the  best  must  this  talented 
nephew  have.  Nothing  less  than  the 
Academy  of  Dramatic  Art  in  New  York. 

new  career,  new  love  .  .  . 

The  folks  had  put  him  on  the  train  at 
Ogden — but  it  wasn't  really  like  going  to  a 
strange  land,  Because  Walt,  Bob's  bro- 
ther-idol, was  in  Manhattan  now  practic- 
ing law  and  Dick,  his  near-twin,  was  study- 
ing accounting   at  Columbia  University. 

From  the  start.  Bob  Walker  knew  that 
New  York  was  his  oyster  and  to  his  Aunt 
Hortense  that  night  he  bubbled  over 
with  his  enthusiastic  dreams. 

'Well."  said  Aunt  Tenny.  "so  you're  go- 
ing to  be  an  actor!" 

"I  am  an  actor,''  grinned  Bob. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  forgot,"  smiled  Aunt  Tenny. 
'Well,  you  be  a  good  one.  do  you  hear? 
And  stick  to  your  guns.  The  only  thing 
I  don't  forgive  is  half-heartedness." 

Bob  laughed — imagine  stopping  any- 
thing as  much  fun  as  acting.  Tnere 
couldn't  be  anything  half  as  interesting. 
But  there  was.  Luckily,  the  two  interests 
blended  perfectly — like  peaches  and  cream. 

In  fact.  Bob  Walker's  romance  with 
Jennifer  Jones  started  as  a  dramatic  work- 
shop mutual  admiration  society.  Raven- 
haired,  sweet-faced.  Phyllis  Isely  from 
Tulsa.  Oklahoma,  was  already  at  the 
Academy  when  Bob  enrolled.  But  some- 
how the  first  few  months  they  missed  each 
other.  Bob  was  extremely  busy  and  no 
beaver  was  ever  more  eager.  He  didn't 
need  Aunt  Tenny's  admonitions  to  plunge 
into  his  training.  The  first  weeks  his  days 
were  crammed  with  work  and  the  won- 
ders of  New  York.  Classes  at  the  Academy 
were  from  8  until  noon,  or  from  noon  un- 
til 6.  Bob  dived  into  the  subway  and  came 
up  at  the  Carnegie  Hall  corner  to  trot 
over  and  rehearse  his  scenes,  watch  other 
students  work,  hear  lectures,  and  get  taken 
apart  by  the  fearful  "Jelly,'"  hard  driving 
Mr.  Jehlinger,  who  could  cut  a  cocky 
student  to  pieces  with  his  sharp  surgical 
slashes  at  amateur  acting  faults. 

And  at  school — speech  classes,  fencing 
drills,  dancing  lessons,  dramatic  history, 
makeup,  wardrobe — there  was  always 
something  to  do  and  always  the  lingering 
shadow  of  "not  being  invited  back"  next 
year.  Yet  Bob  found  himself  smiling  bold- 
ly at  the  dark,  slim  girl  hurrying  between 
classes,  divinely  intent.  Then  he  started 
dropping  in  when  he  had  a  free  afternoon 
to  watch  her  do  her  scenes.  He  whistled 
low  to  himself.  "Gosh,  she's  not  only 
pretty- — she's  good!" 

Phyl  Iseley  was  thinking  essentially  the 
same  thing  about  the  tall,  thin  kid  with 
the  cute  crinkles  in  his  copper  hair.  And 
she  was  lovely,  too. 

"I  like  the  way  you  work."  he  told 
Phyl.  "I'd  like  to  work  with  you.  if  it's 
all  right  with  you." 

Phyl  smiled  the  smile  that  has  melted 
more  hearts  than  Bob  Walkers. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I'd  like  to,  too!" 

It  was  funny,  fate  maybe,  coincidence 


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MONEY  BACK  GUARANTEE 


surely,  how  the  plays  they  drew  were 
what  they  were,  how  their  parts  were  al- 
ways invariably  in  romantic  apposition. 
"The  Barrets  of  Wimpole  Street,"  then  "Ro- 
meo and  Juliet" — and  what  romantic  theme 
could  be  more  tender? 

Phyl  stayed  at  the  Barbizon  Ho\el  for 
Women,  and  it  sort  of  seemed  natural 
to  stroll  up  Lexington  Avenue  to  take  her 
home  after  classes.  Bob  found  himself 
taking  a  later  and  later  express  out  to 
Long  Island.  When  Dick  and  Walt  would 
ask  how  come,  he'd  toss  it  off  with, 
"Working,"  and  they  believed  him.  No 
one  could  doubt  that  Bob  was  wrapped  up 
in  his  acting.  They  didn't  know  about 
Phyl,  but  when  Bob  began  skipping  the 
Sunday  dinners  at  Aunt  Tenny's  house 
there  were  some  raised  brows  and  a 
few  remarks.  "What's  her  name,  Bob?" 
Then  he'd  blush  and  cook  up  a  story. 
Besides,  Bob  didn't  think  he  was  in  love. 

Maybe  he  wasn't — then.  When  the 
term  came  to  a  close,  Bob  had  other  things 
on  his  mind,  and  so  did  Phyl.  There  were 
the  "finals"— the  plays  before  the  faculty 
that  were  the  payoff.  If  you  clicked,  you 
got  invited  back  for  next  term. 

The  big  day  came  and  Bob  went  on  in 
his  exam  play.  He  had  never  been  nervous 
before,  but  this  time  he  felt  the  cold  eye  of 
"Jelly"  on  him  every  time  he  walked  on 
the  stage.  When  it  was  over,  "Jelly" 
Jehlinger  came  backstage  and  took  Bob 
apart  in  little  pieces.  He  pointed  out  every 
fault  in  the  performance,  he  told  Bob  he'd 
have  to  develop.  "You  haven't  enough 
strength,"  he  said,  "you've  got  to  get  guts." 
Bob  started  out  the  door  with  a  face  down 
to  his  knees.  He  already  knew  the  answer. 
He  wasn't  coming  back  next  year.  On  the 
steps  he  met  Phyl.  She  didn't  have  to  ask 
what  had  happened. 

They  strolled  aimlessly  through  the 
crowded  sidewalks,  getting  bumped  by 
hustling  people,  cursed  by  cruising  cab- 
bies. They  headed  for  the  Park  and 
found  a  bench.  Bob  felt  Phyl's  warm  hand 
take  his.  "Do  you  want  to  know  some- 
thing?" she  said.  "  'Jelly'  thinks  you're 
one  of  the  most  talented  students  in  the 
Academy.  And  so  do  I.  Don't  you  know, 
silly,  that  the  ones  he  murders  most  are 
the  ones  he  likes  best?  He  gave  me  the 
devil,"  she  grinned.  "What  do  you  want 
to  bet  that  we're  both  asked  back?" 

They  took  a  long  time  to  walk  back  to 
the  Barbizon  that  evening. 

"I'll  see  you  next  year,"  said  Phyl. 

"Is  that  a  promise?" 

"It's  a  promise." 

Then  she  kissed  him  right  in  front  of  the 
doorman  and  ducked  inside. 

long  range  love  .  .  . 

She  was  right.  The  bid  to  return  to 
the  Academy  was  there  for  Bob  Walker 
the  next  morning.  He  was  tagged  one  of 
the  best  at  school.  He  carried  the  good 
news  home  to  his  brothers  and  Aunt 
Tenny.  He  wrote  it  back  to  Ogden.  He 
took  Phyl  to  the  train  and  kissed  her 
goodbye.  She  would  go  back  to  Tulsa 
and  travel  with  a  tent  show,  doing  stock 
plays  to  season  her  talent. 

The  days  were  already  hot  when  Bob 
started  pounding  Broadway's  stony  lanes 
for  his  break  into  the  big  league.  He  couldn't 
miss.  Sure  enough,  the  first  week  the 
plum  dropped  right  in  his  hand.  "Where 
Do  We  Go  From  Here?"  was  a  college  story 
being  prepped  for  an  early  summer  debut. 
There  was  a  comedy  youth  part,  as  there 
is  in  every  college  play.  A  skinny,  gan- 
gling, awkward  kid.  Dwight  Taylor  was 
casting  the  show  and  when  Bob  walked  in 
his  office  the  welcome  mat  was  out. 

He  couldn't  keep  the  good  news.  He 
wrote  his  dad  and  mother.  Aunt  Tenny 
was  thrilled.  But  it  was  the  last  time  Bob 
Walker  ever  bragged  about  a  part.  It  lasted 
five  days  before  the  show  went  into  re- 


hearsals. Then  the  roof  fell  in.  Dwight 
Taylor  called  Bob  into  his  office.  He  was 
sorry,  but  he'd  have  to  call  the  deal  off. 

We've  re-written  the  script,"  he  ex- 
plained. "Your  part's  been  changed  to  a 
fat  kid  because  a  fat  kid's  funnier  and — 
well — obviously  that's  not  for  you." 

"Oh,  sure,"  said  Bob  bravely.  "I  under- 
stand. I've  got  some  other  things  lined 
up  anyway  that  look  swell,"  he  lied. 

long  voyage  home  .  .  . 

But  when  he'd  tripped  jauntily  out  of 
the  office  he  leaned  against  the  building 
with  a  heavy  heart.  How  could  he  ever 
explain!  He  moseyed  across  town  clear  to 
the  Hudson  River  docks,  walking  off  the 
slug  they'd  handed  him.  But  the  docks 
and  the  steamers  gave  him  an  idea. 

As  usual,  Bob  went  to  Aunt  Tenny. 

"I  want  to  take  two  years  off,"  said  Bob, 
"before  I  return  to  acting,  and  work  my 
way  around  the  world." 

That  struck  Aunt  Tenny  as  a  sensible 
and  courageous  idea.  She  nodded  ap- 
proval. "Fine,"  she  agreed,  "if  you'll 
stick  to  it,  and  won't  give  up." 

In  a  few  days  Bob  was  signed  on  board 
the  S.  S.  Pastores  as  a  cadet.  The  S.  S.  Pas- 
tores  carried  bananas  as  her  main  cargo. 
She  stopped  at  all  the  Central  American 
banana  ports  and  loaded  on  the  gargantuan 
green  bunches,  stowing  them  down  in  her 
refrigerated  hold,  then  wallowing  through 
the  Gulf  and  on  up  the  Atlantic  Coast  to 
New  York.  Besides  all  the  drab  and  dirty 
jobs,  such  as  wiping  in  the  engine  room, 
polishing  brass,  painting  and  helping  in 
the  galley,  Bob  drew  some  chores  that 
were  spooky  enough  to  chill  any  sailor. 

There  were  the  times  he  had  to  descend 
into  the  inky  hold  and  with  a  flashlight 
check  on  the  temperature,  and  inspect  the 
cargo  to  see  that  it  was  in  good  condition 
and  riding  easy.  Not  only  was  it  freezing 
cold  after  the  warm  deck,  which  set  his 
teeth  to  chattering,  but  droves  of  huge  rats 
lived  in  the  hold  dying  for  fresh  meat. 

It  wasn't  all  as  grim  as  that,  of  course. 
Bob  hauled  along  books,  mostly  on  acting, 
and  there  were  sunny,  lazy  days  on  deck 
when  he  could  dream  and  read  the  letters 
postmarked  Tulsa,  Oklahoma.  Because  in 
one  of  the  ports  of  call,  there'd  be  that 
letter  from  Phyl.  Bob  had  written  her  of 
the  long  voyage  and  he  wasn't  sure  the 
idea  had  exactly  clicked.  "I'm  coming 
back  to  New  York  in  the  fall,"  she  wrote, 
"back  to  the  Academy,  and  I'll  miss  you. 
I  don't  understand  how  you  can  keep  up 
your  dramatics  on  a  banana  boat." 

Bob  began  to  wonder.  Two  years  of 
sailing  the  seven  seas,  he'd  said.  Had  he 
seen  much  Life,  with  a  capital  "L?"  Well 
— there  was  the  time  the  two  chefs  chop- 
ped each  other  to  pieces  in  the  galley. 
There  were  those  sin  joints  in  Panama 
and — well,  there  were  lots  of  things. 

But  still  every  time  his  tub  slipped  in 
through  the  Narrows  and  he  saw  the  sky- 
line looming  up,  he  felt  lonely  and  exiled 
and  he  had  the  disturbing  feeling  of  a  job 
undone.  So  the  fourth  time  in  port  he 
lugged  off  his  sea  bags  for  keeps  and  signed 
oft.  Bob's  spirits  were  high  as  he  sprinted 
up  the  steps  to  Aunt  Tenny's  house. 

"Another  leave?"  she  smiled. 

"Oh  no,"  Bob  grinned.  "I'm  through. 
I've  signed  off." 

Something  wasn't  right.  Aunt  Tenny 
didn't  fall  under  his  spell. 

"But  you  said  you  were  going  to  work 
your  way  around  the  world.  That  you'd 
be  gone  two  years  and  broaden  yourself 
with  travel.  It's  only  been  four  months— 
you  can't  quit  now!" 

Bob  still  carried  it  on  blithely.  "I  don't 
like  it  any  more." 

Aunt  Tenny  was  not  amused.  "That 
shows  weakness  of  character,"  she  said. 
"I'm  disappointed." 

Then  Bob  got  sore.  He  could  do  what 


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he  pleased.  One  word  led  to  another  and 
pretty  soon  Bob,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  found  himself  actually  having  a  ter- 
rific word  fight  with  his  favorite  aunt. 

"Well,"  he  shouted,  "my  mind's  made 
up.  I'm  going  back  to  the  Academy." 

"Oh  no,  you're  not,"  decreed  Aunt 
Tenny,  her  firm  face  never  firmer.  "At 
least  you're  not  going  with  my  help." 

Bob  slammed  out  the  door.  He  was 
thoroughly  mad,  and  so  was  the  aunt  who 
had  lost  faith  in  him.  They  wouldn't  be 
speaking  now,  he  knew,  for  months.  At 
last  he  really  was  on  his  own.  No  more 
money  from  Aunt  Tenny.  None  from 
home.  How  would  he  pay  the  tuition  at 
the  Academy?  What  was  more  pressing, 
how  would  he  sleep  and  eat?  "I'll  get  a 
job,"  muttered  Bob  fiercely.  "Anyway,  the 
only  way  to  be  an  actor  is  to  act." 

But  that  was  all  in  the  future.  What 
Bob  needed  now  was  a  place  to  sleep.  He 
headed  for  Beekman  Place  where  Brother 
Walt  had  a  new  apartment.  He  pressed 
the  buzzer.  "Hello,  Walt,"  said  Baby  Bob, 
a  bit  sheepishly,  "suppose  I  can  bunk  here 
until  I  find  a  job?" 

Bob  Walker's  Life  Story  will  be  con- 
cluded in  the  February  issue  of  Modern 
Screen. 


DATE  DRESSES  FOR  TEEN  AGERS 

{Continued  on  page  53) 


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WATCH  GUY  MADISON! 

(Continued  from  page  55) 


of  the  verbal  fencing  that  we  both  get 
a  kick  out  of.  Turning  back,  I  found  my 
luncheon  companion  eyeing  me  gravely. 
"You  know  all  the  answers,  don't  you?" 
"Yes,  and  if  not,  I  make  them  up — " 
"That  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Madison 
blandly. 

Well,  I  whooped.  Candor  and  humor 
and  knowingness  all  rolled  up  in  the  body 
of  a  sun-kissed  giant! 

Of  course  I'd  realized  before  meeting 
•him,  that  this  guy  was  something  special. 
Here's  a  great  part  like  Cliff  in  "They 
Dream  of  Home."  Half  the  male  stars  in 
Hollywood  are  going  around  with  their 
tongues  hanging  out  for  it.  Along  comes 
Madison  and  cops  it  from  under  their 
noses.  And  who's  Madison?  The  sailor 
in  "Since  You  Went  Away."  Remember 
the  bowling  alley  scene?  David  Selznick 
wrote  it  in,  specially  for  Madison. 

Hollywood  fairy  tale  .  .  . 

It's  a  real  Hollywood  fairy  tale:  Imagine 
yourself  in  Guy's  place.  You're  a  sailor  on 
weekend  pass  from  San  Diego.  A  friend 
invites  you  to  a  Janet  Gaynor  broadcast. 
You  walk  into  the  place,  your  friend  meets 
some  people  she  knows,  introduces  you. 
Suddenly  one  of  them  says:  "Look,  do 
you  have  to  see  this  broadcast?" 

He  seems  to  be  talking  to  you  and  you 
can't  figure  it.  "No,  I  don't  have  to,  but 
I've  never  seen  one — " 

"I'm  Henry  Willson  of  Vanguard  Films. 
I'd  like  to  take  you  up  to  the  studio  to  see 
David  Selznick  and  Daniel  O'Shea — " 

What  is  this,  a  rib?  Do  you  look  that 
green?  You've  heard  about  Hollywood 
and  these  people  who  give  you  a  line.  Yet 
this  man  looks  solid.  Not  the  kind  for  a 
bum  steer.  You  turn  to  the  friend  who 
brought  you.  She's  wise  to  the  town — 

"You  couldn't  do  better,"  she  says. 

Bob  Mosely — that  was  his  name  when 
Henry  Willson  spotted  him.  Henry'd  gone 
to  the  broadcast  at  Selznick's  request — 
out  of  courtesy  to  Gaynor.  But  before 
joining  Vanguard,  he'd  been  a  highly  suc- 
cessful agent — discovered  Lana  Turner, 
Anne  Shirley,  Joan  Fontaine  and  others — 
and  his  habit  of  checking  faces  persisted. 

It's  not  very  far  from  CBS  to  Vanguard, 
but  Henry  did  a  lot  of  fast  talking  on  the 
way.  "You  know  I'm  not  an  actor,"  the 
kid  kept  insisting.  "All  I  know  about 
movies  are  the  pinups — " 

Henry  told  him  that  acting  could  be 
taught,  but  that  no  teacher  could  hand 
you  a  screen  personality,  you  had  to  be 
born  with  it.  "If  you've  got  the  kind  of 
natural  attractiveness  that  registers  on  the 
screen,  the  rest'll  come  later.  I  think  you've 
got  it,  so  don't  be  nervous  about  this — " 

They  pulled  up  across  from  the  studio 
and  got  out.  "Thanks,"  said  the  sailor. 
"You've  made  me  feel  a  lot  better — " 

Selznick  and  O'Shea  didn't  make  him 
feel  any  worse.  A  look  was  all  those  can- 
ny operators  needed.  To  put  him  at  ease, 
they  asked  a  few  simple  questions,  like 
where  was  he  from  and  how  long  had  he 
been  in  the  Navy?  Then  David  said:  "I 
think  Henry's  right.  I'd  like  to  test  you 
next  time  you  come  up  on  a  pass.  Mean- 
time, I'll  put  you  under  option." 

Young  Mr.  Mosely  walked  out  in  a  daze, 
and  that's  where  Willson  took  over.  What 
Henry  did  for  the  boy  you  couldn't  get  for 
money,  and  the  boy  knows  it.  He's  any- 
thing but  emotional.  In  fact,  your  tough- 
est job  is  to  dig  through  his  reserve.  But 
bring  up  the  subject  of  Selznick  or  Hank 
Willson,  and  his  eyes  light  up  and  the 
words  come  tumbling  out. 

"They  had  faith  in  me  when  I  didn't 


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have  faith  in  myself.  Mr.  Selznick  never 
even  made  the  test.  He  just  went  ahead 
and  wrote  in  the  part  of  Hal  Smith.  And 
Henry! — I  can't  even  begin  to  thank  him. 
He  arranged  this  and  that,  picked  people 
for  me  to  take  lessons  under,  taught 
me  how  to  dress,  what  to  buy,  showed 
me  what  the  score  was.  We're — well, 
we're  more  or  less  buddies,  you  could 
call  it." 

But  I  started  to  tell  you  what  Henry 
did  that  first  night.  He'd  already  dis- 
covered things  about  this  youngster's  back- 
ground, and  Henry  felt  responsible.  It  was 
up  to  him  to  show  the  kid  the  ropes. 

"I'm  taking  Anne  Shirley  to  a  night 
club  this  evening.  Care  to  come  along?" 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "Only  I'd  like  to 
ask  a  favor  of  you.  Night  clubs  are  out 
of  my  line.  I  might  use  the  wrong  fork 
— or  not  know  how  to  pull  out  a  chair. 
Will  you  keep  an  eye  on  me?" 

"Sure,"  said  Henry,  casually.  But  he 
knew  he'd  picked  a  right  guy. 

Well,  the  evening  went  off  fine.  Bob 
didn't  talk  much,  but  then  he  never 
does.  Certainly  he  wasn't  awed  into 
silence.  Anne's  such  a  friendly  person  that 
he  felt  right  at  home.  And,  like  every- 
one else,  she  found  his  frank  simplicity 
delightful. 

"I'd  like  to  dance  with  you,"  he  said, 
"but  I'm  a  horrible  dancer — " 

"Come  on,"  she  laughed,  "there's  noth- 
ing to  it — " 

he  wasn't  kidding  .  .  . 

Of  course  the  twist  on  that  story  should 
be  that  he  danced  like  a  dream.  But  I 
told  you  the  boy  was  a  truth-teller,  didn't 
I?  He  danced  just  the  way  he'd  promised 
— horribly.  And  Henry  made  a  mental  note 
to  send  him  to  Arthur  Murray's  for  lessons. 

After  that,  he  came  up  whenever  he  got 
a  pass,  to  be  coached  in  dramatics  and 
diction.  Meantime,  Selznick  had  written 
the  two  Hal  Smith  scenes,  and  now  Bob 
wanted  his  name  changed — if  only  to  keep 
the  fellows  at  the  base  from  getting  wise 
and  razzing  the  hide  off  him. 

He  and  Henry  were  driving  down  Wash- 
ington Boulevard  and  passed  a  huge  ad 
for  Dolly  Madison  cakes.  "Madison,  Madi- 
son— how's  that  for  a  name?  No  Madisons 
in  the  picture  business  yet — " 

Bob  thought  it  was  swell.  So  did  Selz- 
nick, who  matched  it  with  Guy.  I  like 
Guy's  reason  for  liking  his  first  name. 
"Knew  a  fella  in  grammar  school  called 
Guy.    Pretty  nice  fella — " 

They  had  to  wait  till  he  got  a  seven- 
day  leave  before  shooting  his  scenes.  He 
was  nervous,  but  the  only  way  it  showed 
up  was  when  he  tried  to  smoke.  He'd  gone 
through  the  stage  of  cigarette-swiping 
and  puffing  behind  the  house  and  getting 
sick — but  he  hasn't  used  them  since.  Ex- 
cept for  the  smoking,  however,  John 
Cromwell  had  no  trouble  with  him.  And 
when  they  ran  the  first  rushes — all  me- 
dium shots — Cromwell  and  Selznick  were 
two  minds  with  but  a  single  thought. 

"Close-ups?"  asked  Cromwell. 

"Big  ones,"  said  David. 

Not  till  Selznick  himself  assured  Guy 
that  he  wouldn't  be  left  on  the  cutting- 
room  floor,  did  he  tell  his  family.  Even 
then  there  was  no  hullabaloo.  He  didn't 
wire  or  phone.  From  San  Diego  he  wrote 
them  a  plain  letter,  and  they  answered  in 
the  same  way.  Pleased,  but  with  their  feet 
very  much  on  the  ground. 

He  told  me  a  little  about  his  boyhood 
in  Bakersfield — a  good  American  boyhood. 
About  his  dad,  a  machinist  in  the  railroad 
shops.  About  his  three  brothers  and  only 
sister.  David's  the  eldest,  Rosemary  works 
for  the  Army  in  Sacramento,  Wayne's  in 
the  Philippines  with  the  Navy,  and  Harold's 
still  at  school. 

Guy  and  the  two  younger  boys  had  a 
lot    in  common — baseball    and  football, 


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swimming  and  hunting  and  archery.  He 
did  all  right  at  school  when  he  was  inter- 
ested, only  he  wasn't  interested  in  many 
subjects.  At  Bakersfield  Junior  College,  he 
used  to  get  up  at  4  in  the  morning  to  do 
janitor  work  and  earn  money  for  clothes 
and  extras.  He'd  been  in  the  Navy  eight 
months  when  Willson  spotted  him. 

The  minute  they  started  sneaking  "Since 
You  Went  Away,"  Selznick  knew  he  had 
something.  The  reaction  never  varied. 
When  Madison  appeared,  a  buzz  would 
go  through  the  audience — "Who's  that  kid?" 
— "Never  saw  him  before — "  "Golly,  he's 
cute — "  Guy  took  Judy  Garland  to  the 
preem,  and  people  turned  to  stare. 

mike  fright  .  .  . 

Then  I  saw  them  stop  him  at  the  mike, 
and  watched  to  see  what  would  happen. 
He  was  obviously  taken  aback,  but  realized 
he'd  have  to  go  through  with  it.  At  first 
he  followed  the  pattern  which,  heaven 
knows,  was  no  worse  than  anybody  else's. 
"I'm  very  happy  to  be  here — I'm  sure  going 
to  enjoy  myself — "  Then  his  voice  steadied, 
and  the  words  came  loud  and  clear.  "I'm 
also  scared  stiff — " 

Everybody  howled.  With  those  three 
words  he  won  the  crowd,  and  I'm  sure  they 
had  the  same  effect  on  tuners-in. 

Finally  the  picture  was  released,  and  the 
fun  started.  They  had  to  shovel  them- 
selves out  from  under  the  mail.  Who's 
Hal?  Who's  the  sailor?  What's  he  done 
before?  What's  he  going  to  do  next?  Guy 
spent  crowded  weekends  autographing 
pictures — no  secretaries  for  him — every 
last  one  that  went  out,  he  signed  him- 
self.   "Gratefully    yours,    Guy  Madison." 

But  there  were  no  more  pictures.  Guy 
belonged  to  the  Navy  and  didi.'t  get  out 
till  last  October.  Except  for  an  accident, 
he  might  still  be  in,  and  he's  a  little 
chagrined  about  the  accident.  Because  he 
knows  the  surf  like  you  know  your  own 
pocket,  and  for  a  Navy  lifeguard  to  dive 
out  of  a  rowboat  and  land  on  his  head  is 
something  he  can't  get  over.  "What  a 
laugh!"  he  snorts. 

Anyway,  he  cracked  a  few  vertebrae, 
pulled  neck  and  shoulder  muscles  out  of 
kilter,  and  spent  weeks  in  the  hospital 
where  he  lost  a  lot  of  weight.  By  that  time 
the  war  was  over  and  Guy  was  really  in 
the  dumps.  Finally  he  turned  the  corner 
toward  recovery.  His  case  history  was  pre- 
sented before  the  board  and  Seaman  Bob 
Mosely  was  recommended  for  discharge. 
That  was  also  the  day  when  things  began 
popping  for  Guy  Madison. 

On  a  3-picture  deal,  Selznick  had  turned 
over  to  RKO  "They  Dream  of  Home," 
Dore  Schary  producing,  Dorothy  Maguire 
playing  the  girl.  Cliff  wasn't  set.  There 
were  various  possibilities,  till  Selznick 
heard  that  Madison  was  about  to  be  dis- 
charged. Then  the  possibilities  faded, 
leaving  one  certainty.  The  bowling  alley 
sailor  would  be  the  Marine. 

On  his  last  day  at  the  base,  Guy  checked 
out,  headed  the  car  for  Hollywood,  re- 
ported to  Selznick  and  went  on  to  see  his 
folks.  He  worked  fast — dumped  his  gear 
at  the  house,  kissed  his  mother  and  grand- 
mother, drove  over  to  the  shops  to  see  his 
dad.  They  hadn't  much  time  for  talk, 
but  his  father  sized  the  situation  up. 
"Looks  like  you're  a  little  nervous,  son," 
he  said.  "Just  take  it  easy." 

Then  it  was  time  to  go,  and  his  mother's 
goodbye  was  characteristic.  They  both 
wished  he  could  stay,  but  he  couldn't,  so 
why  talk  about  it?  "I'm  so  glad  you  could 
come,"  said  his  mother.  "Now  be  careful 
driving  back,  like  a  good  boy — " 

It  was  only  a  few  days  later  that  I 
lunched  with  Guy  and  learned  about  his 
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a  couple  of  bow  ties  .  .  . 

Under  his  *an  Guy  -went  pale.  "Look," 
he  said.  "I  dont  want  to  be  difficult.  And 
I  don't  want  to  do  anything  against  your 
judgment.  But  bow  ties  are  out." 

Henry  laughed,  but  for  Madison  it  had 
been  a  crisis.  He  was  new  at  this  game. 
For  all  he  could  telL  they  might  make 
you  wear  a  bow  tie.  .  .  . 

Yes.  I  asked  him  about  girls,  knowing 
you"d  never  read  my  stuff  again  if  I  didn't. 
No  special  girl  yet.  he  plays  the  field. 
Ingrid  Bergman's  his  ideal  of  natural  ! 
beauty.  He  likes  them  fairly  tall — say.  five 
feet  six  or  seven — and  he  can't  stand  a 
girl  who  chip-chip-chip-chips  all  the  time. 
Bring  :■:  r.is  : ;er.er  =  ::rr..  you'll  kr.ov.- 
what  that  means.  I  didn't.  "It  means 
she's  got  nothing  to  say  and  never  stops 
f — s— «  jt,"  ne  explained  with  admirable 
lucidity. 

 ...s  are  important,  but  so  is  intelli- 
gence. Only  she  mustn't  think  she's  more 
intelligent  than  you  are.  even  if  she  is. 
Sue  should  have  oraiui  euougu  no:  :o  -  . 
you  up.  It  bothers  him  to  be  out  with  a 
girl  who  overdoes  drinking.  He  loathes 
lots  of  makeup.  He  no  longer  dances 
horribly  and  think?  that's  the  nicest  way 
to  get  acquainted  with  a  girl.  His  favorite 
ouo:su:  Is  Ciro's.  be  cause  :uere's  —ore 
room  on  the  floor.  In  most  places  people 
keep  bouncing  into  you.  and  what  he's 
never  been  able  to  figure  is  why  you  : 
should  pay  for  being  uncomfortable. 

one  at  a  time  .  .  . 

And  remember  this,  girls.  If  Guy  Madi- 
son ever  takes  you  out.  don't  try  playing 
games.  Don't  flirt  with  the  fellow  at  the 
next  table,  and  don't  make  eyes  at  some- 
body else's  partner.  If  you're  out  with  him, 
you're  out  with  him — not  two  other  guys. 

He's  got  one  expression  that's  all  his  j 
own.    "For  sure."  he  says.    For  sure,  he 
doesn't  like  to  take  girls  to  the  beach.    In  i 
fact,  he  can't  see  taking  them  out  for  1 
sports  of  any  kind,  they're  just  in  the  way. 
If  you're  round  with  a  bunch  of  fellows, 
the}'  don't  fit  in.    If  you  want  to  swim, 
they  don't  feel  like  it  or  they'll  muss 
their  hair.  Don't  get  "im  wrong,  though.  ; 
A    girl-less    beach    wouldn't    suit  him, 
either.   But   it's   fine    when   they  walk 
around  and  give  you  an  eyeful  of  female 
pulchritude. 

Guy  has  no  illusions  that  he's  landed 
a  soft  snap.  He  knows  hell  have  to  work 
like  the  devil  against  fierce  competition. 
He  knows  you  can  be  the  fair-haired  boy 
today  and  a  has-been  tomorrow.  But  that 
won't  stop  him.  "It's  like  in  sports.'"  he  i 
sajrs.  "You  develop  a  competitive  spirit. 
The  tougher  it  is.  the  more  determination 
you  work  up  and  the  harder  you  fight — " 

On  the  other  hand,  he  won't  slit  his 
throat  if  the  breaks  go  against  him.  There 
are  plenty  of  good  things  in  life  outside 
the  movies.  He's  lucky  in  his  heritage, 
which  gave  him  a  sense  of  proportion. 
His  mother  once  wrote  the  studio  a  note 
of  appreciation  for  their  kindness  to  him. 
But  I  think  her  real  heart  must  have 
been  in  these  two  wistful  lines:  "He's 
always  been  such  a  good  boy.  I  hope 
acting  in  motion  pictures  won't  change 
him — " 

Apropos  of  which.  Guy  was  spending  one 
recent    weekend     at    Henry  VTillson's. 
"What're  you  doing  this  morning?"  he  j 
asked  Henry  on  Sunday. 

"Going  to  church — " 

"Mind  if  I  go  along?" 

I  don't  know  why  Henry  should  have 
looked  a  little  startled.  He  was  going  to 
church  himself.  But  startled  he  looked. 

"Does  it  surprise  you  that  I'm  a  church- 
goer?" asked  Guy.    "In  my  family,  we  j 
always  have  been — " 

No,  for  sure  I  don't  think  that  acting  in 
motion  pictures  is  going  to  change  Mrs. 
Mosely's  boy. 


•  WHY  BE  FAT? 


LOSE  8  to  10  LBS.  A  MONTH! 

Slim,  down,  to  ijjduSl  own, 

Mi     Just  follow  simple  scientific  directions  of  Dr. 
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-  Kajzaa,  Am^.: 


<»  ^         "I  »enf  from  a  size  20  cress  to  a 
I  1  ;      IS".  Mrs.  N.  C,  Perth  Amboy,  N, 
L*   *t     "I  lost  18  pounds;  feel  young  and  w 
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"I  losf  IS  lbs.  In  a  few  weeks".  Mrs.  J.  P.,  M 
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IDhats  the  other  thing 
lue  ought  to  bo  this 
Qhristmas  ? 

For  the  last  four  years,  the  Christmas 
phrase  "Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to 
man"  has  had  a  pretty  hollow,  bitter  ring. 
This  year,  it  won't. 

And  surely,  one  thing  each  of  us  will 
want  to  do  this  Christmas  is  to  give  thanks 
that  peace  has  finally  come  to  us — both 
peace  and  victory. 

One  other  thing  we  ought  to  do: 
In  our  giving,  this  year,  let's  choose — 
first — the  kind  of  gift  that  helped  to  bring 
us  peace  and  victory  and  will  now  help  us 
to  enjoy  them.  ^ 

Victory  Bonds  take  care  of  the  men  who 
fought  for  us — provide  money  to  heal 
them,  to  give  them  a  fresh  start  in  the 
country  they  saved. 

Victory  Bonds  help  to  insure  a  sound, 
prosperous  country  for  us  all  to  live  and 
work  in. 

Victory  Bonds  mean  protection  in  emer- 
gencies—  and  extra  cash  for  things  we  want 
to  do  ten  years  from  now. 

Choose— first — the  finest  gift  in  all  the 
world,  this  Christmas. 

Give  Victory  Bonds! 

Dive  the  finest  gift  of  all 
-VICTORY  BONDS ! 

MODERN  SCREEN 


This  is  an  official  U.  S.  Treasury  advertisement — 
prepared  under  auspices  of  Treasury  Department 
and  War  Advertising  Council 


ORCHIDS  FROM  ONCLE 
LOOIS 

(Continued  from  page  23) 


ful  he  was  for  four  years  of  unremitting 
friendship  and  guidance.  We  knew  that 
Van  wasn't  alone  in  that  feeling.  For  over 
two  decades  Mr.  Mayer's  been  steering  Leo 
the  Lion  to  peak  after  rising  peak  of  screen 
achievement.  For  the  same  period  he's 
been  listening  to  the  hopes  and  problems 
of  M-G-M's  boys  and  girls — encouraging, 
advising,  censuring  when  necessary,  but 
always  helping.  He's  been  their  boss,  but 
he's  been  Papa  Louis  as  well. 

Four  years  ago  Van's  option  was  dropped 
by  Warner  Brothers,  and  he  was  set  to 
clear  out.  His  tickets  were  bought,  his 
bag  was  packed.  Feeling  low  as  an  Eski- 
mo's thermometer,  he  decided  to  cheer 
himself  up  by  eating  his  first  and  last 
dinner  at  Chasen's.  There  he  bumped 
into  Lucille  Ball  and  Desi  Arnaz. 

"You're  not  either  going  back  to  New 
York,"  said  the  forthright  Lucille.  "Hey, 
Billy — •"  Luckily  for  all  concerned,  Bill 
Grady,  M-G-M's  casting  director,  was  also 
dining  at  Chasen's  that  evening.  "You're 
not  going  to  let  this  boy  scram  out  of 
town,   are  you?" 

a  career  is  born  .  .  . 

Grady  told  Van  to  come  around  next 
morning.  A  test  was  arranged.  Mr.  Mayer 
saw  it,  as  he  sees  all  tests  of  young  people. 
Next  thing  Van  knew,  he  was  sitting 
across  the  desk  from  Louis  B. 

"Which  didn't  mean,"  Mr.  Mayer  said, 
"that  the  test  was  sensational.  I'm  in- 
terested in  everyone  who  works  for  me, 
and  I  like  them  to  know  that  I'm  inter- 
ested. Also  I  like  to  form  a  direct  im- 
pression. The  impression  I  got  that  day 
was  of  a  warm  personality  in  an  athlete's 
body,  topped  by  an  ail-American  face — 
red  hair,  freckles  and  a  frank,  friendly 
smile.  Though  I  didn't  get  the  effect  full 
force  till  he  was  leaving.  Before  that,  it 
was  kind  of  a  scared  and  bashful  grin." 

As  for  Van,  he  went  grinning  all  over 
the  lot  that  day.  "Mr.  Mayer  knows  you're 
alive,"  Van  marveled.  "He  even  seems  to 
care — " 

We  mentioned  that,  and  Mr.  Mayer 
smiled.  "Of  course  we  cared,  or  we 
wouldn't  have  put  him  under  contract  in 
the  first  place.  But  as  I  said  before,  we 
put  lots  of  people  under  contract.  What 
happens  next  depends  largely  on  the  in- 
dividual. I  began  to  hear  stories  about 
him.  How  eager  he  was  to  learn,  how 
nothing  was  too  much,  how  he  hung 
around  the  lot  when  he  wasn't  working — 
watching  other  people  work.  He  was  still 
the  movie  fan  and  made  no  bones  about 
it — and  people  liked  him  for  that,  because 
it  was  young  and  unaffected.  Spencer 
Tracy  was  his  great  idol.  They  told  me 
he'd  sit  by  the  hour,  motionless,  absorbed, 
watching  Tracy  do  a  dozen  closeups  and 
longshots  of  the  same  scene.  But  that  was 
only  1  per  cent  hero-worship.  The  rest 
was  Johnson,  learning  his  job — " 

It  was  during  the  making  of  "Mrs.  Had- 
ley"  that  they  began  to  realize  Van's  pos- 
sibilities. When  they  put  him  into  "A 
Guy  Named  Joe"  with  Tracy  and  Dunne, 
he  almost  lost  his  mind.  But  there  was 
plenty  of  worry  mixed  in  with  his  ex- 
ultation. Here  was  his  big  chance,  sure, 
but  was  he  equal  to  it? 

"That  marks  the  difference,"  Mr.  Mayer 
explained,  "between  Van  and  some  others 
who  do  not  attain  stardom.  He  didn't 
think,  now  I'm  set.  He  thought,  now 
they're  taking  a  chance  on  me  and  I  can't 
disappoint  them.  And  he  knocked  himself 
out  to  meet  that  responsibility — " 


Soothe  and  smooth  it  the  simple, 
time-tested  Resinol  way...Resinoi 
Soap  daily  for  gentle,  exquisite 
cleansing.. .Resinol  Ointment  to 
relieve  roughness  or  pimply  irri- 
tation and  thus  quicken  healing. 
Let  Resinol  help  you  as  it  does  others. 

RBSINOLT.^ 

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Ruby 
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October   -  Rozircon 
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December -Zircon 


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Ll  Line  - 
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|  August 


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SEND  NO  MONEY! 

Jnst  name  and  month  yon  were  bom.  Pay 
postman  only  98c  plas  Tax  and  postapo 
for  1  ring  or  $1.69  plus  Tax  for  2  rings. 

ILLINOIS  MERCHANDISE  MART 

SOO  NORTH  DEARBORN  STREET 
DEPT.  1B-E  CHICAGO  10,  ILL. 


REDUCE 

with 

V-TABS! 

Anti-Acid  .  .  .  . 
Anti-Fatigue . . . 
Vitamin  Tablets 


"Lost  17  lbs.  in 
14  Days"  .  .  . 

"Lost  17  lbs.  in  14  days  and  feel 
as  good  as  ever. ' '  says  Mrs.  E.  F. 
"Reduced  15  lbs.,  and  never  felt 
better  in  my  life." — J.  V.  "Used  to 
wear  size  42  .  .  .  now  wear  a  20." 
— R.  M.  "Dointr  me  a  world  of  grood. 
Don't  have  gas  .  .  .  losing  weight 
.  .  .  and  more  energy." — Mrs.  R.  S. 
"Most  amazing  .  .  .  lost  7  lbs.  in  1  week  .  .  .  can't 
thank  you  enoueh."— Mrs.  L.  I.  "Lost  14  lbs.  and 
feel  so  much  better  .  .  .  don't  bloat  and  have  gas."— 
Mrs.  O.  K.  .  nese  are  but  a  few  of  the  many  letters 
in  our  flies.  Why  don't  YOU  see  what  V-Tabs  will 
do  for  vou? 

NOT  A  CATHARTIC 

V-Tabs  are  not  a  cathartic.  They  help  reduce  fat  by 
supplementing  your  regular  diet  when  taken  instead 
of  a  heavy  lunch,  and  also  tend  to  take  away  that 
abnormal  appetite  caused  by  over-acidity  or  fatigue. 
If  you  are  overweight,  always  tired,  full  of  acid  and 
yet"  like  to  cat  try  V-Tabs.  AS  fatigue  and  acidity 
disappear,  vour  normal  appetite  will  return  and  you 
will  no  longer  crave  the  quantities  of  food  that  cause 
the  excess  fat  deposits. 

QUICK  .  .  .  HARMLESS  .  .  .  PLEASANT 

With  intake  curtailed,  the  body  feeds  on  its  own  sur- 
plus fat.  and  weight  goes  down  .  .  .  quickly!  Mail 
coupon  today  with  SI. 98  and  save  postage  or  order 
C  O.D.  plus  postage.  Take  the  full  month's  supply 
according  to  directions  in  the  booklet.  If  not  satis- 
fied with  results  ...  if  you  do  not  lose  weight  and 
feel   better  .  we  will  refund  the  cost.     Act  NOW! 

V-TAB  CO., Dept.  D-22.  P.  O.  Box  20S, Times  Sq.  Sta.,N.Y. 


MONEY  BACK  AGREEMENT 


8 V-TABS   CO..    Dept.  D-22 
P.  0.  Box  205.  Times  Square  Sta.,  New  York 

Send  me  one  month's  supply  of  V-TABS  (120  tablets) 

□  I  enclose  SI. 98. 

□  I  will  pay  postman   SI. 98   plus  postage. 

Name  •  

Address  — 

Citv   State  

No"  Canadian  Orders.  •  Please  print  plainly 


You  all  know  about  the  smashup  in  the 
middle  of  "A  Guy  Named  Joe."  You've 
heard  how  Van  lay  there,  his  life's  blood 
literally  draining  away,  conscious  of  just 
one  thought — "The  picture,  the  picture — " 
But  perhaps  you  don't  know  that  it  was 
Mr.  Mayer  who  went  to  the  hospital,  who 
leaned  over  the  bandage-swathed  head 
and  said:  "Don't  worry  about  the  picture, 
Van.  We'll  hold  it  for  you,  no  matter  how 
long  it  takes — "  Van  couldn't  speak,  he 
couldn't  even  smile,  but  his  eyes  that  had 
been  tormented  turned  quiet.  Which  was 
answer  enough  for  the  man  beside  the 
bed. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  gamble  holding  up  pro- 
duction," Mr.  Mayer  agrees,  "and  a  gamble 
we  wouldn't  have  taken  for  everyone.  It's 
true  I  felt  Van  would  be  good  for  the 
picture,  but — let's  face  it — we  could  have 
found  another  boy.  But,  granting  his  re- 
covery, I  felt  he'd  earned  the  right  to  that 
picture — and  Fleming,  Tracy,  Dunne, 
everyone  connected  with  it  felt  the  same 
way.  The  part  was  his  because  he'd  served 
it  with  all  his  heart  and  strength.  You 
don't  take  from  a  man  what  belongs  to 
him,"  said  L.  B. 

By  the  same  token,  we're  not  giving 
Var^  MODERN  SCREEN'S  award— he's 
earned  it.  And  while  we're  on  the  sub- 
ject, Mr.  Mayer's  earned  something  from 
Van — a  special  glow  in  his  wide  smile,  a 
special  feeling  of  trust.  Not  because  he's 
head  man  of  the  studio  where  Van  earned 
stardom.  Not  even  because  he  saved  the 
picture  for  Van  that  made  him  a  star.  But 
because  he  took  time  out  four  years  ago 
to  talk  to  a  kid  whose  name  meant  noth- 
ing, and  sent  him  away  with  his  head  and 
heart  higher,  with  renewed  hope  and 
courage  and  faith  in  himself. 


THAT  MAN  OF  MINE 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


will  spend  on  the  other,  and  let's  stick 
to  it." 

"Okay  with  me,"  grinned  Mary.  She'd 
been  saving  a  dollar  or  a  dime,  a  few 
pennies  or  a  quarter  out  of  the  household 
fund  for  months,  with  Dana's  gift  in  mind. 

"Well,  I've  thought  that  five  bucks  was 
a  little  too  small — it's  hard  to  get  some- 
thing, well  .  .  .  that  I'd  want  to  give  you, 
for  that  amount.  Yet,  ten  bucks  is  get- 
ting up  there  into  the" — he  chuckled — 
"motion  picture  bracket.  So  how  about 
our  compromising  on  a  gift  to  set  us  each 
back  not  more  than  nine  bucks?" 

On  Christmas  morning,  Dana  proudly 
presented  his  wife  with  a  large  oblong  box. 
"I  sure  hope  you  like  it,"  he  said. 

Mary  loved  it.  The  box  contained  a 
magnificent  quilted  cotton  housecoat. 
She  modeled  it,  and  they  decided  that  it 
did  very  flattering  things  for  a  girl  who 
was  going  to  have  a  baby  in  the  spring. 

Then  she  brought  forth  her  gift  for 
Dana.  "A  traveling  bag!"  he  exclaimed. 
And,  after  tearing  off  the  wrappings,  he 
amplified,  "A  top-grain  cowhide  traveling 
bag!  You  didh't  get  this  for  nine  bucks." 

"No.  For  thirty,"  grinned  Mary,  and 
she  told  Dana  how  long  she  had  saved  for 
it,  how  eagerly  she  had  shopped,  what  fun 
it  had  been  to  make  the  final  decision,  to 
count  out  the  stubbornly  hoarded  dimes 
and  quarters,  to  bring  the  bag  home  and 
to  hide  it  until  Christmas. 

Dana  couldn't  speak.  He  gritted  his 
teeth,  took  Mary  in  his  arms  and  pressed 
his  eyes  against  her  soft  blonde  hair. 

Mary  was  as  happy  about  her  robe 
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evening,  too.  It  began  to  fade,  and  grow 
threadbare.  Said  Dana  one  morning,  "I 


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wish  you'd  throw  away  that  weary  wrap, 
Mary.  Look,  just  because  I  gave  it  to  you 
for  Christmas  doesn't  mean  it  must  become 
a  family  heirloom." 

"It's  comfortable,  and  I  like  it,"  said 
Mary  cheerfully. 

Three  days  later  one  of  the  swankiest 
stores  in  Los  Angeles  delivered  a  large 
package  for  Mrs.  Dana  Andrews.  Eagerly 
she  cut  the  string  and  investigated  the 
tissue  folds:  Dana  had  sent  her  a  satin 
robe,  hand-blocked,  hand-quilted,  and 
bound  with  velvet.  She  didn't  model  the 
robe,  she  didn't  even  touch  it.  She  simply 
circled  it,  as  it  hung-  on  the  hanger. 

Finally  she  said,  "The  first  time  I'd 
hold  the  baby  on  my  lap,  and  she  spilled 
some  breakfast  egg,  I'd  want  to  cut  my 
throat.  The  sight  of  any  mess  on  that 
creation  would  destroy  me — but  utterly." 

So  she  bundled  up  the  gift  and  returned 
it  to  the  store.  In  exchange  she  selected  a 
slim  sports  dress  with  dreamy  lines,  and  a 
pair  of  wool  gabardine  slacks. 

"It's  okay  with  me,"  Dana  said,  "only 
I'm  getting  darn  tired  of  that  old  robe." 

When  Mary  was  shopping,  perhaps  a 
month  later,  she  saw  a  pair  of  dramatic 
hostess  pajamas.  When  the  salesgirl  wasn't 
looking,  Mary  turned  over  the  price  tag. 
Then  she  walked  swiftly  away. 

That  night  she  said  to  Dana,  "Don't  ever 
let  anyone  tell  you  that  I'm  not  the  dia- 
mond tiara  type;  the  way  I  select  clothing 
is  positively  Rockefeller."  And  laugh- 
ingly, she  described  the  pajamas,  topping 
the  tale  by  whispering  the  price. 

A  week  later,  the  hostess  pajamas  were 
delivered.  Inside  the  box  was  a  brief 
note:  "I  have  instructed  the  store  to  re- 
fuse to  exchange  these.  I  want  to  see  you 
wearing  them.  With  all  my  love,  Dana." 

Not  only  is  Dana  a  husband  to  have 
and  to  hold,  but  he  is  a  pater  par  excel- 
lence, despite  the  fact  that  the  stork  has 
given  Dana  the  run  around  whenever  pos- 
sible. At  the  approximate  time  when 
Kathy  was  due,  Dana  was  working  in 
"The  Ox  Bow  Incident."  This  was  one 
of  Dana's  first  really  good  roles  and 
he  was  doing  his  level  best  to  bring 
every  ounce  of  ability  in  his  system  to 
the  part. 

Mary  became  hep  to  the  fact  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  after  the  picture  had 
been  going  a  month.  "Don't  you  like  the 
part,  honey?"  she  asked  her  husband. 

"Sure,  I -like  it,"  Dana  answered  ab- 
stractedly. "Swell  role;  smooth  script." 

"Then  what's  wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

Mary  thought,  he  really  has  something 
on  his  mind,  but  because  the  baby  is  due, 
he  won't  tell  me.  And  in  the  manner  of 
all  women  she  imagined  things — all  bad. 

Finally,  Dana  came  home  so  dejected 
one  night,  that  he  simply  couldn't  hide 
the  fact.  "I've  got  to  talk  something 
over  with  you,"  he  sighed.  "But  let's  eat 
first." 

They  had  dinner.  That  is,  each  seated 
himself  before  a  heaped  plate,  and  each 
plied  a  knife  and  fork;  one  of  the  mys- 
teries of  nature  is  how  two  people  can 
spend  an  hour  at  table,  chatting  about  this 
and  that,  and  arise — saying  they  are  stuffed 
— leaving  full  plates. 

"I  think  I'll  he  down,"  Mary  ventured. 
"I'm  sort  of  .  .  .  tired,  I  guess."  She 
couldn't  say  she  was  frantic  with  worry. 
She  wanted  to  say,  tell  me  everything. 
Tell  me  now.  But  Mary  is  reticent. 

So  now,  when  she  wanted  to  be  frank 
and  fair  and  fearless,  she  cringed.  And 
Dana,  having  decided  that  it  would  be 
wrong  to  worry  her  further  when  she 
didn't  feel  well,  took  a  long  walk. 

When  he  returned,  Mary  was  still  awake. 
"I  guess  I  shouldn't  postpone  this  con- 
fession any  longer,"  he  muttered.  "Look, 
honey,  I'm  desperately  sorry  about  this, 
9  100  and  I'm  so  ashamed  I  could  die.    You  see, 


I've  wanted  to  be  one  of  the  gang  on  the 
picture,  I've  wanted  to  mix.  So  when  a 
game  of  gin  rummy  got  started,  I  joined 
in.  Well,  I've  been  losing  consistently. 
At  first,  1  kept  telling  myself  that  I'd  re- 
coup the  next  day,  but  the  next  day  I 
simply  went  deeper  into  debt.  Now  I  owe 
one  hundred  and  forty  dollars." 

To  the  Andrews',  at  that  time,  it  was  a 
princely  sum.  It  was  rent  and  clothing 
and  insurance  payments.  Mary  could  be 
excused  for  breaking  into  tears. 

Instead  she  chuckled;  the  chuckle  grew 
to  a  giggle,  and  the  giggle  expanded  into 
laughter  that,  in  turn,  bordered  on  tears. 

Dana,  thinking  that  she  was  having 
hysterics,  said  breathlessly,  "Steady,  dar- 
ling. I'll  get  the  doctor." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  said  his  wife.  "I'm  fine. 
I'm  laughing,  and  crying  a  few  drops, 
because  I'm  so  relieved.  Why,  Dana,  we'll 
be  able  to  pay  that  back.  I  was  afraid  that 
you  were  sick,  or  that  things  were  going 
horribly  at  the  studio,  or  you  didn't  love 
me  anymore.  .  .  ." 

Toward  four  that  morning,  Mary  said 
to  her  husband,  "Honey,  I  think  we'd  bet- 
ter go  to  the  hospital." » 

So  Dana  hopped  into  some  clothes,  and 
turned  around  to  find  his  wife  combing  her 
hair  in  an  elaborate  upsweep.  She  had  put 
on  makeup,  a  pretty  dress,  and  she  gave 
every  evidence  of  being  on  her  way  to  a 
luncheon  instead  of  the  delivery  room. 

Bug-eyed,  Dana  .said,  "Hey,  you  didn't 
have  to  do  all  that.  Look  at  me — pants 
pulled  over  pajamas,  top  coat  over  paja- 


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FR.4NKIE? 

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Swoony  Pie  Crust  or  Sigh-Guy 
Gingerbread?  See  Super  Cou- 
pon on  page  14. 


ma  jacket,  house  slippers  over  bare  feet! 
Come  on,  woman,  let's  go." 

The  nurse  took  Mary's  history  and  ush- 
ered her  into  a  small  room  with  the  blithe 
sentence,  "It  will  be  several  hours  yet, 
Mrs.  Andrews."  So  Mary  ordered  Dana 
to  drive  the  car  beneath  her  window, 
lie  down  on  the  car  cushions  and  try  to 
sleep. 

He  tried,  but  every  time  Mary  moaned 
or  moved,  he  could  hear  her.  He  would 
call,  "Mary,  do  you  want  me?"  She 
would  say,  "Go  to  sleep,  you!  I'm  all 
right.  If  you  don't  rest,  you  won't  be 
able  to  give  a  good  performance  tomor- 
row." Said  Dana,  "Damn  the  picture. 
Do  you  need  me?"  Said  Mary,  "I'll  make 
a  fuss  the  instant  I  need  you." 

But  it  was  the  doctor  who,  after  having 
given  Mary  an  injection,  came  down  to 
Dana.  "If  you  want  to  see  your  youngster 
ushered  into  the  world,  come  with  me." 
So  Dana  was  outfitted  with  a  surgical 
mask,  a  sterile  gown  and  rubber  gloves, 
and  had  the  precious  experience  of  per- 
sonally welcoming  his  daughter. 

Afterward,  he  sat  patiently  at  Mary's 
bedside  until  the  effect  of  the  anesthetic 
wore  off-  When  Mary  opened  her  eyes, 
Dana  was  grinning  at  her.  "Well,  darling, 
we've  got  the  girl  we  wanted,"  he  said. 

"Poor  Dana — you're  going  to  be  so  tired 
today,"   Mary  whispered. 

The  stork  created  even  more  excitement 
when  Stephen  Todd  Andrews  was  born. 
At  the  time,  Dana  was  working  in  "A 
Walk  In  The  Sun"  and  had  been  out  on 
location.  On  this  particular  night,  the 
instant  Dana  reached  a  local  telephone,  he 


called  Mary.  She  said  she  was  fine,  the 
doctor  had  said  that  junior  wouldn't  arrive 
for  ten  days  or  so. 

Two  hours  later,  Dana  called  a  second 
time,  and  again  an  hour  later.  Each  time 
he  told  Mary  where  he  was  and  where 
he  would  be.  Each  time  Mary  laughed 
lightly,  "Ten  days,  dear — remember?" 

Around  one  o'clock,  Mary  phoned  him, 
told  him  her  suspicions,  and  had  scarcely 
put  down  the  telephone  and  slid  into  a 
coat  before  he  was  running  up  the  drive- 
way. 

This  time  Mary  hadn't  stopped  to  don 
makeup,  nor  to  comb  her  hair — it  was 
falling  free  on  her  shoulders.  And  she  was 
wearing  a  coat  over  her  nightie;  her  feet 
thrust  into  wooly  house  slippers. 

Dana,  after  a  swift  glance  at  Mary's  face, 
tried  to  be  helpful.  "Last  time  you  got 
all  dressed  up  to  go  to  the  hospital,  and  I 
was  a  refugee  from  Minsky's;  this  time 
you're  the  burlesque  queen  and  I'm  the 
formal  character." 

"Let's  hurry."  said  Mary. 

"Modern  Screen  just  sent  me  this  color 
picture  of  Kathy  and  me — isn't  this  some- 
thing for  the  album!" '  chatted  Mr.  An- 
drews, in  an  attempt  to  divert  her. 

"Get  me  to  the  hospital,"  said  Mary. 

Dana  was  watching  his  own  time.  He 
drove  as  fast  as  possible,  considering  the 
fog  and  the  state  of  the  highways.  Cold 
as  it  was,  he  could  feel  little  trickles  of 
perspiration  dribbling  into  his  collar. 

They  reached  the  hospital;  this  time. 
Dana  was  told  to  wait  in  the  paterna] 
pacing  room.  Dana  had  just  decided  to 
slip  out  for  a  pack  of  cigarettes  when  the 
nurse  put  in  a  cheerful  head  to  say,  "You 
have  a  son,  Mr.  Andrews." 

Dana's  jaw  dropped.  "But  we've  only 
been  here  twenty  minutes."  he  protested. 

"Yes— aren't  you  lucky!"  said  the  nurse 
"Ycu  may  come  visit  for  a  few  minutes.' 

Dana  walked  swiftly  to  her  bedside  and 
took  one  of  Mary's  hands.  "Baby,  you're 
terrific!"  he  said. 

After  she  had  gone  to  sleep,  he  went 
out  into  the  dawn  and  scrutinized  his  car. 
The  right  front  tire  had  a  flat.  Dana  broke 
into  a  new  frenzy  of  perspiration  when  he 
thought  of  the  possibilities. 

This  was  just  the  first  instance  of  Dana's 
being  flabbergasted  by  his  children.  Like 
not  long  ago  he  promised  to  take  Miss 
Kathy  to  the  zoo  on  Sunday.  "What's  a 
zoo?"  demanded  Kathy. 

Dana  explained:  At  the  zoo  one  saw 
elephants  and  monkeys  and  bears. 

Kathy  was  enchanted.  She  checked 
Dana  every  day  for  two  weeks  as  to  the 
time  of  their  visit.  When  at  last  they  ar- 
rived, she  asked.  "Where's  the  zoo 
Daddy?" 

"Right  here,"  said  Daddy.  "Now  thai 
animal  is  an  elephant.  Look  at  his  long 
trunk;  notice  his  big,  floppy  ears." 

They  moved  on  to  the  monkeys'  cage 
"But  where  are  the  zoos?"  said  Kathy. 

Leading  her  to  the  bear  cage,  Dana  saic 
triumohantly,  "And  here,  darling,  is  e 
zoo."  So  Kathy  Andrews  is  currently  undei 
the  impression  that  a  bear  is  a  zoo:  she  i.c 
quite  happy  about  the  whole  thing. 

One  Sunday  a  few  months  ago,  Dam 
had  taken  the  youngsters  down  to  the 
beach:  he.  David  (his  son  by  his  first  mar- 
riage), and  Kathy  were  riding  the  merry- 
go-round  when  he  was  noticed  by  a  bobby- 
soxer.  "Look,"  she  ordered  her  girl  friend 
"there's  Dana  Andrews." 

The  girl  friend  favored  Dana  with  ; 
haughty  stare,  then  added,  "Are  you  crazy' 
That  isn't  Dana  Andrews.  What  movit 
star  would  spend  Sunday  at  the  bead 
with  a  couple  of  little  kids?" 

The  fact  that  it  was  Dana,  and  that  ht 
was  having  the  time  of  his  life,  tells  ; 
great  deal  about  the  man:  His  family  i: 
the  most  important  thing  in  his  life  anc 
he  is  calmlv  proud  to  admit  it. 


The  Cheat  Stoat-  and  IDmcfoz  of  "Woman  in  the  Window*! . . . 

M 


WAITER  WANGER  presents 

a  FRITZ  LANG  Production 


The  things  she 
does  to  men 
can  only  end 

111  MuA^et  ! 


A  DIANA  PRODUCTION 
Produced  and  Directed  by 

FRITZ  LANG 
A  UNIVERSAL  RELEASE 


JESS  BARKER  •  MARGARET  LINDSAY  •  ROSALIND  IVAN  .  SAMUEL  S.  HINDS 


< 


©C1B 


/ 


There's  a  softer  glow,  fresher  beauty  for  your  skin 
—with  your  first  cake  of  Camay!  Simply  change 
from  careless  cleansing  to  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet. 
Doctors  tested  Camay's  daring  beauty  promise 
on  scores  of  complexions.  And  these  doctors 

reported  that  woman  after  woman— using  just 
one  cake  of  Camay— had  fresher,  softer  skin. 


"I  tumbled  — Bill  fell,  too,"  skiing  at  St. 
Adele  in  the  Laurentians.  Both  devotees 
of  outdoor  sports,  Ginny  keeps  the 
warm  sun-glow  in  her  skin  radiantly 
fresh.  "It's  Camay  for  me— and  has  been, 
since  my  first  cake  brought  out  a 
real  sparkle  in  my  complexion." 


MRS.  WILLIAM  KIRK  STEWART 
the  former  Virginia  Welch  of  Los  Angeles,  Cal. 
Bridal  portrait  painted  by  y^J ^Cjuja*/ 


Precious  Moment:  While  overseas,  Bill 
cherished  each  memory  of  Ginny 's 
fresh  young  beauty.  "I  wanted  to  look 
my  best  when  he  returned,"  Ginny 
confides,  "so  I  never  neglected  my 
Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet."  To  make 
your  skin  lovelier,  just  follow  instruc- 
tions on  your  Camay  wrapper. 


Cherish  Camay— make  each  cake 
last.  Precious  materials  go  into  soap. 


GIRL:  All  right.  And  what  if  I  am? 
Everybody  can't  be  a  rich,  beautiful,  glamorous, 
witty  heiress  with  beaus  all  over  the  place 
sending  Valentines  all  the  time! 

CUPID:  True,  my  ferocious  little  fruitcake,  true. 
But  everybody  can  smile  .  .  .  and  you  don't!  Don't 
you  know  a  sparkling  smile  gets  more  men  than 
home  cooking? 

GIRL.:  Sure.  But  my  smile's  as  sparkling  as  a  boiled  potato 


CUPID:  Ever  try  brushing  your  teeth? 

GIRL:  Did  I  ev— ?  Listen,  my  fresh  little  friend,  I  brush  my  teeth 
regular  as  anything!  And  they  still  don't  sparkle.  And  what's  more 
I've  even  begun  seeing  "pink"  on  my  tooth  brush  lately! 

CUPID:  Oh?  And  what'd  your  dentist  say? 

GIRL,:  Dentist?  What  dentist?  Who  said  any— 

CUPID:  Well  of  all  the  waffle-brained—!  Listen,  Sis,  that  "pink" 
on  your  tooth  brush  is  a  warning  to  see  your  dentist  right  away! 
Because  he  may  find  your  gums  are  being  robbed 
of  exercise  by  today's  soft  foods.  And  he  may  suggest 
"the  helpful  stimulation  of  Ipana  and  massage." 


GIRL:  My  smile.  We  were  talking  about  my  smile, 
Remember? 

CUPID:  Sugar,  we  still  are!  Don't  you  know  that  a 
sparkling  smile  depends  largely  on  firm,  healthy  gums? 
And  this  Ipana  not  only  cleans  teeth,  it's  specially 
designed,  with  massage,  to  help  your  gums.  Massage 
a  little  extra  Ipana  on  your  gums  when  you  brush  your 
teeth,  and  . . .  bang!  You've  started  yourself  on  the 
road  to  a  sparkling  smile!  Okay?  Then  get 
started  . .  .Today,  Sugar.  Ipana  and  massage. 


IPANA  and  MASSAGE 


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Published  In 
this  space 
every  month 


It  was  a  best-seller... a  Reader's  Digest 
classic ...  a  Book  of  the  Month.  And 
now  it's  The  Picture  Of  The  Year. 

★     ★     ★  ★ 
It's  W.  L.  White's  "They  Were  Expend- 
able"—carved  out  of  some  of  the  most 
dramatic  events  of  all  time. 


This  is  M-G-M's  heart-stinging  story 
of  some  of  the  most  heroic  headlines 
of  recent  years. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

The  story  of  "Brick",  who  loved  a  boat; 
of  "Rusty",  who  loved  a  girl. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Robert  Montgomery  (back  on  the 
screen  after  his  war-years  with  Uncle 
Sam's  Navy)  is  magnificent  as  "Brick", 
who'd  rather  command  a  PT-boat  than 
a  battleship.  The  part's  a  natural  for 
the  star  who  was  skipper  on  a  PT:boat 
when  they  were  shooting  for  keeps. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

John  Wayne  is  "Rusty",  who  scoffs  at 
the  "sea-going  mousetraps".  But  that 
was  before  the  fighting  started ! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

There's  a  tremendous  thrill  in  watching 
those  suicidal  "sea-scooters"  in  action! 
The  thrill  of  battle,  of  terrible  peril. 
And  a  surge  of  pride  that  will  quicken 
the  beat  of  your  heart. 


There's  a  thrill,  too,  in  the  romance 
between  the  hard-bitten  PT-boat  Com- 
mander and  the  Army  nurse.  Lovely 
Donna  Reed  makes  a  perfect  "Sandy", 
dungareed  angel  of  mercy  who  tends 
wounds  and  steals  hearts. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

There's  a  gripping  sense  of  realism  in 
"They  Were  Expendable" — evidence  of 
the  directorial  deftness  of  Captain  John 
Ford,  U.S.N.R.,  the  expert  screen  play 
of  Comdr.  Frank  Wead,  U.S.N.  (Ret.  j, 
the  excellence  of  the  action  photog- 
raphy. Cliff  Reid  is  associate  producer. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Jack  Holt,  Ward  Bond  and  a  consum- 
mate cast  back  up  the  stars  with 
stellar  performances. 

★  ★  ★ 
The  screen  can  offer  no  greater 
thrill  than  this  story  of  gallant 
men  and  women  who  never 
expected  to  return.  "They 
Were  Expendable." 

★  ★ 

We  salute  them.       — Jleo- 


STORIES 


♦COLOR 
PAGES 


FEATURES 


DEPTS. 


modern  screen 


*ON  THE  TOWN 

Four  pages  of  the  birthdaying  Cornel  Wildes — who  could  ask  for 

anything  gayer?  And  in  full  color,  full  dress!   30 

♦ROGUE  MALE 

He's  just  naturally  a  wild  guy,  Bob  Mitchum,  with  an  itching 
foot  that  cant  be  cured,  and  a  wife  who  loves  him  anyway   34 

HAPPINESS.  INC. 

Sunday  in  the  park,  with  Betty  and  Harry  James  holding  hands 
and  Vickie  darting  about  like  a  blonde  sunbeam   36 

BOB  WALKER'S  LIFE  STORY,  concluded 

Finally,  Bob  discovered  that  growing  up  meant  loving  other 
people,  being  hurt  by  them — but  still  loving  them   38 

STRICTLY  FROM  DIXIE 

Introducing  Jerome  Courtland,  the  junior  bean  pole  who  likes  to 
act,  sketch,  sing — but  most  of  all,  to  explore  jungles!  .   40 

WATCH  BILL  WILLIAMS!  by  Hedda  Hopper 

The     third     Hopper    Star-of-the-Month.  Acrobat-singer-rancher 
Bill  Williams,  turned  big  time  actor   42 

THRILL  OF  A  ROMANCE 

A  Modern  Screen  scoop:  The  Williams-Gage  wedding!  How 
Esther  got  stuck  at  the  studio,  and  Ben  was  snafu' d  in  the  army, 
but  they  made  it!   44 

♦HOBO  HAMLET 

Dane  Clark  figured  he'd  get  lots  of  experience  on  tour.  And  he 
did — experience  in  dodging  hotel  bills  and  mooching  meals    ...  46 

♦  MR.  BIG  AND  MRS.  LITTLE 

"Little  chairs  for  little  girls,"  teases  Don  Taylor.  And  his  wife 
beams  back,  "And  big  hearts  in  big  men."    48 

♦"BUTCH"  BEY 

No  more  sideburns,  no  more  "looks" — Turhan's  a  Gl  with  crew 
cut  deluxe   50 

LANA  by  James  M.  Cain 

The  author  of  "The  Postman  Always  Rings  Twice"  writes  about 
its  star.  About  her  charm  and  intelligence — and  those  Turner 
legs  that  never  jinxed  a  picture  yet   52 

♦TEEN  DREAM  • 

First  there  was  the  stay-out-late  phase.   Then  the  Languid  Lily 
era.  But  now  Diana  Lynn's  a  teen  dream    56 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons 
Nightclubbing  with  Sue  and  Alan  Ladd,  spying  on  Helmut  Dan- 
tine,  reporting  on  Sinatra's  tolerance  tours   58 

Cornel  Wilde  in  Columbia's  "Bandit  of  Sherwood  Forest"   30 

Bob  Mitchum   34 

Dane  Clark  in  Warners'  "Her  Kind  Of  Man"   46 

S/Sgt.  Don  Taylor,  United  States  Army   48 

Pvt.  Turhan  Bey   50 

Diana  Lynn  in  Paramount's  "Our  Hearts  Were  Growing  Up"  ...  56 

Editorial  Page   29 

Movie  Reviews  by  Virginia  Wilson   6 

Sweet  and  Hot  by  Leonard  Feather   8 

Information  Desk   18 

Super  Coupon   22 

Co-Ed  by  Jean  Kinkead   26 

Beauty — "Lovable   Lips"   66 

MODERN  SCREEN  Fashion  Guide — "Career  Girl  Fashions"   68 

Modern  Hostess — "Stargazing  at  Lucey's"   98 

COVER:  Shirley  Temple  in  Columbia's  "Kiss  and  Tell."  Cover  and  color 
portraits  of  Bob  Mitchum,  Turhan  Bey  and  Dane  Clarlc  by  Willinger. 

Albert  P.  Delaeorte,  Executive  Editor  Bill  Weinberger,  Art  Editor 

Henry  P.  Malmgreen,  Editor  Miriam  Ghidal'a,  Associate  Editob 

Sylvia  Wallace,  Hollywood  Editor  Beryl  Stoller,  Assistant  Editor 

Jane  Wilkie,  H'wood  Ass't  Editor  Gus  Gale,  Staff  Photographer 

Otto  Stored,  Art  Director  Bob  Beerman,  Staff  Photographer 

Shirley  Frohlich,  Service  Dept.  Beverly  Linet,  Information  Desk 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  357°  to  149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 
Vol.  32,  No.  3,  February,  1946„<Copyright,  194*,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J. 
Chicago  Advertising  Office,  360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and 
Canada.  U.  S.  subscription  price,  $1.50  a  year.  Canadian  subscription,  $1.80  a  year.  Foreign  subscription, 
$2.70  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of 
March  3,  1879.   The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  char- 
acters used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name  of  anv  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence. 
Trademark  No.  301778. 


(BECAUSE  THEY  JUST  FINISHED  A  BIG  PICTURE) 


WLWHiTE  -h 


Robert  Montgomery  (don't  you  feel 
like  shaking  his  hand  and  saying: 
'  'Welcome  home,  Bob ! " )  plays  "Brick, " 
in  love  with  thirty  fighting  tons  of 
wood  and  steel,  a  PT  boat.  John  Wayne 
is  "Rusty". .  .afraid  of  only  one  thing  in 
the  world,  losing  Sandy.  Lovely  Donna 
Reed  is  Sandy,  the  nurse  who  heals 


heroes'  wounds,  and  steals  their  hearts. 

Here's  the  exciting  picturization  of 
the  terrific  best-seller  that  has  taken 
America  by  storm,  "They  Were  Ex- 
pendable." Acclaimed  by  the  reading 
public  as  a  Reader's  Digest  thriller, 


then  as  a  Book-of-the-Month  . . .  and 
now  as  an  M-G-M  film  destined  to  be 
called  the  Picture  of  the  Year.  Here's 
roaring  action  .  .  .  suspense  with  a 
wallop  . . .  flaming  romance  as  real  as 
flesh  and  blood  can  make  it.  The 
screen  can  offer  no  greater  thrill  than 
"They  Were  Expendable.'' 


THEY  WERE  EXPENDABLE 

ROBERT  MONTGOMERY*  JOffl  WAWE 

with  DONNA  REED  .  jack  holt  .  ward  bond 

A  JOHN  FORD  PRODUCTION    •    BASED  ON  THE  BOOK  BY  WILLIAM  L.  WHITE 
Screen  Play  by  FRANK  WEAD,  COMDR.  U.  S.  N.  (RET.)    •    Associate  Producer  CUFF  REID 
DIRECTED  BY  JOHN  FORD,  CAPTAIN,  U.  S.  N.  R. 

A  METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


• 


So  Different! ...  So  Thrilling1. 
THE   r  „ 


.  .  .  literally  floats  off  pore-clogging, 
make-up  blurring  impurities  which 
ordir^ry  "beauty"  creams  may  miss 


4? 


YOUR  MAKE-UP  effects  care  thrill  you 
the  way  you  dream  them!  The  Floating 
Facial  .  .  .  smart,  modern  .  .  .  literally 
floats  away  stale,  old  make-up,  dead 
skin  cells,  dust,  grime  and  grit,  blemish- 
causing  debris  often  left  on  by  ordinary 
"beauty"  creams.  A  Floating  Facial 
gently  sweeps  away  even  stubborn  cake 
make-up.  No  wonder  fresh  make-up 
effects  can  be  so  clear,  lovely. 

ALBOLENE  CLEANSING  CREAM 
LIQUEFIES  INSTANTLY! 

on  application — and  a  cream  must 
liquefy  to  cleanse  your  skin  gently, 
effectively  .  .  . 

That's  the  secret  of  the  Floating  Facial 
.  .  .  Albolene,  the  quick-liquefying 
cream.  Crystal  clear  .  .  .  immaculately 
pure.  v4Z/-cleansing  —  no  fillers,  chemi- 
cals—none of  the  water  most  "beauty" 
creams  contain.  Tissues  off  in  a  jiffy, 
leaving  skin  soft,  lovely.  Lubricates  as 
it  cleanses,  a  mercy  to  dry,  flaky  skins. 

Do  try  a  Floating  Facial  —  today ! 
Albolene  Cleansing  Cream  now  comes 
in  scented  or  unscented  form.  At  any 
drug,  department  or  10-cent  store. 


—and  McKesson  makes  it 


6y  "f/ibgpMia  fyii/fam 

MOVIE  REVIEWS 


■  Out  of  the  smoke  and  death,  the  mud  and  boredom  of  war,  has  come  a 
truly  great  picture.  Without  being  either  documentary  or  overly  dramatic, 
it  shows  you  the  way  things  were.  The  way  thev  mustn't  ever  be  again.  It 
takes  a  platoon  landing  on  the  beach  at  Salerno,  and  follows  it  from  that 
landing  at  dawn  to  noon  of  the  same  day.  Dawn  until  noon.  Not  a  long 
time,  is  it?  Just  long  enough  for  a  little  walk  in  the  sun.  A  little  walk  in 
sunny  Italy.  Dana  Andrews  and  Richard  Conte  have  the  principal  roles,  and 
play  them  with  unfaltering  conviction.  The  rest  of  the  cast,  equally  effective, 
includes  Sterling  Holloway,  John  Ireland,  and  George  Tyne. 

Sunny  Italy!  In  the  dawn,  viewed  from  a  landing  barge,  the  black, 
threatening  beach  ahead  doesn't  look  much  like  the  guide  book's  descrip- 
tions. The  men  are  jumpy.  And  scared.  The  lieutenant  who  was  to  have 
been  in  charge  of  the  operation  has  just  had  the  side  of  his  head  blown  off. 
That  leaves  Sergeant  Porter  in  command,  and  the  men  aren't  happy  about 
it.  Porter  has  been  in  lots  of  battles.  Too  many.  He's  going  to  crack, 
and  they  know  it.  Sergeant  Tyne  (Dana  Andrews!  is  worried.  Rivera 
I  Richard  Conte  I  isn't  worried  at  all.  Rivera  has  his  machine  gun — and  £ 
theory  that  nobody  ever  dies.   He's  sticking  to  them. 

So  they  land,  and  somehow  they  get  across  the  beach  and  into  the  woods 
Not  all  of  them,  of  course.  A  plane  strafes  them,  and  eliminates  somt 
more.  They  have  to  leave  the  wounded  where  they  fall.  There  isn't  tim< 
for  anything  else.  The  platoon  must  get  on  toward  its  objective — a  bridgij 
near  the  farmhouse  on  the  hill.  All  they  have  to  {Continued  on  page  13 


Sgt.  Tyne  (D.  Andrews)  plots  strategy  with  Windy  (J.  Ireland)  and  Ward  (Lloyd  Bridge! 


"Dig  You  Later"  (THE  HUBBA  •  HUBBA - HUBBA  SONCI)  •  "Somebody'l  Walkin'  In  My  Dreams"  •  "Here  Comes  Heaven  Again"  •  "Chico-Chico"  •  by  Jimmy  McHugh  and  Harold  Adorajon 


o  wonder  Arma  O'Day's  confused.  First  she  sang  for  Krupa, 
witched,  to  S.  Kenton  for  year,  is  now  touring  with — Krupa! 


By  LEONARD  FEATHER 


■  Well,  the  New  Year's  smack  in  our  laps, 
and  if  you've  been  promising  yourself  to 
fill  in  on  your  record  collections,  I'm  the  boy 
who'd  like  to  make  a  few  suggestions.  Like 
always.  But  just  in  case  the  holiday  season 
hit  you  hard  and  you  bought  this  copy  of 
Modern  Screen  with  your  last  fifteen  cents, 
and  you're  sitting  there  looking  mournful — 
cut  it  out.  Because  you  can  probably  scrape 
together  -enough  for  the  two  "Records  of  the 
Month."  and  they'll  keep  you  happy  until 
your  finances  stage  a  comeback.  Here  they 
are  (the  records,  not  the  finances)  : 

I  suggest  Frankie's  "The  House  I  Live 
In"  on  Columbia,  for  the  best  popular  num- 
ber, and  Erroll  -Garner  playing  "Somebody 
Loves  Me"  as  the  best  hot  jazz. 

By  the  way,  have  you  heard  that  splendid, 
scintillating  RCA  show?  With  the  wonder- 
ful music,  and  sparkling  conversation?  Ray- 
mond Paige  and  his  orchestra  furnish  the 
beat,  while  Deems  Taylor  and — yes,  I  admit 
it — Leonard  Feather  wrangle  politely.  It's 
a  sort  of  jazz-versus-classics  setup,  and  Mr. 
Taylor  gives  his  all  for  Bach,  Beethoven — 
the  old  boys — while  I  speak  up  for  my  own 
true  love.  Jazz,  naturally.  The  show's  at 
four-thirty  Eastern  time,  over  the  NBC  net- 
work. Maybe  you'd  get  a  kick  out  of  it, 
and  I'd  like  to  hear  your  opinions,  if  you'd 
care  to  send  'em  on. 

Now,  to  work;  As  usual,  the  records  are 
arranged  with  popular  selections  first,  hot 
jazz  next,  and  albums  at  the  end.   Have  fun. 


Charlie  and  son  Joel  Spivak  guest  artisted  on  ABC's  "Sat. 
Senior  Swing"  with  tunes  and  talk  on  famous  jazz  artists. 


BEST  POPULAR 

CHICKORY  CHICK— Gene  Krupa  (Co- 
lumbia), George  Olsen  (Majestic),  Sammy 
Kaye  (Victor) — I'm  not  too  wild  about  this 
tune,  so  why  am  I  listing  it?  Because  Gene 
Krupa's  arrangement,  strangely  enough,  is 
good.  And  because  it  features  Anita  O'Day. 
Anita's  such  a  terrific  singer  she  manages  to 
make  something  of  it,  but  it's  a  shame  they 
have  to  drag  her  down  like  that.  And  speak- 
ing of  Anita,  her  husband,  Carl  Hoff,  used 
to  be  a  professional  golfer  before  he  went 
into  the  army.  When  he  got  out  ofthe  army, 
his  problem  was  this,  Mr.  Anthony.  Anita 
and  the  Krupa  band  did  not  do  their  stints 
at  golf  courses.  He,  Carl,  on  the  other  hand, 
could  not  follow7  them  around  with  a  golf 
course  under  his  arm.  There  Was  no  way 
that  he  could  see  to  keep  Anita  from  being 
a  golf  widow,  except  (Continued  on  page  10) 


SHE  MADE 
A  CAREER 
OUT  OF  LOVE  ! 


($J£,  winked  an  eye  from  behind  her  fan, 
Smiled  just  once,  and  caught  a  million  dollar  man! 
She  took  all  his  dough,  'cause  she  had  a  way  of  knowing 
That  he  couldn't  take  it  with  him  where  he.  was  going! 


^^rf^t^-  and  the  duke  were  a  handsome  pair 

Soon  they  were  married  —  with  a  son  and  heir. 
But  kitty  had  her  eyes  on  his  bank  account, 

And  she  got  what  she  wanted,  thanks  to  Paramount! 


l/fy^s  as  a  duchess  was  a  sight  to  behold. 
No  man  could  resist  her  in  sarin  and  gold. 
She  started  holding  hands  with  a  conquering  hero, 
But  at  the  end  of  the  game  his  score  was  zero! 


\ 


iffy^s  was  really  waiting  for  a  certain  guy, 
The  conniving  gent  who  put  that  gleam  in  her  eye. 
drew  a  circle  that  took  him  in 
Because  Kitty  was  a  woman  with  a  will  to  win! 

From  rags  to  ermine  Kitty  made  no  stop. 
On  a  ladder  of  husbands  she  climbed  to  the  top. 


so 

Your  Hands 


When  winds  bite  and  chap,  give 
your  hands  SOFSKIN  beauty  salon 
care.  Keep  your  skin  enticingly 
smooth  with  the  creme  so  many  pro- 
fessionals use.  It's  a  soothing  beauty 
treatment  for  your  hands,  elbows, 
wrists,  and  ankles,  too.  Keeps  them 
pleasandy  free  from  dryness,  thrill- 
ingly  soft  and  white.  Remember, 
non-sticky  SOFSKIN  is  the  creme 
many  beauticians  prefer! 


In  the  Black  and  Gold  jars — 
35*   60?   $1.00  sizes* 

*Plus  tax 
Ask  for  the  free  Sofskin 
demonstration  at  your  beauty 
salon  or  cosmetic  counter 

soKkin  cR£rru 


10 


SOFSKIN  COMPANY 


FINDLAY.  OHIO 


(Continued  from  page  8) 
maybe  if  he  gave  up  golf.  Carl  Hoff  is  now 
Gene  Krupa's  press  agent. 

COME  TO  BABY,  DO— Duke  Ellington 
(Victor),  Georgie  Auld  (Musicraft)— This 
Georgie  Auld  version  of  "Come  to  Baby" 
features  an  excellent  new  singer  named 
Lynn  Stevens.  Funny  thing  about  Georgie 
— he  once  played  tenor  sax  with  Artie 
Shaw  and  Benny  Goodman,  but  now  his 
band  is  more  important  in  jazz  than  either 
of  theirs.  At  the  moment,  Artie  Shaw  hasn't 
even  got  a  band.  He's  just  broken  it  up. 
Since  nobody  ever  knows  why  the  un- 
predictable Artie  does  any  of  the  things 
he  does,  your  guess  is  as  good  as  the  next 
guy's.  He  recently  married  beautiful  Ava 
Gardner,  and  after  all,  who'd  want  to  look 
at  a  bunch  of  musicians  all  day,  with  a 
girl  like  that  around!  But  to  get  back  to 
Georgie  Auld,  the  other  side  of  "Come  to 
Baby"  is  called  "Just  A  Sittin'  and  A 
Rockin'."  It's  a  four  year  old  Duke  Elling- 
ton-Billy Strayhorn  number  to  which 
lyrics  have  just  been  added,  and  it's  being 
made  into  a  popular  song. 

I  CAN'T  BEGIN  TO  TELL  YOU— Andy 
Russell  (Capitol),  and  Harry  James  (Co- 
lumbia)— The  James  version  features  a 
new  singer,  Ruth  Haag.  Kitty  Kallen's  left 
the  band  to  become  a  single,  and  Anita 
Boyer  is  Harry's  new,  regular  vocalist. 
(Whoops!  Hold  on  a  minute.  I  just  got 
some  very  secret  information,  and  don't 
you  breathe  a  word  to  a  soul — but  the 
vocalist  Ruth  Haag  I  just  got  finished 
naming  up  there  is  really  Betty  Grable! 
Haag  is  Harry's  middle  name,  and  Ruth 
belongs  to  Betty,  and  isn't  that  a  fine, 
fat  scoop?) 

MY  GUY'S  COME  BACK— Thelma  Car- 
penter (Majestic),  Benny  Goodman  (Co- 
lumbia)— Written  by  Mel  Powell  and  Ray 
McKinley,  two  members  of  the  former  Glen 
Miller  A.A.F.  band,  this  record  has  a  vocal 
by  Thelma  Carpenter,  who  used  to  sing 
with  Teddy  Wilson  and  Count  Basie.  She's 
now  Eddie  Cantor's  new  radio  star. 

At  the  first  public  appearance  over  here 
of  the  Glen  Miller  Air  Force  Band — at  the 
National  Press  Club  dinner  in  Washington 
— before  President  Truman,  Clement  Att- 
lee,  etc.,  when  Cantor  introduced  the  band, 
everybody,  including  the  President,  spon- 
taneously stood  up.  It's  supposed  to  be  the 
second  time  in  memory  that  a  president 
has  risen  on  a  public  occasion.  General 
Eisenhower  and  General  Hap  Arnold 
praised  the  band's  work,  said  it  had  ac- 
complished fine  things. 

THE  HOUSE  I  LIVE  IN— Frank  Sinatra 
(Columbia) — An  awful  lot  of  people  be- 
lieve that  this  number  was  specifically 
written  for  Frankie,  which  it  was  not.  He 
simply  thought  it  was  a  good  thing,  and 
took  it  up.  Josh  White,  who  inspired  him 
to  try  it  made  the  original  recording  about 
a  year  ago,  in  an  Asch  album.  You'll  prob- 
ably be  hearing  lots  of  it,  due  to  Frank's 
having  used  it  in  his  short  movie  on  toler- 
ance, as  title  and  theme  both.  There's  a 
cute  story  going  around  about  Frankie 
and  his  softball  team  whose  sweaters  sport 
the  legend:  "How  many  times  have  you 
seen  Anchors  Aweigh'?"  And  the  rival  who 
showed  up  one  time  with  letters  across  his 
chest  demanding,  "How  many  times  have 
you  slept  through  'Anchors  Aweigh'?" 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

GET  HAPPY— Red  Callender  (Sunset)  — 
This  is  by  the  Red  Callender  Six — six  guys 
from  various  bands  on  the  West  Coast  who 
got  together  on  this  record  date.  You'll  hear 
some  wonderful  piano  work  from  Arnold 
Ross  (of  Harry  James'  band)  and  the 
"Paul  Leslie"  listed  on  the  label  is  really 


Les  Paul,  guitarist.  He's  under  contract 
to  Decca,  and  records  with  Crosby,  and  his 
own  trio.  Quite  a  big  man. 

I  CAN'T  GET  ENOUGH  OF  YOU— Savan- 
nah Churchill- Al  Killian  (Manor)  — 
Savannah  Churchill's  a  singer  who's  been 
around  a  long  time.  You've  probably  heard 
her,  one  place  or  another.  Well,  when  she 
was  booked  into  the  Zanzibar,  recently, 
she  decided  to  take  a  new  lease  on  life, 
and  she  changed  her  name  to  Gloria  Shel- 
ton.  As  Savannah  said,  "It's  a  bad  year  for 
Churchills."  She  was  billed  as  Gloria 
Shelton,  and  introduced  as  Gloria  Shelton. 
And  then  it  began.  Time  after  time,  people 
would  come  into  the  club,  and  one  would 
say    happily,    "Why,    there's  Savannah 


RECORDS  OF  THE  MONTH 
Selected  by  Leonard  Feather 

BEST  POPULAR 

CHICKERY  CHICK— Gene  Krupa  (Colum- 
bia), George  Olsen  (Majestic),  Sammy 
Kaye  (Victor) 

COME  TO  BABY,  DO  —  Duke  Ellington 
(Victor),  Georgie  Auld  (Musicraft) 

HERE  COMES  HEAVEN  AGAIN  —  Perry 
Como  (Victor) 

I  CAN'T  BEGIN  TO  TELL  YOU— Andy  Rus- 
sell (Capitol),  Harry  James  (Colum- 
bia) 

JUST  A  LITTLE  FOND  AFFECTION — Gene 
Krupa  (Columbia),  Kate  Smith  (Co- 
lumbia), Louis  Prima  (Majestic) 

MY  GUY'S  COME  BACK  — Thelma  Car- 
penter (Majestic),  Benny  Goodman 
(Columbia) 

NO  CAN  DO— King  Sisters  (Victor). 
Xavier  Cugat  (Columbia) 


LIVE   IN— Frank  Sinatra 


THE   HOUSE  I 

(Columbia) 

THE  LAST  TIME  I  SAW  YOU  — Martha 
Tilton  (Capitol),  Les  Brown  (Colum- 
bia) 


THE    NEXT  TIME 

(Victor) 


CARE— Shep  Fields 


BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

RED  CALLENDER— Get  Happy  (Sunset) 
MAYLON  CLARK— I'm  A  Dreamer  (Jewel) 

SAVANNAH   CHURCHILL— AL  KILLIAN  — I 

Can't  Get  Enough  Of  You  (Manor) 

ERROLL  GARNER— Laura  (Savoy) 

JOHNNY  GUARNIERI— Honeysuckle  Rose 

(Continental) 

HELEN  HUMES— Be-Baba-Luba  (Philo) 

JONAH   JONES— You   Brought   A  New 
Kind  of  Love  To  Me  (Commodore) 

CHARLIE  SHAVERS— My  Man  (Keynote) 

KAY  STARR— Should  I  (Jewel) 

TEDDY  WILSON— Blues  Too  (Musicraft) 


BEST  ALBUMS 

JUDY  GARLAND— KENNY  BAKER— VIRGINIA 
O'BRIEN— The  Harvey  Girls  (Decca) 

EUGENE    GOOSSENS  — CINCINNATI  SYM- 
PHONY—Peer  Gynt  Suite  (Victor) 

HISTORY  OF  JAZZ.  Vol.  Ill— Then  Came 
Swing  (Capitol) 

HISTORY  OF  JAZZ.  Vol.  IV— This  Modern 
Age  (Capitol) 

JAZZ  AT  THE  PHILHARMONIC— All  Star 
Jam  Session  (Asch) 

OSCAR  LEVANT— Popular  Moderns  (Piano 
Solos)  (Columbia) 

JAMES  MELTON— Operatic  Arias  (Victor) 

MARGARET  O'BRIEN— Stories  For  Chil- 
dren (Capitol) 

TEX  RITTER— Songs  &  Stories  (Capitol) 

AL  SMITH— Memorial  Album  (Majestic) 


Once  Again  an  exciting  entertainment. 


achievement  from  Warners! 


m/*  £ 


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DAVID  BUTLER  ROBERT  BUCKNER 


VICTOR  FRANCEN 
JOHN  LITEL 

ORIGINAL  SCREEN  PLAY  BY  ALAN  LEMAY  AND  W.  R.  BURNETT  •  MUSIC  BY  MAX  STEINER 


Churchill,"  and  another  would  contradict 
him.  "No,  that's  Gloria  Shelton."  But  it 
certainly  looked  like  Savannah  Churchill, 
and  it  sounded  like  Savannah  Churchill, 
and  after^a  while,  Savannah  herself  got  so 
sick  and  tired  of  the  whole  business  that 
she  called  it  off.  She's  once  again  Savannah 
Churchill,  and  feeling  no  pain. 

LAURA— Erroll  Garner  (Savoy)— This  is 
the  other  side  of  that  best  jazz  record  of 
the  month,  the  one  I  recommended  in  the 
introduction.  Really,  this  Garner's  terrific. 
He's  the  young  Pittsburgh  discovery  Diana 
Lynn  raved  about — doesn't  read  a  note — 
but  he  has  an  amazingly  creative  mind,  and 
there's  a  lot  of  classical  influence  in  his 
work.  Though  he  plays  hot  like  mad,  this 
"Laura"  side  isn't  really  hot  at  all.  It's  just 
beautiful  music,  and  the  prettiest  version 
of  "Laura"  I've  heard. 

HONEYSUCKLE  ROSE— Johnny  Guar- 
nieri  (Continental) — Johnny  Guarnieri's  a 
pianist,  but  this  record  also  marks  his  debut 
as  a  vocalist.  Craziest  thing  about  it  is 
that  he  sings  and  plays  "Honeysuckle  Rose" 
exactly  like  Fats  Waller.  Several  years 
ago,  he  made  a  private  record  for  me,  do- 
ing the  same  thing,  and  I  played  it  for  Fats 
one  night,  up  in  my  apartment.  Fats  had 
had  a  few  drinks — and  he  thought  it  was 
himself!  Also  on  this  Guarnieri  job  are 
Red  Norvo  and  Slam  Stewart. 

YOU  BROUGHT  A  NEW  KIND  OF  LOVE 
TO  ME— Jonah  Jones  (Commodore)— The 
label  reads:  "Jonah  Jones  and  his  orches- 
tra," though  actually  eight  of  the  nine  men 
on  this  were  from  Cab  Calloway's  gang — 
including  Jonah  himself.  The  record  fea- 
tures Hilton  Jefferson,  the  very  fine  alto 
sax  man.  The  other  side  is  "Hubba  Hubba 
Hub,"  not  the  same  tune  Perry  Como  re- 
corded, however.  There's  been  several 
numbers  with  similar  names. 


BEST  ALBUMS 

JAZZ  AT  THE  PHILHARMONIC— All-Star 
Session  (Asch) — This  is  the  first  time  a 
real  jam  session  has  been  recorded.  Or 
part  of  a  session,  at  least.  It  took  place  at 
the  Philharmonic  Auditorium,  in  Los 
Angeles,  under  the  direction  of  a  young 
jazz  fan  named  Norman  Granz,  and  the 
men  themselves  never  even  knew  the 
records  were  being  made.  So  you  hear  it 
all,  the  spontaneous,  unrehearsed  playing, 
even  the  occasional  mistakes,  the  comments 
of  the  men  when  one  works  out  something 
especially  sensational,  and  the  audience, 
clapping,  coughing,  yelling  their  applause. 
The  album  has  six  twelve-inch  sides,  but 
because  tunes  always  run  so  long  in  these 
sessions,  there  are  only  two  numbers  in 
the  whole  album.  They're  "How  High  the 
Moon"  and  "Lady  Be  Good,"  each  on  three 
sides.  Some  of  the  soloists  are:  Willie 
Smith,  alto  sax;  Illinois  Jacquet,  tenor  sax; 
Charles  Ventura,  tenor  sax;  Joe  Guy,  trum- 
pet; Garland  Finney,  piano;  Ulysses  Liv- 
ingston, guitar;  Red  Callender,  bass.  Gene 
Krupa  was  on  drums,  but  he's  under  con- 
tract to  Columbia,  so  he's  not  listed  on  the 
label. 

AL  SMITH  MEMORIAL  ALBUM— (Ma- 
jestic)— Recorded  shortly  after  Jimmy 
Walker  became  president  of  Majestic 
Records,  this  tribute  to  a  famous  New 
Yorker  includes,  naturally,  "Sidewalks  of 
New  York" — the  tune  which  somehow  be- 
came synonymous  with  Al  Smith.  Here 
also  are,  "Give  My  Regards  to  Broadway," 
"My  Gal  Sal,"  "Easter  Parade,"  etc.  Even 
if  you're  not  a  New  Yorker,  ready  to  shed 
a  sentimental  tear  over  the  old  songs, 
you'll  still  enjoy  the  album.  There  are 
vocals  by  Danny  O'Neill,  Kay  Armen,  and 
the  five  DeMarco  sisters  from  the  Fred 
Allen  Show. 


HISTORY  OF  JAZZ— Vol  IH:  Then  Cam 
Swing.  Vol  IV:  This  Modern  Age  (Capi 
tol.)  Here  are  the  final  two  volumes  c 
Capitol's  four-part  history  of  jazz.  Tryin 
to  tell  the  history  of  jazz  on  twenty  record 
seems  to  me  to  be  as  simple  as  writin 
the  whole  of  "Gone  With  The  Wind  on  th 
head  of  a  pin.  All  these  records  were  mad 
in  the  last  couple  of  years,  and  most  < 
them  sound  like  it,  but  if  you  want  to  tre; 
the  results  as  just  plain  wonderful  mus: 
and  not  worry  your  head  about  whethe 
they  match  the  right  chapters  in  your  his 
tory  books,  then  okay,  you'll  find  plenty  ( 
kicks. 

Biggest  one,  for  me,  is  the  singing  < 
Kay  Starr  on  "If  I  Could  Be  With  Yoi; 
with  an  all-star  colored  band  in  Vol.  II 
including  King  Cole,  Benny  Carter,  Joh 
Kirby  and  Coleman  Hawkins. 

Dave  Dexter,  in  the  leaflet  with  th 
volume,  says  that,  in  the  1930's,  "most  c 
the  large  bands  failed  to  produce  the  ric 
exciting  jazz  that  the  small  bands  offered 
That's  a  matter  of  opinion  on  which  Da\ 
may  be  right,  but  me,  I  think  of  the  1930 
as  the  days  when  Benny  Goodman's  b. 
band  started  the  swing  era  and  Bob  Cros- 
by's big  band  revived  Dixieland  and  Coui 
Basie's  big  band  started  the  jump  craz 
in  other  words,  big  bands  made  plenty  i 
big  strides!  Of  course,  there  have  alwa; 
been  plenty  of  big  and  small  bands  makir 
good  music  in  every  period,  and  I  gue 
it'll  always  be  that  way. 

Volume  IV  has  some  fine  stuff  in  it,  to 
by  such  folks  as  Benny  Carter,  the  Kir 
Cole  trio,  Jay  McShann  (a  fine  blu 
pianist  from  Kansas  City),  Eddie  Milk 
Bobby  Sherwood,  Stan  Kenton,  Colenu 
Hawkins  and  Billy  Butterfield.  Altogethe 
a  fine  assortment  of  music,  and  food  f 
plenty  of  musical  thought.  Yes,  you  c; 
dance  to  it  too — but  personally  I'd  rath 
listen! 

 .  - 


AN  ADVERTISEMENT  OF  PEPSI-COLA  COMPANY 


,  'jSP^'  ^y^Sn  Ml  S 

•-^tSC      7,  Mi* 

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12 


"You  pick  them  for  their  taste,  dori'tcha?" 


"A  Sweater  traps  more 
ihan  Men,  my  pet  I 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  6) 


do  is  blow  up  that  bridge.  Sure,  that's  all. 
But  maybe  they'll  meet  some  tanks  on  the 
way.  And  certainly  the  farmhouse  will  be 
full  of  "krauts,"  who  will  see  them  coming. 
There  must  be  a  way  to  do  it,  if  they  couid 
only  figure  it  out.  There  ought  to  be  a 
simple  way,  an  easy  way. 

There's  a  way,  but  it  isn't  simple,  and  it 
isn't  easy.  Even  though-  it's  just  a  little 
walk  in  the  sun. — 20th-Fox. 

P.  S. 

Responsibility  for  the  most  authentic  GI 
dialogue  to  yet  come  out  of  Hollywood  be- 
longs to  Harry  Brown  who  authored  the 
original  book.  An  enlisted  man  in  the 
Army,  Brown  had  access  to  soldier  mail, 
thus  building  up  a  first-hand  knowledge  of 
war's  lingo.  .  .  .Of  the  approximately  thirty 
men  who  took  part  in  the  picture,  more 
than  one-fourth  of  them  had  been  in  the 
service.  .  .  .Director  Lewis  Milestone  gam- 
bled with  the  picture,  hoping  that  its  great 
realism  will  make  up  with  the  box-office 
for  the  fact  that  all  members  of  the  cast, 
with  the  exception  of  Dana  Andrews  and 
Sterling  Holloway,  are  unknowns — plus  the 
fact  that  it  is  an  all-male  cast. 

THE  SAILOR  TAKES  A  WIFE 

John  (Robert  Walker)  and  Mary  (June 
Allyson)  meet,  fall  in  love,  and  get 
married  all  on  one  weekend.  It's  all  very 
wonderful  until  it  occurs  to  them  that  they 
haven't  done  anything  about  sleeping 
quarters.  John  has  a  dingy  room  in  a  third 
rate  hotel,  not  at  all  the  kind  of  place  to 
take  a  beautiful,  shining  bride  like  Mary. 
And  Mary  lives  in  a  girls'  club.  They  think 
it  over,  on  the  way  back  from  the  justice 
of  the  peace  in  New  Jersey.  They're 
pretty  romantic,  both  of  them,  and  they 
want  their  marriage  to  start  out  just 
right.  So  they  decide  to  forget,  for  the 
moment,  that  they  are  married.  They'll 
wait  till  next  weekend  when  John  will  get 
another  leave,  and  by  then  Mary  will  have 
found  an  apartment,  and  everything  will 
be  cozy  and  sweet  and  fun. 

That's  what  they  think.  Evidently  they 
haven't  heard  about  the  apartment  short- 
age. Mary  leaves  her  job,  and  spends  the 
week  hunting  for  a  place.  She  finally 
rents  a  little  apartment  on  the  fifth  floor 

j  of  a  remodeled  building.  At  least,  the 
owners  claim  it's  been  remodeled.  .  .  .  Pre- 
sumably from  a  Neanderthal  cave.  When 
John  arrives  at  the  apartment,  he's 
in  civvies— the  Navy  has  given  him  a 
medical  discharge.  Somehow  nothing 
seems  the  way  it  was  before.  Especially 
after  Mary  invites  her  former  boss  (Hume 
Cronyn)  to  dinner,  along  with  a  bewitching 
blonde  babe  from  down  the  hall.  John 
ends  up  by  sleeping  on  the  couch  every 
night,  and  it  begins  to  look  as  if  the  sailor 

j  has  taken  a  wife  in  name  only.    Still,  you 

i  know  the  Navy!— M-G-M. 

P.  S. 

After  two  years  of  wearing  Army  or 
Navy  uniforms,  and  appearing  in  a  bell- 
hop's regimentals  in  his  last  picture,  Bob 
Walker  finally  has  a  role  that  allows  him 
to  don  civilian  clothes  and  act  in  comfort. 
I...  The  set  was  a  continual  round  of 
merriment,  due  for  the  most  part  to  the 
slap-happy  antics  between  June  Allyson 
and  Director  Richard  Whorf.  .  .  .  Her  first 
straight  comedy,  Junie  en^oyzd  the  role 
immensely,  and  had  even  more  fun  making 
the  picture  than  its  audiences  will  have 
laughing  at  it  Bob  Walker  was  out  of  the 


YOU'RE  SO  CUTE.  So  curvaceous.  And 
you  could  be  so  alluring  in  a  sweater. 
If  only  it  didn't  trick  you  into  trapping 
underarm  odor! 

Warm  winter  clothes  increase  your 
chances  of  offending.  For  even  in  freezing 
weather,  there's  a  heat  wave  under  your 
arms.  And  odor  can  form  without  any 
noticeable  moisture  and  cling  to  those 
close-fitting  wools. 


Winter  or  summer,  your  bath  washes  away 
past  perspiration,  but  it  can't  protect  you 
against  underarm  odor  to  come.  Smart  girls 
count  on  Mum  for  that. 

So  take  half  a  minute  for  Mum.  Clinch 
your  bath-freshness  for  the  day  or  evening. 
Keep  yourself  nice  to  be  near. 

Gentle,  velvet-smooth  Mum  won't  irri- 
tate skin  or  harm  fabrics.  It's  safe,  sure- 
can  be  used  before  or  after  dressing.  And 
Mum  won't  dry  out  in  the  jar. 

•  •  • 

For  Sanitary  Napkins — Mum  is  gentle,  safe, 
dependable . . .  ideal  for  this  use,  too. 


HUNDREDS  of  women  everywhere 
have  been  praising  the  new  Hinds. 
"My  hands  do  housework  aplenty  — and 
showed  it  until  I  tried  the  new  lanolin- 
enriched  Hinds.  Why,  30  seconds  after  I 
rubbed  it  in  — my  hands  felt  smooth  and 
soft  as  silk.  That  new  Hinds  is  for  me ! " 


That's  what  Miss  Elizabeth  M.  Connolly, 
400  Main  Street.  Fort  Lee,  New  Jersey, 
said.  "Fast  worker  . . .  the  new  Hinds. 
Smooth  results  in  an  instant.  And  no 
sticky  after-effects,"  said  Mrs.  Harry  T. 
Batten,  of  136  Seventh  Avenue,  N.  E., 
St.  Petersburg,  Florida. 


picture  two  weeks  after  he  put  his  hand 
through  a  pane  of  glass  and  submitted  to 
several  stitches.  .  .  .  June  Allyson  discov- 
ered a  new  fan  when  the  white  parrot  used 
in  the  picture  developed  a  crush  on  her.  He 
refused  to  pay  attention  to  anyone  but  June, 
and  when  Dick  Powell  visited  the  set  he  was 
ribbed  by  the  company  about  his  feathered 
rival. 

LEAVE  HER  TO  HEAVEN 

It  takes  courage  for  a  girl  as  popular  at 
the  box-office  as  Gene  Tierney  to  risk 
that  popularity  in  an  unsympathetic  role. 
Ellen,  in  "Leave  Her  To  Heaven,"  is  a 
psychopathically  jealous  woman,  who  stops 
at  nothing,  even  murder,  to  get  her  way. 
Handsome  Cornel  Wilde  plays  the  hero, 
and  Jeanne  Crain  is  sweet  and  appealing 
as  Ellen's  adopted  sister.  The  whole 
cast  is  way  above  average,  with  Vincent 
Price,  Mary  Phillips  and  Darryl  Hickman 
in  its  number.  Technicolor  adds  richness 
to  the  scenes  of  mountain  and  forest. 

Ellen  Berent  (Gene  Tierney)  is  the 
kind  of  girl  that  makes  psychiatrists  rich 
and  happy.  She  has  had  a  definite  "father 
fixation"  since  childhood.  Now  that  her 
father  is  dead,  she  falls  madly  in  love  with 
Richard  Harland  (Cornel  Wilde)  who  re- 
sembles him  in  many  ways.  They  are 
fellow  guests  at  a  western  ranch.  Ellen's 
mother  and  adopted  sister,  Ruth  (Jeanne 
Crain)  are  also  in  the  party.  Richard  is 
attracted  by  Ellen,  but  he  doesn't  approve 
of  her  overpowering  desire  to  win  in  every 
game  and  to  be  the  constant  center  of  at- 
tention. He  is  aware,  too,  that  Ellen  is  en- 
gaged to  a  lawyer  back  East. 

Ellen,  however,  has  no  intention  of  let- 
ting Richard  get  away.  She  breaks  her 
engagement,  and  goes  after  him  with  a 
combination  of  subtlety  and  passion  which 
eventually  achieves  its  object.  They  marry, 
and  go  to  Warm  Spring  for  their  honey- 
moon. There  Richard's  young  brother, 
Danny  (Darryl  Hickman)  is  slowly  recov- 
ering from  infantile  paralysis.  Richard  is 
delighted  with  Ellen's  apparent  devotion 
to  the  boy.  He  has  no  idea,  yet,  of  the 
depths  of  her  jealousy. 

There  are  obstacles  in  the  way  of  her 
complete  possession  of  Richard.  Danny, 
for  one.  Her  quiet  "sister,"  Ruth,  for  whom 
he  develops  an  obvious  affection,  for  an- 
other. Even  his  writing  which  makes  them 
a  living,  interferes  with  her  desire  to  be 
the  center  of  his  existence.  So — Ellen 
takes  steps,  hideous,  unbelievable  steps,  to 
eliminate  these  things.  The  result  is  a 
tense  and  terrifying  story  of  the  lengths 
to  which  jealousy  can  lead  a  woman. — 
20th-Fox. 

P.  S. 

When  the  company  was  swimming  be- 
tween scenes  near  Flagstaff,  Arizona,  Cor- 
nel Wilde  unknowingly  proved  himself  a 
hero.  When  Gene  Tierney  screamed 
at  the  sight  of  a  nearby  snake,  Cornel 
picked  it  up  and  tossed  it  aside.  "Just  a 
water-snake,"  he  told  her,  and  nearly 
swooned  when  he  learned  it  had  been  a 
water -moccasion. . . .  Both  Cornel  and  Gene 
went  into  the  picture  with  little  or  no  rest. 
Gene  had  three  days  after  finishing  "Dra- 
gonwyck,"  and  Cornel  finished  a  previous 
film  at  six  in  the  evening,  had  a  haircut 
and  at  ten  was  on  his  way  to  Bass  Lake 
in  the  High  Sierras.  .  .  .  Required  to  faint 
for  a  scene,  Jeanne  Crain  had  to  learn  the 
technique,  never  having  had  the  experi- 
ence in  real  life.  One  week  later,  in  121 
degrees  in  Arizona,  she  keeled  over  with 
the  greatest  of  ease.  .  .  .  Vincent  Price 
tackled  the  longest  dialogue  in  his  career 
when  he  memorized  eighteen  pages  of 
script,  delivering  a  six  minute  scene  in  the 
morning  and  a  seven  minute  sceiie  after 
lunch.  He  got  through  it  without  a  muff. 


Make  this  sensational  30-second  test  yourself— 
MONEY-BACK  GUARANTEE! 

Please  accept  with  our  compliments  a  generous 
trial  bottle  of  the  new  lanolin-enriched  Hinds 
along  with  your  purchase  of  the  regular  50^  size. 
Make  the  test  on  your  own  hands.  If  you  aren't 
100%  satisfied,  return  the  large  bottle  and  get 
YOUR  MONEY  BACK !  That's  how  sure  we  are 
that  you'll  say  the  new  Hinds  is  the  grandest 
lotion  you've  ever  used ! 


Hinds  ^  Hands 


.  .  .  Darryl  Hickman  was  so  realistic  in  his 
drowning  scene  that  Director  John  Stah] 
stopped  the  cameras  and  sent  a  lifeguard 
for  the  boy.  Darryl  popped  up  a  minute 
later,  asked  if  the  scene  was  okay. 

WHAT    \EXT.  CORPORAL, 
HARGROVE? 

Private  Hargrove  keeps  his  effervescent 
charm  and  his  infinite  capacity  for  getting 
into  jams,  even  when  he  gets  to  France 
and  becomes  a  corporal.  Not  that  he  is 
ever  a  corporal  for  long.  Those  stripes  go 
on  and  off  and  on  again  like  a  neon  sign. 
In  France,  Hargrove  is  still  the  epitome  of 
the  sad  sack,  and — since  he  is  again  played 
by  Bob  Walker — still  completely  appealing. 
Keenan  Wynn,  as  Mulvehill.  furnishes  ex- 
pert comedy  to  back  him  up,  and  Chill 
Wills  is  again  the  tough-sergeant-with- 
heart-of-gold. 

Corporal  Hargrove  (Bob  Walker)  is  not 
the  type  you'd  expect  to  get  involved  with  a 
French  girl.  Even  as  cute  and  obviously  al- 
luring a  one  as  Jeanne  (Jean  Porter) .  That 
he  does  get  involved  with  her  is  due  partly 
to  the  French  temperament,  partly  to  the 
Army,  and  partly  to  the  machinations  of 
Mulvehill  (Keenan  Wynn) .  It  happens  this 
way.  Corporal  Hargrove  and  a  truckload  of 
men  are  separated  through  the  Corporal's 
inability  to  stick  to  orders,  from  the  rest  of 
their  section.  They've  been  told  to  head  for 
Mardennes  and  when  they  get  lost  for 
awhile,  they  eventually  go  on  to  that  village. 
In  the  meantime,  the  rest  of  the  Army  has 
decided  to  by-pass  Mardennes.  So  Hargrove 
and  Mulvehill  and  the  rest  arrive  alone  in 
all  their  glory.  They  are  greeted  with  open 
arms  and  equally  open  bottles  of  wine.  To 
Mardennes,  and  especially  to  the  Mayor's 
pretty  daughter.  Jeanne,  they  are  the 
Army.  Of  course  eventually  they  are  re- 
turned to  their  irate  sergeant.  Corporal 
Hargrove  becomes  Private  Hargrove,  and 
he  and  Mulvehill  are  assigned  to  digging 
garbage  pits. 

But  the  liaison  officers  who  then  take 
over  Mardennes  find  the  Mayor  curiously 
uncooperative.  He  is  unimpressed  by 
majors,  and  talks  wistfully  of  a  fine  cor- 
poral named  Hargrove.  At  last,  Hargrove 
and  Mulvehill  are  sent  for  to  do  liaison 
work  and  their  diplomatic  efforts  are  really 
something! — M-G-M. 

P.  S. 

Marion  Hargrove  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  script  of  the  sequel  to  "See  Here. 
Private  Hargrove,"  yet  M-G-M  paid  him 
a  fat  sum  merely  for  the  use  of  his  name. 

.  .  Keeping  one  step  ahead  of  the  studio. 
Hargrove  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  a 
corporal  while  Metro  was  making  "Private 
Hargrove,"  then  during  the  filming  of 
"Corporal  Hargrove,"  was  made  a  sergeant. 
.  .  .  Director  Richard  Thorpe  traveled  to 
five  training  camps  throughout  the  country 
looking  for  location  spots,  finally  decided 
on  Camp  Pendleton,  field  artillery  training 
center  eighty  miles  south  of  Hollywood. 
All  combat  groups  were  filmed  there.  .  .  . 
While  on  location.  Bob  Walker  visited  the 
nearby  San  Diego  Army  and  Navy  Acad- 
emy, and  made  a  speech  to  several  hun- 
dred teen-age  students.  In  his  younger 
days,  Bob  was  enrolled  as  a  member  of  the 
Academy  for  three  years.  .  .  .  Studio  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  a  group  of  GIs  over- 
seas, protesting  the  low  ranks  bestowed 
on  Bob  in  his  films.  "The  guy's  always  a 
private  or  a  corporal,"  they  wrote.  "It's 
time  he  got  sergeant's  stripes."  With  the 
war  over,  it's  unlikely  that  they'll  get  their 
wish. .  Since  his  motorcycle  accident,  Kee- 
nan Wynn's  been  intent  on  building  himself 
up.  He  kept  a  set  of  bar-bells  in  his  dressing 
room,  amused  the  company  with  his  calis- 
thenics between  scenes.  .  .  .  Jean  Porter. 


A  special  process  keeps  Kleenex 

Luxuriously  Soft  - 
Dependably  Stron; 


Only  Kleenex*  has  the  Serv-  a  -Tissue  Box 
that  serves  up  just  one  double-tissue  at  a  time! 


YOI/&  /VOSE  KNOWS  - 
THERE'S  ONLY  O/VE 
KLEENEX 


In  these  days  of  shortages  we  can't 
promise  vou  all  the  Kleenex  you  want, 
at  all  times.  But  we  do  promise  you 
this:  we'll  always  keep  Kleenex  the 
finest  quality  tissue  that  can  be  made! 

*T.  M.  Re<r.  U.  S.  Pat.  OS. 


There  is  only  one  KLEENEX 


15 


A  S/x/effer  Mr* 


Stronger  Grip 

.  .  .  Watch  your  "Good-looks 
Score"  go  up  and  up  when 
you  use  DeLong  Bob  Pins  to 
give  your  hair-do  that  smooth, 
new  uncluttered  look. 

It's  the  "Stronger  Qrip"  in 
DeLong  Bob  Pins  that  makes 
them  so  different  from  bob 
pins  of  the  wishy-washy  type... 


Stronger  Grip 

Won't  Slip  Out 


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BOB  PINS         HAIR  PINS         SAFETY  PINS 

SNAP  FASTENERS       STRAIGHT  PINS 
HOOKS  &  EYES  HOOK  &  EYE  TAPES 

SANITARY  BELTS 


pint-sized  and  sole  feminine  member  of 
the  cast,  reported  for  work  to  find  herself 
surrounded  by  scores  of  rough  looking  sol- 
diers. The  next  day  she  arrived  in  costume, 
plus  a  catcher's  mask,  chest  protector  and 
shinguards.  .  .  Most  spectacular  event 
during  filming  of  the  movie  was  an  un- 
expected roping  scene.  A  cow  used  for  the 
picture  went  berserk,  charged  through  the 
studio  gates  and  ran  a  mile  down  the 
boulevard  before  it  was  finally  caught  by 
an  SPCA  officer. 

SHADOW  OF  A  WOMAN 

It's  hard  to  be  sinister  and  charming  at 
the  same  time,  but  Helmut  Dantine  is  the 
lad  who  can  do  it.  As  Dr.  Eric  Ryder, 
who  marries  lovely  Brook  Gifford  (Andrea 
King)  for  purposes  of  his  own,  he  is  the 
most  attractive  villain  imaginable.  He 
meets  Brook  at  a  mountain  resort,  gives 
her  the  rush  of  all  time,  and  in  a  week 
they  are  married.  Three  days  after  the 
wedding,  they  are  sitting  placidly  on  the 
beach.  A  huge  boulder  crashes  from  the 
cliff  above  them,  and  only  Brook's  warning 
scream  saves  Eric's  life.  Brook  is  sure  she 
saw  someone  on  the  cliff  just  before  the 
boulder  came  over,  but  Eric  laughs  it  off. 
Who  would  want  to  kill  him?  Brook  finds 
out  the  answer  to  that,  soon. 

When  they  get  back  to  the  hotel,  Eric 
glimpses  a  couple  of  men  whom  he  obvi- 
ously knows.  He  tells  Brook  to  pack  at 
once — he  has  decided  that  his  own  hunting 
cabin  will  be  a  much  more  romantic  spot 
for  their  honeymoon.  When  they  reach  the 
cabin,  she  is  disturbed  to  find  definite  evi- 
dence of  a  previous  female  visitor.  "Oh," 
Eric  explains  easily,  "that  was  my  first 
wife."  He  also  admits  he  has  a  five  year 
old  son.  Brook  is  upset.  Why  hadn't  he 
mentioned  all  this  before? 

That  night  another  attempt  is  made  to 
murder  Eric.  They  leave  the  cabin  and 
go  back  to  his  home  in  the  city,  but  there, 
too,  murder  stalks  them  angrily.  Brook 
finds  that  her  husband  is  not  really  a  doc- 
tor. He  has  a  peculiar  system  of  dieting 
which  he  claims  will  cure  practically  any 
ailment,  but  it  seems  to  have  had  fatal 
results  in  several  cases.  Brook  tries  to 
help  his  little  son,  who  is  not  well,  and 
incurs  Eric's  wrath  for  her  interference. 
Her  marriage  was  a  mistake — she  can  see 
that  now,  yet  loyalty  holds  her  to  her 
husband.  A  lawyer,  McKellar  (William 
Prince),  tries  to  warn  her  of  danger,  but 
she  stubbornly  refuses  to  listen.  That  re- 
fusal almost  costs  Brook  her  life. — War. 

P.  S. 

The  plot  pulled  a  switch  for  Hel- 
mut Dantine  and  Andrea  King.  In  their 
last  picture  together,  Dantine  played  a 
sympathetic  role  and  disposed  of  the  vil- 
lainous Andrea  by  shooting  her.  In 
"Shadow  of  a  Woman,"  Dantine  is  about 
as  nasty  as  they  come,  while  the  innocent 
Andrea  spends  ninety  minutes  trying  to 
get  out  of  his  clutches.  .  .  .  While  making 
a  suspense  picture,  Andrea  King  had  some 
suspense  of  her  own.  Expecting  her  hus- 
band to  arrive  any  day  from  the  Pacific 
zone,  Andrea  was  jumpy  as  a  Mexican 
bean,  interpreting  every  phone  call  com- 
ing into  the  set  as  THE  phone  call.  Arriv- 
ing home  late  one  night,  she  ran  to  em- 
brace a  Navy  officer  standing  on  her  front 
porch.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  stranger 
looking  for  directions  to  a  neighboring 
house.  .  .  .  Portraying  a  quack  doctor, 
Dantine  was  coached  on  the  procedure  in 
hypnotism,  and  after  working  over  a 
patient  for  a  scene,  was  horrified  to  find 
that  she  was  in  a  coma  that  lasted  for  five 
minutes.  Not  until  the  actor  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  breakdown  did  Director  Joe 
Santley  admit  that  the  whole  thing  was 
a  gag. 


DON'T  FENCE  ME  IN 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  famous 
outlaw  named  Wildcat  Kelly.  He  lived  a 
tough  life,  and — apparently— died  with  his 
boots  on.  For  twenty  years  after  that,  he 
was  only  a  name  in  Wild  West  legends.  Then 
a  dying  man  in  New  York  whispers  that 
Kelly  isn't  dead  at  all,  that  another  man 
lies  in  his  grave.  The  editor  of  a  national 
picture  magazine  sends  his  ace  photograph- 
er out  west  to  investigate. 

The  photographer  happens  to  be  a  girl, 
Toni  Ames  (Dale  Evans).  Toni  doesn't 
think  much  of  her  new  assignment,  espe- 
cially after  she  talks  to  some  of  the  local 
characters  in  the  town  where  Wildcat's 
grave  is.  They're  all  sure  he's  deader  than 
the  proverbial  doornail.  Then  an  old  man, 
Gabby  Whitaker  (Gabby  Hayes)  tells  her 
he  was  Wildcat's  best  friend.  Toni  follows 
him-  out  to  the  R  Bar  R  ranch  where  he 
works,  and  discovers  that  he  himself  is 
Wildcat.  The  ranch  owner,  Roy  Rogers, 
doesn't  like  the  idea  of  a  gal  photographer 
prying  around.  He  knows  Gabby's  past  and 
he  wants  it  left  in  the  past.  But  Toni  is 
determined.  She  gets  the  pictures  she  wants 
and  sends  the  story  to  New  York.  It  ap- 
pears in  the  next  issue  of  the  magazine, 
and  hell  starts  popping  immediately. 

Bennett,  owner  of  a  gambling  resort  near 
the  ranch,  sends  one  of  his  gunmen  to  dis- 
pose of  Wildcat.  Because  when  Wildcat 
"died"  before,  Bennett  collected  fifty  thou- 
sand from  the  state  as  a  reward.  They 
might  want  it  back.  The  gunman's  aim  is 
lousy,  and  Gabby  gets  off  with  a  flesh 
wound.  But  Roy  sends  out  an  announce- 
ment that  he  was  killed.  So  Wildcat  Kelly 
has  a  second  phony  funeral,  and  Ton: 
stands  by  with  her  camera  concealed  in 
some  calla  lilies,  to  take  pictures.  She 
photographs  anyone  who  exhibits  an  un- 
due interest  in  the  "corpse,"  and  this  trail 
leads  straight  to  Bennett.  Roy  and  Toni 
stop  their  own  personal  argument  long 
enough  to  do  some  sleuthing,  with  excel- 
lent results. — Rep. 

P.  S. 

This  movie  includes  not  only  some  o 
the  best  familiar  western  songs,  such  a: 
"My  Little  Buckaroo,"  "Tumbling  Tumble- 
weed,"  "The  Last  Roundup"  and  "Alon< 
the  Navajo   Trail,"   but   throws   in  tw( 
sure-fire  hits,  namely  "Choo  Choo  Polka 
and  "A  Kiss  Goodnight.".  .  .  In  Dale  Evam 
eleventh  starring  role  with  Rogers,  sh 
completely  out-acted  the  cowboy  in  on 
scene.  According  to  the  script,  Roy  was  t 
have  set  up  a  phony  funeral  for  Gabb 
Hayes  in  order  to  trick  a  criminal  into 
confession.  Director  John  English  told  Dai 
Evans  that  she  was  supposed  to  believe  the 
Gabby  had  died,  but  neglected  to  infon 
Rogers  on  this  point.  Roy  went  through  1 
long  bit  of  dialogue  at  Gabby's  bedsid. 
then,  as  the  camera  panned  with  hin 
walked  to  the  door  to  admit  Dale.  Th 
heroine  stood  there,  choking  back  sobs,  tl 
tears  streaming  down  her  face.  "Great  gun 
Dale,"  yelled  the  cowboy,  "whafs  wrong' 

TARS  AND  SPARS 

Hollywood  has  a  new  dream  man.  H 
name  is  Alfred  Drake,  and  he  played  tl 
lead  in  Broadway's  fabulous  "Oklahoma  1 
Now  he's  making  his  cinema  bow  in  tl 
Coast  Guard  musical  "Tars  and  Spars." 

It's  tough  to  have  your  girl  think  you' 
a  hero,  when  you  aren't.  Howie  Yom 
(Alfred  Drake)  isn't  to  blame  when  1 
finds  himself  in  this  predicament.  It  w 
his  f>a\,  Chuck,  (Sid  Caesar)  who  to 
pretty  Christine  (Janet  Blair)  that  How 
had  spent  twenty-one  days  on  a  life  r£i 
in  the  Pacific.  The  statement  was  literal ; 
true.   The  raft,  however,  was  at  the  Coe 


7%e  47hp  f/t<tf£  c#a&6 '-wftJk  tb&C/ 


Hollywood  called  this  story 
"impossible  to  produce."  Such 
mounting  suspense... such  daring 
emotional  power... such  difficult 
starring  roles.  Yet,  here  it  is, 
in  all  its  flawless  fascination! 


i€ 


;  - 


rko  radio  pictu 


presents 


RES 


DOROTHY  McGUIRE 
GEORGE  BRENT 
MEL  BARKYMOBE 


2/outi 

OLD  RUGS? 
CLOTHING 

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!  NAME  _  _  _   


I  ADDRESS.. 
I 

I  TOWN  


..STATE.. 


Guard  station  in  the  harbor,  and  Howie 
spent  those  days  on  it  as  an  experiment 
in  the  cause  of  science.  He  ate  nothing 
except  a  new  kind  of  chewing  gum,  guar- 
anteed to  preserve  life,  but  not  to  make 
it  worth  living!  When  Chris  hears  the 
facts,  she  finds  them  a  distinct  anti-climax. 

Howie  gets  back  into  her  good  graces  by 
making  a  recording  of  a  love  ballad  called 
"I'm  Glad  I  Waited  For  You."  His  dreamy 
voice  persuades  her  to  forgive  him,  and 
everything  is  just  ducky  when  Howie  gets 
his  orders  to  ship  out.  Chris  is  sad  but 
brave  at  their  dramatic  parting.  They 
both  promise  to  write  every  day.  Howie 
reports  to  the  ship — and  is  sent  to  Catalina 
Island,  twenty  miles  away!  After  his  pre- 
vious experience  with  disillusioning  Chris, 
he  just  plain  doesn't  dare  tell  her  he's  only 
gone  to  Catalina.  So  he  doesn't  write. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  base,  they  are  re- 
hearsing for  a  big  show.  The  lieutenant 
in  charge  hears  Chris  playing  the  recording 
that  Howie  made  for  her.  "That  guy  can 
sing,"  he  remarks.  "I'd  like  to  have  him 
in  the  show."  "Me,  too,"  says  Chris  wist- 
fully, "but  Howard  Young  shipped  out  a 
month  ago."  The  name  sounds  vaguely 
familiar  to  the  lieutenant,  who  goes  back 
to  the  office  and  looks  it  up.  There's  a  phone 
call  to  Catalina.  The  rest  is  mostly  music, 
and  very  nice  music,  too. — Col. 

P.  S. 

Filmed  during  the  cigarette  shortage, 
"Tars  and  Spars"  was  the  most  popular  set 
on  the  Columbia  lot.  Each  Coast  Guard 
member  of  the  cast  received  a  weekly  allot- 
ment of  a  carton  of  cigarettes,  at  which  time 
they  were  mobbed  by  every  employee  of 
the  studio.  .  .  .  Victor  Mature,  overseas 
in  the  actual  fighting,  was  originally  set  to 
play  the  lead  role,  but  refused  on  the 
grounds  that  it  was  no  time  for  him  to  be 
making  movies.  .  .  .  Both  Alfred  Drake,  the 
eventual  male  lead,  and  Marc  Piatt,  dancer, 
were  members  of  the  original  "Oklahoma!" 
stage  show.  .  .  .  Two  weeks  were  spent 
on  the  Coast  Guard  Patrol  Base  at  Wilm- 
ington, Calif.,  filming  the  training  and 
camp  shots.  ...  A  percentage  of  the  profit 
made  from  the  movie  will  go  to  the  Coast 
Guard  Relief  Fund.  .  .  .  Songs  written  by 
Sammy  Cahn  and  Jule  Stein  will  be  cer- 
tain hits,  among  them  "Love  is  a  Merry- 
go-round"  and  "I'm  Glad  I  Waited  for 
You,"  sung  by  Alfred  Drake.  "I  Love 
Eggs,"  the  most  entertaining  ditty  of  the 
show,  is  sung  by  Sid  Caesar,  Sl/c,  who 
received  his  discharge  from  the  service  the 
same  day  the  picture  finished  shooting. 
The  originator  of  his  own  routines,  Caesar, 
whose  style  is  much  like  Danny  Kaye's, 
is  set  for  success  in  a  movie  career.  .  .  . 
Janet  Blair's  long  hair  was  cut  for  the  first 
time  in  years  for  her  role  as  a  Spar  .  .  . 
The  carnival  set  was  rented  in  its  entirety 
from  a  carnival  company.  By  the  time  the 
film  was  finished,  the  merry-go-round  was 
on  its  last  wheels,  having  submitted  to 
hours  of  extra-curricular  fun  for  the  cast 
and  crew. 

ON  THE  CARPET 

The  roll-'em-in-the-aisle  boys  are  with 
us  again.  Abbott  and  Costello's  latest  opus 
has  more  than  the  usual  quota  of  laughs, 
with  Costello  playing  the  yokel  boy  who 
makes  good.  The  plot  concerns  a  mind- 
reading  vacuum  cleaner  salesman,  which 
is  a  neat  twist  in  itself.  Benny  (Lou 
Costello)  isn't  a  salesman  at  the  begin- 
ning. He  lives  on  a  farm,  but  he  is  taking 
a  correspondence  course  in  selling.  Comes 
the  day  when  the  final  lesson  arrives,  and 
with  it  his  diploma.  Benny  says  goodbye 
to  Mom,  gives  a  quick  kiss  to  his  girl 
friend,  Martha  (Elena  Verdugo),  and  goes 
off  to  the  big  city  to  make  his  fortune. 
(Continued  on  page  20) 


INFORMATION  DESK 

(Questions  of  the  Month) 
by  Beverly  Linet 

Hi,  gang/ 

Well,  here's  another  New  Year,  and 
one  that's  bringing  slews  of  our  past 
favorites  back  to  the  screen.  Even 
more  important,  it  brings  to  our  atten- 
tion young  vets  whose  screen  careers 
were  interrupted  by  the  wonderful 
work  they  did  in  the  service.  They 
are  the  stars  of  the  day-after-to- 
morrow, so  here's  four  for  your  in- 
spection: 

In  "Mildred  Pierce"  you  discovered  in  "Ted 
Forrester,"  an  ex-Air  Force  technician,  JOHN 
COMPTON,  who  was  born  in  Lynchburg, 
Tenn.,  on  June  21,  1923.  He's  6  feet  tall, 
weighs  183  pounds  and  has  brown  eyes  and 
hair  and  is  unmarried.  Currently  in  "Too 
Young  to  Know,"  he  can  be  reached  at 
Warners'.  Jordan  Mayo,  133  S.  49th  St., 
Philadelphia,  Pa.,  has  his  club. 
Also  from  the  Air  Forces  comes  23-year-old 
KEEFE  BRASSELLE,  who  scored  as  "John- 
ny" in  "River  Gang"  and  "Chicken"  in  "Ac- 
tion Report."  He's  at  Universal  and  is  6' 
tall,  165  lbs.,  with  blue  eyes  and  black  hair. 
Anyone  seeing  "Kiss  and  Tell"  couldn't  help 
lovin'  Frisco-born  SCOTT  ELLIOTT 
( birthday  is  August  24,  1921),  better 
known  as  Temple's  brother  "Lenny"  in 
the  film.  He  couldn't  be  missed,  what  with 
his  blonde  hair  and  green  eyes,  and  6'  2"  of 
cuteness.  Write  to  him  at  Box  31,  Beverly 
Hills,  Calif.  His  next  is  "Dragonwyck." 
And  last,  but  not  least,  there's  23-year-old 
BOB  TURNER,  who  was  under  contract  to 
20th-Fox,  and  in  store  for  the  lead  in  "Johnny 
Doughboy"  when  he  was  whisked  away  to 
the  U.  S.  Navy.  Imagine  a  combination  oi 
Madison,  McCallister  and  Lawford  in  per- 
sonality and  ability,  and  there's  Bob  with  a 
future  as  bright  as  the  aforementioned .  He's 
with  Mary  Martin  in  "Lute  Song,"  and  you 
can  write  to  him  at  the  William  Morris 
Agency,  1270  Avenue  of  the  Americas. 
N.  Y.  C. 

It's  up  to  you  to  plug  them  with  your 
letters  and  interest.  Ready?  Willing? 
Well,  GO.'.'.'  And  don't  forget  to  send 
your  other  letters  on  everything,  to- 
gether with  a  self -addressed,  stamped 
envelope  to  Beverly  Linet,  INFORMA- 
TION DESK,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149 
Madison  Avenue,  New  York  City  16, 
N.  Y. 

Bye  bye  now, 

Bev. 

Lenore  Frank,  Brooklyn,  New  York: 
PLEASE  TELL  ME  WHO  PLAYED 
THE  FOLLOWING  ROLES?  Marty 
and  Eleanor  in  "State  Fair" — Bill 
Marshall  and  Jane  Nigh,  20th-Fox. 
Ricky  in  "Falcon  in  Frisco" — Carl 
Kent,  R.K.O.  Sgt.  Alex  (died  on 
raft)  in  "Capt.  Eddie" — Don  Garner, 
20th-Fox. 

Mary  Finnegan,  Mystic,  Conn.:  WHO 
CONDUCTS  THE  FAN  CLUBS 
FOR  VIRGINIA  FIELD,  SCOTT 
McKAY  AND  JULIE  BISHOP?  All 
run  by  Pearl  Tice,  514  Arch,  Per- 
kasie.  Pa.  More  clubs:  PETER 
LAWFORD — Eleanor  Cohen,  101 
Kilkea,  Los  Angeles,  Calif.  HANK 
DANIELS — Mary  Thompson,  Ocean 
Drive,  Bandon,  Oregon.  JOHNNY 
COY — Ellen  Sachs,  148-36  87th  Rd., 
Jamaica,  N.  Y.  DON  DE  FORE— 
Alice  Margulies,  541  Avenue  C, 
Bayonne,  N.  J.  ROSS  HUNTER— 
Gloria  Egan,  10478  Holman  Ave., 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. 

Lorraine  Lang,  N.Y.C.:  WHAT  ARE 
THE  NEXT  FILMS  SCHEDULED 
FOR:  Orson  Welles — "The  Stranger." 
Vivien  Leigh — "Caesar  and  Cleo- 
patra." Laurence  Olivier — "Henry  V." 
Bob  Mitchum,  Guy  Madison,  Bill 
Williams — all  in  "Until  The  End  of 
Time." 


Now 
the  Son  of 
Robin  Hoodl 
Bashing  loverl 
Outlaw' 
Adoenturerl 


19 


.  avoid  crowds  when  you  have 
a  cold.  Not  only  do  you  expose 
yourself  to  other  germs,  you  ex- 
pose other  people  to  yours!  If  you 
must  be  near  others,  use  absorbent 
Sitroux  Tissues  for  protection. 


r 


*  .  .  .  eat  the  right  foods!  Have 
plenty  of  citrus  fruit  in  the  house 
— oranges,  grapefruit,  lemons.  Get 

plenty  of  rest,  too.  Avoid  draughts, 

especially  when  sleeping. 


Bw  .  .  .  use  absorbent  Sitroux  Tissues 
J^H  for  "overblown"  noses!  They're 

Wj  kind  to  tender  skin — more  sani- 
Hf  tary,  because  you  can  so  easily 
dispose  of  them!   Saves  laundry 
bills,  too.   (Use  sparingly,  don't 
waste  Sitroux.  *  ) 


re  still  faced 

*  Tissue  monufad  urersa  _ 
with  material  **WJ„.  ore  doing 
tipn  °''fficult,eS  ;wSUroUX  Tissues.  And, 
ourbestto  *-PPW  S  *r     Wng  the  finest 


ROUX 

TISSUES 


He  has  an  Uncle  Clarence  who  works  for 
a  vacuum  cleaner  company,  and  through 
his  somewhat  unwilling  assistance,  Benny 
gets  a  job  there.  Selling  vacuum  cleaners 
sounds  easy.  You  just  ring  someone's 
doorbell,  go  in  and  demonstrate  the 
cleaner,  and  come  out  with  fifty-nine  fifty 
in  your  hip  pocket.  The  difficulty,  Benny 
soon  learns,  is  that  you  can't  get  in  the 
door.  People  shut  it  in  your  face.  When 
he  finally  does  get  into  a  very  de  luxe 
apartment,  he  gets  the  cleaner's  attach- 
ments mixed  up.  He  sprays  soot  all  over 
the  place,  and  comes  out  with  a  lawsuit 
on  his  hands.  On  top  of  that,  he  manages  to 
get  his  demonstrating  machine  stolen.  The 
office  manager,  Morrison  (Bud  Abbott) 
fires  him.    Who  wouldn't? 

Uncle  Clarence  comes  reluctantly  to  his 
aid  again.  He  is  pals  with  the  firm's  branch 
manager  in  a  nearby  town,  and  sends 
Benny  there.  "Don't  tell  them  you've 
worked  for  the  company  before,"  he  warns. 
Benny  starts  working  again,  and  this  time 
he's  a  super  success.  Reason: — the  boys 
in  the  office  play  a  gag  on  him,  and  con- 
vince him  he  is  a  mind  reader.  This  gives 
him  so  much  self-confidence  that  he  sells 
nine — count  'em,  nine — -vacuum  cleaners 
in  one  day.  That  breaks  the  firm's  record, 
and  Benny  is  summoned  back  to  the  main 
office.  By  now,  he  is  oozing  self-confi- 
dence at  every  pore.  Sure,  he'll  go  back! 
He'll  show  up  that  jerk,  Morrison!  How- 
ever, a  luscious  blonde  confuses  the  issue, 
and  for  a  while  it  looks  as  if  Benny  is  out 
of  luck.  But  you  can't  keep  a  good  man 
down,  not  when  he's  a  mind  reader! — Univ. 

P.  S. 

Studio  employees  pull  in  their  ears  when 
Abbott  and  Costello  hit  the  lot  to  make  a 
picture.  Not  one  of  them  is  safe  when  the 
two  zanies  start  their  marathon  of  prac- 
tical jokes.  Costello  makes  a  habit  of 
crawling  beneath  commissary  lunch  tables 
and  bestowing  hotfoots  on  the  occupants. 
Abbott  holds  long,  involved  conversations 
with  people  who  simply  aren't  there, 
adding  to  the  complete  confusion  of  visiting 
firemen.  The  pair  choose  an  utter  stranger 
and  inundate  him  with  a  flood  of  questions 
about  his  family,  his  home  and  his  personal 
life,  then  pass  on  as  though  they  hadn't 
spoken  a  word  to  him.  .  .  .  During  the  film- 
ing of  the  picture,  Brenda  Joyce  was  so 
excited  about  her  husband,  expected  to 
arrive  any  minute  from  the  war  zone,  that 
she  couldn't  keep  her  mind  on  her  work. 
In  free  hours,  she  tore  around  town  look- 
ing for  a  new  and  very  slinky  negligee.  .  .  . 

MASQUERADE  IN  MEXICO 

Angel  Reilly  (Dorothy  Lamour)  is  the 
kind  of  a  girl  things  happen  to.  She 
came  to  Mexico  City  in  the  first  place 
because  she  was  to  marry  a  guy  named 
Boris.  But  she  found  out  en  route  that 
Boris  was  a  crook  and  had  given  her  a 
stolen  diamond  to  bring  into  Mexico  for 
him.  Instead,  she  drops  it  into  the  pocket 
of  the  passenger  next  to  her,  Tom  Grant 
(Patrick  Knowles),  who  is  promptly  ar- 
rested. Angel  decides  that  Boris  plays  too 
rough,  and  she  gives  him  the  brush-off. 
Leaving  herself  broke  and  out  of  a  job  in 
a  strange  city. 

Grant,  who  is  rich  and  influential  as  well 
as  charming,  is  released  by  the  police.  He 
decides  that  he  has  a  use  for  the  beautiful 
and — he  thinks — unscrupulous  girl  who 
slipped  that  diamond  in  his  pocket.  Grant's 
wife  is  infatuated  with  a  handsome  bull- 
fighter, Manolo  (Arturo  De  Cordova),  and 
maybe  Angel  can  distract  Manolo's  atten- 
tion. Angel,  disguised  as  the  Condesa  de  Costa 
Mora,  can,  and  does,  to  the  complete  fury 
of  Mrs.  Grant  (Ann  Dvorak).  Mrs.  G.  has 
the  disposition  of  a  frustrated  rattlesnake, 


and  she  really  goes  to  work  on  Angel. 
Catty  remarks  are  tossed  back  and  forth 
with  girlish  abandon.  Poor  Manolo  is  in 
the  middle,  and  he  wants  out,  preferably 
in  the  direction  of  Angel,  whom  he  con- 
siders a  definite  addition  to  Mexico  City. 

Who  would  show  up  at  a  party  but 
Boris,  the  crook,  who  has  one  cynical 
eye  on  Angel  and  the  other  on  Mrs. 
Grant's  diamond  necklace.  He  is,  he  ex- 
plains blandly,  the  Conde  de  Costa  Mora, 
and  he  is  so  happy  to  be  reunited  with  his 
dear  wife  after  all  these  months  of  separa- 
tion. 

I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  bother  your 
pretty  head  with  the  rest  of  the  plot.  Just 
concentrate  on  Arturo  De  Cordova,  who 
is  enough  to  keep  any  girl  contented.—' 
Par. 

P.  S. 

Dottie  Lamour  comes  across  with  three 
"firsts"  in  her  movie  career.  One  is  the 
fact  that  she  discards  her  sarong  to  appear 
fully  dressed  all  the  way  through  the  pic- 
ture, putting  on  a  one-woman  fashion 
show  with  thirteen  complete  wardrobe 
changes.  Secondly,  Lamour  executes  a  few 
difficult  dances  with  Billy  Daniels,  Para- 
mount's  dance  director,  as  her  partner. 
Highlight  is  her  slithery  doings  to  beguine 
rhythm.  .  .  .  Finally,  audiences  will  be 
surprised  to  hear  the  star  hit  a  D  above 
high  C,  which  comes  out  in  the  middle  of 
the  sextet  number  from  "Lucia  di  Lam- 
mermoor."  Born  in  Mexico,  Arturo  de 
Cordova  portrays  his  first  American  screen 
role  as  a  Mexican,  in  a  Mexican  setting. . . . 
The  Mexican  ballet,  depicting  the  struggle 
of  Mexico  for  independence,  is  one  of  the 
finest  attempts  to  date  at  ballet  by  the  films. 
For  her  part  in  the  ballet,  Ann  Dvorak  dug 
up  the  dancing  slippers  discarded  when  she 
decided  to  be  an  actress. 

DAKOTA 

John  Wayne,  sauntering  easily  through 
this  two-fisted,  two-gun  Western,  almost 
(Continued  on  page  24) 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

After  the  Sinatra 
show  we  went 
backstage  to  get 
our  dream-boy's 
autograph,  but 
when  we  saw  the 
huge  crowd  waiting 
ahead  of  us,  we 
^^Wf  ^  ^Bfek*  gave  up  in  despair 
Jfls^RP  an^  decided  to  take 
■t  r&afllHHlL  a  walk  instead.  It 
was  a  windy  day 
and  I  was  wearing  a  beanie,  so  of 
course  you  can  guess  what  happened 
— it  fiew  off  my  head  and  went  sailing 
down  the  street.  Before  I  knew  what 
had  happened,  the  hat  had  disappeared 
from  my  sight.  I  was  about  to  con- 
tinue my  walk  without  it,  when  1 
suddenly  heard  a  man's  voice  behind 
me. 

"Pardon  me,  miss,"  the  voice  said, 
"but  did  you  lose  this  liat?" 

I  turned  around  to  see  The  Voice  in 
person,  holding  my  beanie  in  his  hand! 
Yes,  it  actually  was  Frankie,  and  he 
had  bothered  to  get  my  hat! 

I  was  stunned  at  first,  but  I  soon 
recovered  myself  and  murmured  my 
thanks.  My  friends  crowded  around 
him  at  once,  and  we  each  got  his  auto- 
graph. 

I  shall  always  be  thankful  for  windy 
days! 

Marilyn  Cacas 
Chelsea,  Mass. 


WHICH  OF  THESE  BEST-SELLERS 


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GREEN  DOLPHIN  STREET 

by  Elizabeth  Goudge 

Winner  of  the  SI25.000 
M-G-M  Prize  Novel  Contest 

MARRIED  for  years 
— THEN  they  fell 
in  love!  Because  of  a 
foolish  mistake,  he  sent 
half  way  around  the 
world  for  the  wrong  bride!  Bitterly  disap- 
pointed when  she  arrived,  he  married  her  as 
a  duty,  deserted  her  on  their  wedding  night, 
then  for  years  lived  a  lie — until  a  miracle 
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LEAVE  HER  TO  HEAVEN 

by  Ben  Ames  Williams 

CHE  stopped  at  nothing — 
■/  not  even  murder  —  to 

'T       Xt        hold   the    man    she  loved! 
V   jt  Ellen  Berent  was  so  insanely 

V/    -  jealous  that  she  could  not 

'  Jm  bear  to  share  any  part  of  a 
mm^^^ ^  man's  love  with  anyone  else 
— or  anything!  She  plotted, 
lied,  cheated  to  gain  her 
ends!  When  all  else  failed, 
there  was — murder!  "Will 
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crawling." — Boston  Post.  "Will  hypnotize 
you  until  you  have  read  the  last  page." — 
N.  Y.  Times.  A  national  best-seller. 


the  20th  Century- 
Fox  Prod  uction 
"Leave    Her  to 


LUSTY  WIND  FOR 
CAROLINA 

by  Inglis  Fletcher 


RICH,  flamboyant 
adventure  -  romance 
'  that  takes  you  back  to 
the  days  of  swashbuck- 
ling pirates,  hot-blooded 
cavaliers,  glamorous 
courtesans.  You  meet  Anne  Bonney,  the 
celebrated  woman  pirate  whose  exotic  beauty 
was  matched  only  by  her  devilish  cruelty'; 
Gabrielle  Fountaine,  who  braved  her  father's 
displeasure  to  find  romance  in  the  new  world; 
David  Moray,  her  soldier-lover;  Stede  Bon- 
net, "gentleman  pirate,"  and  other  colorful 
characters  in  this  thrilling  action  drama. 


THE  PEACOCK 
SHEDS  HIS  TAIL 

by  Alice  Tisdale  Hob  art 


When  jim  Bu- 

chanan,  young 
American  diplomat, 
steps  into  the  narrow 
orbit  of  the  Navarro  family  of  Mexico,  tra- 
dition is  smashed.  Concha,  idol  of  the  fam- 
ily, falls  madly  in  love  with  him.  Together 
they  defy  the  stigma  of  foreign  birth  and  re- 
ligion, outbrave  the  disapproval  of  an  auto- 
cratic family,  and  outwit  a  rival  who  has 
every  right  on  his  side — except  love.  A  col- 
orful, turbulent  romance  of  modern  Mexico. 


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MUSIC-MAKERS — 1945- '44 — by  Harry  James  (5c) 

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y-  DESSERTS  FRANKIE  LOVES— by  Nancy  Sinatra 

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y-  HOW  TO  BE  POPULAR  WITH  BOYS— by  Jean 
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/BE  A  BETTER  DANCER!— By  Arthur  Murray— 

Easy  to  follow  directions  on  all  the  turns  and 
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y  PLEASE  BEHAVEI  Easy  etiquette  for  sailing 
through  any  social  situation  without  awkward, 
embarrassing  moments.  Everything  from  when 
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CO-ED  PERSONAL  ADVICE —Want  to  know  how 
to  get  him  to  ask  for  a  date,  or  when  it's 
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vita!  problems  of  the  heart.  THIS  IS  NOT 
A  CHART. 


FOR  GLAMOR 

y-  SKIN  CARE  FOR  TEENS— Teen  beauty  is  not  just 
skin  deep — it  depends  on  care,  diet,  groom- 
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HOW  TO  BE  BEAUTIFUL —Keep  this  chart  right 
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y-  HAIR  DO'S  AND  DON'T'S  FOR  TEEN  AGERS — 

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HOW  TO  LOSE  WEIGHT— Slimming  the  silhouette 
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yourself.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c), 
self-addressed    envelope   □ 

y-  DATE  DRESS  DATA  FOR  TALL.  SHORT,  STOUT 
AND  THIN  GIRLS — New-as-tomorrow  ideas  about 
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know  organized  into  a  chart,  so  you  can  see  at 
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y-  SPORTSWEAR  FOR  TALL,  SHORT.  STOUT  AND 
THIN  GIRLS — Now  that  sport  clothes  are  being 
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them.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c), 
self-addressed  envelope,  or  see  special  THREE- 
IN-ONE  offer  □ 

y  ACCESSORIES  FOR  TALL.  SHORT,  STOUT  AND 
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outfit!  How  to  glamor-up  your  clothes  with 
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envelope,  or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


CRYSTAL  BALL  DEPT. 

HANDWRITING  ANALYSIS  (10c)  —Send  in  a  sam- 
ple of  your,  or  your  Gl's  handwriting  in  ink 
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feels.  Send  10c  for  each  analysis,  and  enclose 
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Handwriting  Analysis  only,  ADDRESS  YOUR 
ENVELOPE  TO:  MISS  SHIRLEY  SPENCER,  c/o 
MODERN  SCREEN   □ 


YOUR    INDIVIDUALLY     COMPILED  HOROSCOPE 

(10c)    Fill  in  your  birthdate:  Year  

Month  Date  Time  

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Street  

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Send  10c  to  149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  N.Y. 
No  self-addressed  envelope  required. 

fi/ter/a/  three-in-one  offer 

Here's  how  to  save  postage  by  taking  ad- 
vantage of  our  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer: 
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Write  to:  Service  Dept..  Modern  Screen,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16.  N.  Y.  Don't  forget  your  zone  number! 


You'll  see  all  fhe  hilari- 
ous stunts  that  make 
America  Roar  from  coast- 
to-coast  every  week! 


starring 


r°n-the  scre&i 


Because  Paramount  Has  Doubled 
The  Fun  By  Adding  The  Radio  Favorites 
of  50  Million  Listeners,  Plus 
Famous  Screen  Stars ! 


Jack  Haley 
Helen  Walker 
Rudy  Vallee 
Ozzie  Nelson 
Philip  Reed 


with 


The  Vagabonds 

Bob  Graham  •  Roy  Atwell 


and 


Art  Linkletter 


m4  ite 


People  Are  Funny 
Radio  Show 


Guest  artist 


Frances  Langford 

Produced  and  Directed  by  SAM  WHITE 
Screenplay  by  Maxwell  Shane,  David  Lang 
Original  Story  by  David  Lang 
A  Pine-Thomas  Production 
A  Paramount  Picture 


ORDER 


"A  Guy 
Could 
Change" 

A  Republic 
Picture   


■p      NOW  ^ 

P     AVAIIABLEI  ^ 

ASK  YOUR  A 
PEAK!  Ji 


Hollywood  glamour  and  feminine  flattery 
for  you!  New,  ruffled  "Angel  Wing" 
shoulders;  double  kick-pleats  in  skirt;  slim, 
fitted  waist,  and  contrasting  embroidery! 
Navy,  Brown,  Powder,  Red,  Green. 

Sizes  10  to  20.  $5.98,  plus  postage. 

Blouse  Beauty— High,  round  neck... 
ruffled  cuffs.  Smooth  rayon  in  white 
only.  Sizes  32  to  38.  $3.98,  plus  postage. 

WE  MAIL  C.  O.  D. -However,  you  can  speed 
delivery  and  save  C.  O.  D.  charges  by  enclos- 
ing check  or  money  order,  plus  25c  postage. 

BETTY  CO-ED  OF  HOLLYWOOD 

Dept. 399  6  2  53  Hollywood  Blvd..  Hollywood  28.  California 


PROMPT  DELIVERY 


-  BETTY  CO-ED  OF  HOLLYWOOD,  Dept.  399 
6253  Hollywood  Blvd.,  Hollywood  28,  Calif. 
Please  send  "Angel  Wing"  Jumper  at  $5.98,  plus;  postaje. 
Navy  □    Brown  □    Powder  □    Red  □    Green  □ 

(Mark  1st  and  2nd  color  choices] 
Size:    10    12    14    16    18    20        (Circle  ,iu  wanted) 
Please  send  "Blouse  Beauty"  at  $3.98,  pi<"  postage 

Size:       32       34      36      38  (Circle  lire  wanted) 

(Please  pr'nr  name  etc.  plainly) 

NAME  

STREET.  

CITY  ZONE  STATE  


convinces  you  that  the  whole  thing  really 
happened.  Quite  a  guy,  our  John.  He  has 
considerable  assistance  from  Walter  Bren- 
nan  as  an  irascible,  old  riverboat  captain. 
Vera  Hruba  Ralston  helps  the  scenery,  and 
Mike  Mazurki  plays  one  of  his  more- 
muscle-than-brains  killers.  The  plot  is 
easy  to  follow,  since  you've  seen  it  all 
before,  but  it  moves  so  fast  you  forget 
about  that.  It  starts  moving  when  Devlin 
(John  Wayne)  and  his  lovely  bride,  San- 
dra (Vera  Ralston)  take  the  train  out  of 
Chicago.  Devlin  thinks  they  are  headed 
for  California  where  his  gambling  talents 
will  come  in  handy  in  the  Gold  Rush  ter- 
ritory. But  he  has  made  the  mistake  of 
letting  the  little  woman  buy  the  tickets, 
and  Sandra  has  an  idea  that  her  good- 
looking  husband  would  be  better  off  among 
the  placid  wheatfields  of  Dakota. 

She's  probably  right,  only  the  wheat- 
fields  turn  out  to  be  not  so  placid.  By  the 
time  the  Devlins  arrive  in  Fargo,  they 
have  been  shot  at,  robbed,  seen  the  smoking 
remains  of  farms  burned  down  by  "In- 
dians," and  had  a  riverboat  sunk  under 
them.  Devlin  begins  to  get  interested.  For 
one  thing,  he  doesn't  believe  the  "Indian" 
story.  He  thinks  those  farms  were  burned 
at  this  time,  when  the  harvest  is  almost 
ready,  so  somebody  can  buy  the  wheat- 
fields  cheap.  It  doesn't  take  him  long  to 
identify  the  "somebody"  as  a  suave  rascal 
named  Bender,  who  owns  half  of  Fargo 
and  would  like  to  own  the  rest. 

Bender's  henchmen,  including  the  half- 
breed  Collins  (Mike  Mazurki),  regularly 
shoot  their  way  through  law  and  order. 
But  they  make  the  mistake  of  robbing  the 
Devlins  of  twenty  thousand  dollars — all  the 
money  they  have  in  the  world.   Devlin  be- 


gins to  have  a  personal  interest  in  rousing 
the  landowners  to  the  peril  they  are  in. 
Bender  is  tricky  and  clever,  and  he 
has  managed  things  like  this  before. 
He  doesn't  expect  to  have  any  real 
trouble  in  disposing  of  Devlin.  So  the 
shooting  gets  faster  and  louder,  with 
various  fist-fights  thrown  in  for  good 
measure.  You'll  get  plenty  of  action  in 
Dakota."  Rep. 

Dakota  is  based  on  the  real  life  experi- 
ences of  producer-director  Joseph  Kane's 
father,  Frances  Inman  Kane,  a  Lt.  in  the 
British  army  who  retired  and  came  to  the 
Dakotas  for  his  health.  Ancestor  Kane 
played  a  great  part  in  the  formation  of 
the  states.  .  .  .  Vera,  who  was  working 
simultaneously  in  "Murder  In  The  Music 
Hall,"  would  complete  a  scene  for  "Da- 
kota," in  which  she  wore  heavy  woolen 
30-pound  gowns,  rush  over  to  the  "Hall" 
set  and  change  to  skates  and  the  briefest 
of  costumes.  .  .  .  They  had  a  football  team 
on  the  set:  Three  members  of  the  cast  are 
in  the  football  Hall  of  Fame.  John  Wayne 
(backfield)  was  voted  All-American  of 
University  of  California.  Ward  Bond,  also  of 
U.  of  C.  and  Mike  Mazurki,  All-American 
tackle  at  Manhattan  College,  N.  Y.,  are  both 
pigskin  legends.  .  .  .  Incidentally,  Andy  Mc- 
Laglen,  offspring  of  Victor,  makes  his  de- 
but as  assistant  to  director  Kane.  .  .  .  Three 
time  Oscar  winner  Walter  Brennen  com- 
pleted the  picture  just  as  his  daughter,  Ruth, 
was  given  a  contract.  .  .  .  John  Wayne  dis- 
located his  shoulder  in  one  of  the  rough- 
em-up  fight  sequences.  Also  on  the  disabled 
list  was  Ward  Bond.  Because  of  a  year-old 
auto  accident,  he  had  to  hobble  around  the 
set  with  the  aid  of  a  cane. 


FREE  OFFER! 

Here  we  are  on  the  same  corner,  giving  things  away  for  free  again.  But  you're  all 
so  wonderful,  we  can't  help  it.  So,  we're  sending  500  Dell  magazines  absolutely 
FREE  to  500  of  you  who  fill  in  the  Questionnaire  below  and  mail  it  to  us  no  later 
than  January  20.  There's  no  hurry,  either,  because  the  first  500  aren't  necessarily 
the  winners.  Read  the  stories  carefully  before  you  send  in  your  answers.  It's  your 
honest,  thoughtful  opinion  that  we  want.  And — who  knows — you  may  be  one  of 
the  lucky  500! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  February  issue?  Write  1,  2,  3 
at  the  right  of  your  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  choices. 

On  the  Town  (Cornel  Wilde)  □      Thrill  of  a  Romance 


Rogue  Male  (Bob  Mitchum)  □ 

Happiness,  Inc.  (Betty 

Grable-Harry  James)  □ 

Bob  Walker's  Life  Story 

(Part  Two)  □ 

Strictly  from  Dixie 

(Jerome  Courtland)  □ 

Watch  Bill  Williams  by 

Hedda  Hopper  □ 


( Esther  Williams)  □ 

Butch  Bey  (Turhan  Bey)  Q 

Hobo  Hamlet  (Dane  Clark)  □ 

$Ir.  Big  and  Mrs.  Little 

(The  Don  Taylors)  Q 

Lana  by  James  M.  Cain 

( Lana  Turner)  Q 

Teen  Dream  ( Diana  Lynn)  □ 

Good  News  by  Louella  Parsons  O 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them  1,  2,  3,  in 
order  of  preference  


.  City  Zone ....  State . 


My  name  is  

My  address  is  

I  am  years  old. 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


"Frankly,  this  was  written  for  lazy  people 


What  This  Book  Is  Doing  for  Others 


'My  sister  is  very  short,  weighed  196.  Was 
so  thrilled  to  be  losing  weight,  would  even 
get  up  in  the  night  to  weigh  herself.  Now 
weighs  120,  is  healthier,  happier."  — 
Mich  igan. 

"Kindly  forward  me  the  book.  Have  a  friend 
who  lost  34  lbs.,  is  now  ever  so  much  better 
in  health,  appearance." — California. 
"Most  sensible  way  to  reduce  I  have  seen 
yet.  I  m  a  registered  nurse  and  can  fully 
appreciate  sensibility  of  this  means."—  Mass. 
"Lost  35  bs.  in  41  days.  Compliments  to 
your  book."— W.  Va. 


—who  want  to  get  slim 
—who  don't  like  to  exercise 
—who  do  like  to  eat!" 


Lose  10  Pounds  in  10  Days,  Yet  Enjoy 
Glowing  Health,  3  Delicious  Meals 
a  Day — No  Exercise  or  Drugs! 

HERE  at  last  is  the  pleasant,  sensible, 
scientific  way  to  REDUCE.  To  see 
those  unattractive  bulges  of  fat 
"smooth  out"  and  disappear  as  if  by  magic, 
at  the  rate  of  a  pound  a  day.  To  enjoy  the 
frankly  admiring  glances  that  a  slim  figure 
always  attracts.  This  slenderizing  miracle 
can  be  accomplished  quickly,  safely,  com- 
fortably— whether  you  are  a  man  or  woman, 
young  or  old.  And,  best  of  all — 

WITHOUT  starving  yourself!  (You'll  eat 
three  delicious,  satisfying  meals  a  day,  in- 
cluding a  big  breakfast.) 

WITHOUT  the  drudgery  of  exercise!  (You 
can  be  as  lazy  as  you  please.) 

WITHOUT  drugs,  pills,  or  compounds! 
(They  can  definitely  hurt  your  health  and 
appearance.) 

WITHOUT  steam  baths  or  massage!  (So 
often  they  don't  work — and  they  are  usually 
terribly  expensive.) 

How  then?  By  simply  knowing  certain 
newly  discovered  scientific  secrets  of  food 
selection! 

It's  Easy — Once  Yeu  Know  THIS  Fact! 

"Oh,  of  course,"  you  may  reply,  "it's  just  a 
matter  of  calories."  But  IS  it?  Suppose  you 
had  to  choose  between  a  large  glass  of  orange 
juice  and  half  a  sirloin  steak?  You  would 
probably  reach  for  the  orange  juice.  Actually, 
the  steak  would  give  you  15  times  as  many 
precious  ENERGY  calories.  Yet  the  total  num- 
ber of  calories  in  each  is  roughly  the  same! 

So  you  see,  it  ISN'T  "just  a  matter  of  calories." 
It's  the  KIND  of  calories  that  makes  the  big 
difference! 

Calories,  Yes— But  Which  KIND? 

Some  foods  are  high  in  fat-producing  calories. 
Others  are  high  in  energy-producing  calories. 
Science  has  discovered  that  if  you  eat  the  first 
kind  of  foods,  your  body  produces  LESS 
ENERGY  and  MORE  FAT.  But  if  you  eat  the 
second  kind,  your  body  produces  MORE 
ENERGY  and  LESS  FAT! 

This  simple  scientific  secret  explains  why 
much  ordinary  "dieting"  fails  .  .  .  and  why  "The 
New  Way  To  Eat  and  Get  Slim"  (as  explained 
by  Donald  G.  Cooley  in  his  new  book)  produces 
such  amazing  results. 

How  Much  Do  You  WANT  To  Lose? 

You  get  a  "10-DAY  MIRACLE  DIET,"  by  which 
you  can  lose  a  pound  a  day  for  ten  days;  a  diet 
for  losing  10  pounds  a  month;  and  a  "stay-slim" 
diet,  so  when  you  reach  alluring  slenderness,  you 
can  stay  there.  You  don't  have  to  stick  to  each 
day's  menus  either;  Substitution  Table  gives  you 
dozens  of  other  meats  and  foods  you  may  eat 
instead.  These  diets  give  you  a  slimmer  figure, 
and  also  (for  definite  scientific  reasons)  greater 
health  and  beauty! 

Examine  It  5  Days  FREE 

It  costs  only  a  postage  stamp  to  have  this  book  delivered  to 
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be  sent  to  you  with  the  understanding  that  you  may  keep  it 
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If,  even  in  that  short  time,  you  are  NOT  convinced  that  this 
book  offers  you  the  quick,  safe,  pleasant  "lazy-way"  to  reduce — 
then  simply  return  it  to  us  without  the  slightest  obligation. 
Otherwise  it  is  yours  to  keep  for  only  $2.0  0,  plus  few  cents 
postage. 

A  person  that  is  slim  and  healthy,  full  of  energy  and  joy  of 
living,  attracts  attention  anytime,  anywhere:  wins  popularity, 
success,  admiration  of  others.  So  get  your  copy  immediately. 
Mail  the  Free  Examination  coupon  (without  money,  if  you 
wish)  at  once.  WILFRED  FUNK,  Inc.,  Dept.  R  352.  354 
Fourth  Avenue.  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 


PARTIAL  CONTENTS 

Showing  HOW  This  Book  Takes 
Off  the  Pounds  and  the  Bulges 

I.  THE  SURE  WAY  TO  REDUCE 

The  "Lazy  Way"  to  Lose  Counting     Calories  Isn't 

Weight.   How  you  can  re-  Enough.     How    to  pick 

duce  Quickly  and  safely—  "galloping  calories"  that 

no    exercise,    no    hunger  slim  you  faster, 

pangs,   no   drugs,   girdles  Exercise    Is    a  Practical 

or  gadgets.  Joker.  Why  exercise  alone 

, .  is  a  poor  way  to  reduce. 

How  Much  Do  You  Want  No  Drugs.  No  Sweat,  No 

to   Reduce  — How   Fast?  charge.     Why    vou  can 

lour  choice  of  diets  that  ignore  costly  sweat  baths, 

reduce    you     rapidly    or  reducing  drugs,  dangerous 

gradually,  as  you  wish.  fasting,  etc. 

II.  WHY  YOU   DON'T  GET  SLIM 
Coffee,  Tea,  Cocoa,   Milk,  strange  role  of  alcohol  in 
Water,  Soft  Drinks.   How  building  fat. 

beverages     affect     weight  „,.  .  ^ 

control— with    some    sur-  You    Ought  to 

prises  Weigh.    Strip   tease  test. 

Tables  to  find  your  ideal 
-    ,  *  .,    „  .    .  weight.    Why  the  "gland 

Cocktail    Calories.     The  alibi"  is  out. 

III.  YOU  CRACK  DOWN  ON  CALORIES 
Three  Kinds  of  Calories,  pound  a  day  for  10  days 
How  each  kind  affects  Daily  menus  for  10  days' 
weight.  Why  you  needn't  Heartier  Diets.  3  corn- 
give  up  sweets,  butter,  plete  daily  diets  for  losing 
etc.,  completely.  10  pounds  a  month.  How 
How  Proteins  Help  You  to  substitute  other  foods 
Get  Slim.  One  secret  of  you  like  better.  2  diets 
reducing    without    feeling  for  losing   8%   pounds  a 


hungry  or  sacrificing 
tality. 


month.  2  basic  "STAT 
Slim"  diets. 


The  Simple  Arithmetic  of  Two- Minute  Calorie- 
Reducing.  Easy  way  to  Counting  Table.  At-a- 
set    your    calorie    quota  glance    chart  showing 


whether  you're  a  house 
wife,  factory  worker,  steno- 
grapher, etc. 


kinds   of  calories 
meat   dishes.   4  kinds  of 
milk,  13  fish.  10  kinds  of 


19  breads,  cereals,  16  pies, 
pastries,  17  fats,  sugars, 
syrups.  7  nuts.  11  soups. 
18  "little  things,"  15 
beverages.  Reducing  values 


These  Diets  Will  Reduce  See'!„at"2,  ^  servings 
You  Safely.  Best  propor-  H  .vegetables,  .29  fruits 
tions  of  food  elements  as- 
sured by  the  new  way  of 
calorie-counting. 
The  Fastest  SAFE  Slim- 
ming Program.  Diet  safe-  of  ' each^  group 
guards  that  make  speedy  Eat  ^  °  often  as  You 
weight  reduction  safe  for  Want.  Exploding  the  no- 
the  overweight.  food  -  between-meals  myth 

10-Day    Miracle    Diet,  and   the  nothing-but-cof- 
Safe,  easy  way  to  lose  a  fee-for-breakfast  error. 
iV.    YOU   COUNT  VOUR  VITAMINS  THE 
EASY  WAY 
You    Needn't    Pay    Extra  Pregnant  Women 
for  Vitamins.   How  to  get  Lightning  Vitamin  Calcu- 
all  you  need  from   foods  lator.    Vitamin   units  in 
alone.  '  78  common  foods  in  handy 

Your    Daily    Vitamin  chart    enabling    you  to 
Needs.    Complete  table  check  your  daily  intake  in 
showing  units  of  A,  Bl,  a  few  seconds. 
C,  G  and  D  needed  daily  Cook  Them  Kindly.  9  sim- 
for    Adults,    Adolescents,  pie  rules  to  preserve  vita- 
Children,    Infants   and  mlns  in  preparing  foods. 
V.    EAT  FOR   BEAUTY.  CHARM  AND— YES, 
REALLY— SEX  APPEAL 
No  Pep,   No  Joy,   No  beautiful  skin. 
Friends.  Is  this  you?  How  Teeth  You  Love  to  Brush, 
you  can  remedy  it — at  the  Food  minerals  for  healthy 
dinner  table!  teeth. 

Skin  You  Love  to  Touch.  The  Diet  Cure  for  Consti- 

How  Yitamin  A  and  other  pation.  "Scare"  warnings 
elements  promote  clear,  vs.  truth. 

VI.    EATING  FOR  "OOMPH" 
Food   and   Glamour.    Re-  Anemia    Wins    No  Love 

lation  of  what  you  eat  to  Prizes.  Red-blooded  "ro- 
personal    appearance,    vi-  mance"  minerals;  how  to 
tality.    sparkle    and    sex  get  them, 
appeal. 


WILFRED  FUNK,  Inc.,  Dept.  R  352 
354  Fourth  Ave.,  New  York  10,  N.  Y. 

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25 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 


I  am  bored  with  going  steady,  but  I'm 
afraid  if  I  burn  my  bridges,  meaning  him, 
I'll  be  sweating  out  Saturday  nights  from 
now  on.  What  do  you  think?  H.A., 
Shenandoah,  Iowa. 

We  see  what  you  mean,  but  it  ain't 
necessarily  so.  Can't  you  talk  the  thing 
over  with  your  guy,  telling  him  that 
you've  come  to  think  "going  steady"  is 
sort  of  young,  sort  of  sophomore,  an  '  not 
very  smart?  Let  him  know  that 
you're  still  ever  so  fond  of  him  and  still 
want  to  see  him,  but  not  on  the  old  basis. 
Agree  to  noise  it  around  among  the  gals 
that  you've  very  amicably  come  unglued, 
and  ask  him  to  let  the  boys  know,  too. 

My  mother  says  no  nice  girl  kisses  a  boy 
until  they're  engaged.  I  know  that's  slightly 
obsolete,  but  when  does  a  nice  girl  kiss 
a  boy?    J.B.,   Middletown,  Conn. 

You'll  like  an  awful  lot  of  boys  an 
awful  lot  before  you  run  into  That  Man, 
and  it  would  be  pretty  rough  if  you 
couldn't  kiss  a  few  of  them  now  and 
then.  Nowadays  a  kiss  can  mean,  "I 
like  you"  as  well  as  "I  love  you,"  and  if 
you're  very  sure  your  kiss  means  that, 
we  don't  think  your  mom  will  dis- 
approve. 

I  am  crazy  about  one  of  my  sister's  guys. 
S7f<?  in  turn  can  take  him  or  leave  him.  Am 
I  justified  in  making  a  small  play  for  him? 
I.  F.,  Elmira,  N.  Y. 

All's  fair,  you  know.  But  why  not 
be  a  square-shooter  and  talk  to  your 
sister  about  it.  Since  she's  not  mad 
about  him  herself,  she  might  be  able  to 
throw  you  a  little  technical  advice,  and 
also  give  you  a  gorgeous  build-up  to 
him.  Next  time  he  asks  her  for  a  date 
'when  she  already  has  one,  have  her  say 
casually,  "I  have  a  date,  Joe,  but  come 
on  over  anyway.  Maybe  we  can  get 
Betty  to  play  bridge  with  us."  (That's 
you.)  He'll  come  that  first  time  out  of 
devotion  to  your  sister,  but  if  you  and 
she  play  your  (Continued  on  page  131) 


Peace  time,  wintertime,  mean  just 
one  thing— it's  sigh  guy  time.   How  to  find  'em, 
catch  'em  and  above  all  else — hang  onto  'em! 


JEAN  KINKEAD 


■  Wintertime  is  the  best  time  in  the  world  for  thot  world- 
shaking  business  of  meeting  new  men.  They  come  out  of 
their  lairs  then  and  are  all  over  the  place.  Skating  down  at 
the  pond,  their  red-and-black  checked  shirttails  flying,  zinging 
down  the  hills  on  their  out-sized  toboggans,  leering  at  you 
over  their  hot  chocolates  at  the  local  spa.  Wintertime,  more- 
over, is  party  time.  There  are  the  nice,  informal  ones — a 
crackling  open  fire,  cider  and  doughnuts,  Goodman  on  the 
victrola;  and  there  are  the  glitter  ones  where  the  lads  turn 
out  in  tuxes  and  the  gals  wear  something  long  and  swish. 
Wintertime.  It's  heaven  if  you're  in  the  groove.  And  if 
you're  not — you  can  be. 

Go  on  out!  The  important  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  go 
where  things  are  happening,  and — rather  than  go  with  a 
group  of  unattractive,  unattached  females,  go  by  yourself. 
If  you  can't  skate  well,  practice  on  some  secluded  bit  of  ice 
until  you're  at  least  a  fairly  vertical  skater,  then  take  to  the 
pond,  looking  your  smoothest.  Slacks  and  a  nice  loud  shirt, 
a  short  velvet  skirt  and  a  basque  jacket,  your  snow  suit  with 
a  bright,  bright  scarf.  There'll  be  boys  you  know  down  there, 
and  no  matter  if  your  heart  is  doing  barrel  rolls,  speak  to 
them.  It  doesn't  much  matter  what  you  say — "The  ice  looks 
beautiful,"  or  "This  is  more  fun  than  Latin  Class."  Don't 
linger  or  force  yourself  on  them,  but  let  them  know  you're 
alive.  Afterwards,  when  the  kids  are  taking  off  their  skates 
and  getting  ready  to  go,  contrive  to  {Continued  on  page  92) 


o4sk  JUNE  COX  -i  peek-a-boo  baby"  in  1919,  she's  a  pin-up  girl  today! 

Wonder  if  she  knew,  when  that  baby  picture  she's  holding  was  snapped, 
that  some  day  her  lovely  complexion  would  make  her  a  famous  model.  (She 
might  have  suspected  it— for  she  was  an  Ivory  baby!) 


No  wonder  fashion  designers  like  June  to 
model  new  styles— she's  one  of  America's 
,  most  beautiful  girls. 

J  une  prizes  her  complexion  most  of  all. 
Mer  beauty  secret?  "Regular,  gentle  care 
with  Ivory— the  soap  many  doctors  ad- 
vise," lune  says,  "just  as  it  was  back  in 
1919  when  I  had  my  first  Ivory  Bath!" 


What's  better  than  a  pin-up  picture?  Boys 
who've  been  overseas  will  tell  you  it's 
meeting  June  Cox  in  person. 

And  she  says  she's  not  engaged,  so  a 
soldier  can  look  at  her  lovely  Ivory  com- 
plexion and  dream — can't  he? 

(If  you  want  a  softer,  smoother,  lovelier 
complexion,  change  to  Ivory  Care — and 
get  That  Ivory  Look!) 


Meet  Mr.  Chips,  Miss  Cox's  talented 
spaniel.  Maybe  you'd  sit  up  and  beg  for 
a  clear,  fresh  skin  like  June's.  Here's  her 
beauty  secret: 

"It  doesn't  pay  to  be  careless  about  your 
complexion — whether  you  model  for  mil- 
lions of  eyes  or  just  one  special  pair. 
Change  to  regular,  gentle  cleansings 
with  pure,  mild  Ivory  Soap." 

Don't  Waste  Ivory  —  it  contains  scarce  materials 


leaves  vour  hoi 
so  lustrous,  wet  s 
easw  to  manaq 


Queen  of  the  winter  scene  with  sparkling  h; 
All  aglow  in  the  sunlight  or  firelight. 

That's  Drene-lovely  hair. 
Cover  Girl  Shari  Herhert  shows  you 
these  exciting  hair-dos  to  go  with  the  tlii 
you"ll  do  and  the  clothes  you'll  wear 
on  a  gay  winter  week-end. 
"Changing  your  hair  style  is  part  of  the  fin 
says  Shari.  "And  your  hair  is  so  eas\  to  I 
after  a  Drene  wash.  This  wonderful  sham 

with  Hair  Conditioning  action 
leaves  hair  so  smooth  and  easy  to  nianas 
You'll  love  the  way  Drene  brings  out 
all  the  gleaming  beauty  of  your  hair  .  . 
as  much  as  335c  more  brilliance  than  any  -< 
Drene  is  not  a  soap  shampoo. 
It  never  leaves  any  dull  dingy  film  on  ha 
the  way  all  soaps  do. 
Fashion  models,  like  Shari  Herbei 
are  always  so  smartly  groomed. 
No  unsightly  dandruff,  not  when 

you're  a  Drene  Girl !  Stai 
today.  Use  Drene  Shampoo  w 
Hair  Conditioning  action  or  . 
your  beauty  shop  to  use  it. 


I  ! 


-43 


•  WINCING  DOWN  A  SKI  SLOPE. 

want  a  hair-do  that  stays  put. 
fasten  your  hair  at  the  nape  of  y< 
neck  with  a  barrette."  advises  Shi 
"and  comb  under  into  a  smooth  pa 
boy."  No  other  shampoo  .  .  .  01 
Drene  with  Hair  Conditioning  act 
. . .  will  make  vour  iiair  look  so  lovt 


Wonderful  Hair-do*  for  Vour  Winter  Week -End 

•  GLAMOUR  BY  FIRELIGHT.  .  ."Change  to  something  romantic  for  evening." 
Shari  says.  "Sweep  up  your  hair  and  arrange  in  four  or  five  long  shining  curls." 
For  that  wonderful  shining-smooth  look,  follow  Shari"s  example  and  be  a  Drene 
Girl.  So  simple  yet  really  dramatic! 


Shampoo  with 
Hair  Conditioning,  Action- 


V 


I  guess  this  Valentine  season  is  as  good  a  time  as  any  for  a 
guy  to  blush.  I'm  blushing  crimson  this  minute  because  I'm  a  gentleman  of  the  old 
school  who  doesn't  like  to  use  the  word  "bathroom"  in  mixed  company.  But  before 
I  get  on  that  subject.  I've  got  to  tell  you  about  a  fascinating  S21.000  survey  we're 
making. 

The  point  of  the  survey  is  to  find  out  who  reads  MODERN 
SCREEN.  By  now,  most  of  the  answers  are  in,  and  I  must  confess  we  don't  know 
whether  to  be  flattered  or  bust  out  cryin'.  Everybody  reads  MODERN  SCREEN, 
says  the  survey!  And  all  along  we  thought  we  were  so  young  and  exclusive. 
Daughters  read  us.   Mothers  read  us.    Fathers  and  brothers,  too. 

w  e  are  your  familv  magazine,  and  we  usually  wind  up  perched 
on  the  edge  of  the  bathtub  (see,  I'm  back  in  that  room,  blush,  blush).  Mom  goes 
for  Louella.  Hedda,  Fannie  Hurst  and  all  the  bigshots.  Sis's  bubble-bath  reverie  is 
Pete  Lawford.  And,  let's  face  it,  if  Dad  doesn't  stop  shaving  with  that  Williams 
gal  propped  up  in  front  of  him,  he'll  be  sorry.  Yirp,  everybody  reads  us.  So  says 
the  survey  .  .  .  and  our  tub  runneth  over! 

^^11  this  talk  leads  up  to  this.  With  a  throb  in  my  voice.  I'd 
hke  to  say,  "You  are  my  Valentine!"  And  I  don't  mean  just  you — but  the  whole 
darned  familv. 


P.  S.  Please  don't  get  any  tooth  paste  on  Shirley  Temple. 


he  Wildes  eat  shashlik  at  the  Charochka.  No  double  talk,  trans- 
ation  reads:  "Skewered  lamb  and  tomatoes  at  the  Loving  Cup." 
'almist  was  cagey,  read  Pat's  palm,  then  whispered  the  results. 


■  When  you're  seven  years  old,  they  call  it 
nooping.  When  you're  big  and  pretty  and 
1'wood  Ed.  Sylvia  Wallace,  they  call  it  over- 
tearing.  So  when  Sylvia  just  happened  to  be 
round  during  Cornel's  phone  plotting  for 
'at's  birthday  surprise,  she  didn't  twitch  a 
luscle.  Just  looked  at  the  ceiling  and  prac- 
ically  sprouted  an  extra  set  of  ears.  "Kin  I 
ome?"  she  asked,  sophisticated  as  all  get-out. 
Come  where?"  "With  you — where  you  go- 
ng?" "Well,  it's  this  way,"  grinned  Mr.  W., 
we're  going  to  a  progressive  dinner."  And 
s  Sylvia  told  us  to  tell  you,  it's  this  way: 
i  progressive  dinner  is  a  meal  in  stages.  You 
:art  off  for  your  oysters  on  the  half  shell  at 
.estaurant  A.  Then  you  smack  your  lips,  pay 
le  bill  and  dash  to  Restaurant  B  in  time  to 
ear  "Soup's  on!"  And  so  it  goes,  different 
ourse,  different  eatery.  The  Wildes  had  a 
onderful  time!   (More  pix  on  next  page.) 


The  Temple  of  Heaven  features  round  walls,  tapestries,  fried  shrimp  and  a 
benevolent  Mr.  Yee,  who  alternately  manages  Heaven  and  rhapsodizes  over 
the  pea  pods  casserole.  P.  and  C.  had  the  pods — also  chopstick  difficulties. 


31 


Obviously,  Pat  doesn't  believe  in  that  "a  minute  in  your  mouth,  2  hours 
in  your  stomach,  a  lifetime  on  your  hips"  routine.  Mr.  W.  went  wild  every 
time  an  orchestra  would  strike  up  the  Polonaise — happened  4  times. 


32 


"Mirror,  mirror  on  the  wall  .  .  ."  No  fun  house  mirror  is  going  to  make  Pat  ugly, 
but  hubby  had  to  leave  (while  he  was  still  ahead)  and  go  chase  fugitive  poodle 
Coco  down  the  Strip.  Poor  Coco,  cooped  up  in  a  rumble  seat — and  no  hydrant. 


>fting  incense,  candlelight,  haunting  gypsy  fiddles,  ahh.  Pat,  (an 
Murray  grad)  and  Cornel  (but  awful!),  melt  into  a  waltz,  look 
Iful — then    return    to    crushed    pea    soup    at    Little  Hungary. 


me  in  the  wee  hours  after  a  big  night.  Two  wild  deer  met  them 
the  door,  Pat  shrieked  "Stop,  you'll  crush  my  gownless  strap!" 
C.  murmured  "I  love  you"  in  6  languages.  Sooo  progressive.  .  .  . 


■  One  morning  last  year,  a  char- 
acter named  Bob  Mitchum  tumbled 
out  of  bed,  slupped  some  black  cof- 
fee, looked  at  his  watch  and  hopped 
into  his  rusty  jaloppy.  He  was  late 
for  work  at  a  picture  he  was  mak- 
ing at  Columbia  studios. 

He  wheeled  the  heap  wildly  down 
the  street,  skidded  it  inside  the  gates 
with  a  dusty  wave  at  the  startled 
gateman,  dug  a  key  out  of  his  jeans 
and  pushed  open  the  door  of  his 
dressing  room.  He  had  his  clothes 
half  off  before  the  scenery  regis- 
tered. The  place  was  full  of  cor- 
sets, girdles,  skirts,  rats,  snoods  and 
dainty  feminine  unmentionables. 

"What  the  .  .  .!"  expostulated 
Bob  and  got  the  heck  out.  He  raced 
over  to  the  front  office  spouting  in- 
dignation. "Hey,"  he  demanded. 
"What  goes  on?  What  dame  has 
moved  into  my  dressing  room?" 

"What  do  you  mean  .  .  .  'your' 
dressing  room?" 

"You  heard  me,"  boiled  Bob.  "I'm 
making  a  picture  here.  You  know 
I'm  late.  I've  got  to  change  .  .  ." 

"You  were  making  one  here," 
they  told  him,  "but  that  was  last 
month." 

"Has  everyone  gone  nuts  at  Co- 
lumbia?" exploded  Bob. 

"This  isn't  Columbia,"  was  his 
reply.    "It's  Universal." 

Now  an  actor  who  can't  even  re- 
member (Continued  on  page  80) 


Unfettered  by  habit,  Bob  combs  his  hoir  by  running  his  hands  through  it.  Feels  the 
whether  he  gets  three  or  ten  hours  shut-eye.  Likes  to  coolt,  seasons  everything 
tabasco  sauce.    Used  to  smoke  a  pack  a  day,  now  skips  whole  days  without  a 


'Q$0€ 


A  rogue  ele- 
phant, says  Webster,  is  one 
that  leaves  the 

herd  and  roams  alone.    And  a 


rogue  male?  That's 
Bob  Mitchum! 


His  size  45  coat's  custom-made  to  cover  those 
enormous  shoulders,  yet  fit  that  dainty  thirty- 
inch  waist.    Thinks  wife  Dottie's  }ust  perfect. 


Josh  (for  formal  occasions,  James  Robin)  started 
talking  at  5  months,  is  still  going  strong  at 
4/2 .  Christopher's  2,  answers  faster  to  Cricket. 


Bob's  got  an  even  disposition,  which  helps  when 
feeding  Cricket.  Doesn't  rough-house  with  kids, 
says  "we  have  an  understanding  about  that." 

Bi^HMiHBSM^IHI 


What's  happiness? 


For  the  James*  it's  Sunday 


in  the  park,  hide  V 


seek  in  the  living  room, 


and  Vickie's 


laughter  everywhere. 


HAPPINESS,  Inc. 


By  ABIGAIL  PUTNAM 


Those  fabulous  Grabl©  gams  look  best  in  ankle  strap  shoes,  claims  husband 
Harry  James,  but  Betty  lo-oves  to  loaf  in  wedgies.  She's  let  her  hair  go 
back  to  its  natural  light  brown  for  new  pic,  "The  Shocking  Miss  Pilgrim." 


■  If  you  lived  anywhere  near  the  south  end  of  New 
York's  Central  Park  last  summer,  you  might  have 
bumped  into  the  Jameses  on  their  regular  Sunday 
outing.  There 'd  have  been  four  of  them — tall,  kind- 
faced  Harry  pushing  the  Taylortot,  Vickie  babbling 
nonsense  to  perfect  strangers,  your  favorite  blonde 
pinup  walking  sedately  beside  them,  .with  black  poodle 
Punkin  prancing  on  a  red  leash. 

Down  Fifty-ninth  to  Fifth  Avenue,  across  to  the 
entrance  and  along  the  paths  till  they  came  to  a  spot 


that  was  partly  hidden  by  trees.  There  they'd  spread 
a  rug,  release  Vickie  from  her  stroller  and  Punkin  from 
his  leash  and,  like  millions  of  others  who  spend  Sun- 
day in  the  park,  sit  and  watch  the  young  things 
tumbling  around  on  the  grass. 

Once  in  a  while  a  kid  would  come  through  to  ask 
for  an  autograph  or  if  he  could  take  a  picture.  But 
not  often,  and  that  was  a  funny  thing.  You  can't  be 
Betty  Grable  and  Harry  James  in  New  York  without 
having  folks  stare  and  crowd  (Continued  on  page  131) 


He's  got  a  man-to-man  relationship  with  his  two  sons;  gorging  on 
sweets,  roaring  over  the  funnies  and  piano  practicing  as  a 
trio.     Even  Brooke,  the  6-month-old  Boxer,  is  "split"  3  ways! 


■  When  Bob  Walker  started  out  on  his  own  in  New 
York,  even  the  tiny  check  the  United  Fruit  Lines  owed 
him  for  his  four  months  at  sea  would  have  come  in 
handy,  He  was  broke  flatter  than  a  flounder. 

His  brother  Walt  gave  him  room  to  sleep  in  his 
Beekman  Place  apartment  and,  as  usual,  staked  him 
to  cigarettes  and  spending  money  for  a  few  days.  But 
Walt  was  just  getting  his  foot  in  on  his  law  career 
and  there  really  wasn't  space  for  Bob  in  the  apart- 
ment. Besides,  Bob  was  in  no  mood  to  mooch  any 
longer  off  relatives.  He  had  told  Aunt  Tenny,  when 


he  left  her  house  in  a  huff,  that  he  could  row  his  own 
canoe  and  it  was  that  for  him  now  or  nothing.  After 
all,  he  was  just  turned  nineteen  and  practically  a 
man,  and  one  of  those  old  independent  flare-ups  of  his 
boyhood  burned  bright. 

Like  anyone  out  of  a  job,  Bob  bought  a  newspaper, 
parked  on  a  bench  and  riffled  through  the  want  ads. 
Right  away  one  caught  his  eye. 

"Wallace  Co-operative  Lodge.  Inexpensive  room 
and  board  for  young  men.  Apply  Y.M.C.A." 

Bob  hotfooted  it  over  to  (Continued  on  page  97) 


38 


Slowly  it  cane  true.   The  dreams 

a  toy  wove  of  fane  and  wealth.  Of  a  great  love 

he'd  had — but  couldn't  hold,   (life  story,  concluded) 


Newest  Walker  wrinltle  is  strewing  tiny  metal  coin  savers  about  his  house, 
auto  dashboard  and  dressing  room.  Sure,  it  sayes  money,  but  pity  his 
pals  who  have  to 


juzi  Crandall's  one  gal  who  can  pry  him  loose  from  those 
•ermit  habits.  As  a  rule,  Bob's  up  at  7:00  and  working  till  6:00, 
vith  only  gallons  of  milk  and  a  double  lunch  to  tide  him  over. 


Maggie  O'Brien's  too  old  for  "this  little  piggy  went  to  mar- 
ket," not  young  enough  to  have  escaped  falling  "madly  in 
love"  with  Bob — who's  got  his  eye  on  her  for  his  Bob,  Jr. 


by  Kirtley  Baskette 


39 


Jerome  has  great  muscular  control.   He  used  to  spend  Sunday  mornings  on  the  porch,  motionless  for  hours,  photographing  shy  hummingbird 


He's  new9  eute.  and  awful 
young     to     have  hissed 

Shirley  T.  and  Irene  Dunne. 
Who?    Jerome  Courtland! 


■  If  you  had  known  Jerome  Courtland  from  the 
time  he  started  school  until  he  was  graduated 
from  Riverside  Military  Academy  in  Georgia, 
you  would  seldom  have  called  him  anything  ex- 
cept "Cojo."  A  fact  that  brings  to  your  atten- 
tion the  entire  complex  story  of  Cojo's  attaining 
the  name  of  "Jerome  Courtland." 

His  mother  is  Brentwood's  glamorous  and 
frightfully  popular  Mary  Wordeman,  who  has 
long  been  divorced — in  a  highly  civilized  and 
friendly  manner — from  Cojo's  father.  Cojo  had 


By  Nancy  Winslow  Squire 


vfter  appearing  with  Shirley  Temple  in  "Kiss  And  Tell,"  Jerome  got  hitches  to 
ne  studio  much  faster!  J.'s  recipe  for  successful  thumbing:  Look  well- 
messed;  wait  at  the  top  of  a  hill;  never  talk  unless  driver  talks  first! 


c  the  Navy  at  the  age  of  one,  Jerome's  now  Sgt.  Courtland  of  the  Army 


always  used,  not.  his  stepfather's  name,  but  his 
own  legal  moniker,  Courtland  Jourolmon. 

When  he  came  to  Hollywood,  after  school 
closed  in  1944,  he  arrived — all  six  feet,  four-and- 
one-half  inches  of  him — on  the  day  when  his 
mother  had  been  invited  to  a  party  which  would, 
she  knew,  be  attended  by  many  of  the  motion 
picture  great  who  are  her  intimate  friends. 

Said  Mary  Wordeman  to  her  son,  "Wouldn't 
you  like  to  come  along  on  this  pa'ty,  Cojo?  I 
think  it  may    be  so'ta  {Continued  on  page  76) 


pis 


Jerome  spends 
spare  time  sketching, 
drew  center  pic, 
a  Valentine,  at  15,  and 
gave  it  to  . .  .  his  mom! 


41 


I 


!  I. 


What  makes  him  Hopper's  Star 
of  the  Month?    Just  being  blonde,  and  boyish — 
and  looking  like  heaven  in  tweeds. 


■  I  happened  to  miss  the  preview  of 
"Those  Endearing  Young  Charms." 

Next  day  sixteen  people  got  on  the 
wire.  "What  about  this  Bill  Williams?" 

"What  about  him?"  I  asked,  and 
they  proceeded  to  tell  me. 

At  first  I  thought,  could  it  be  a 
plant?  But  the  calls  kept  coming  from 
scattered  sources  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  RKO  or  one  another.  So  I 
got  the  studio  to  run  the  picture  for 
me.  Having  been  oversold,  I  was  skep- 
tical. Plunked  myself  down  in  the 
darkened  projection  room -and  dared 
this  Bill  to  make  me  like  him. 

In  less  than  half  a  reel  he  had  me 
hooked.  By  the  time  I  walked  out,  he 
was  my  candidate  for  find-of-the-month. 
Without  Peter  Lawford's  polish  or  Guy 
Madison's  striking  good  looks,  he 
packed  his  own  wallop.  Something 
fresh  and  honest,  something  gay  and 
cocky  and  vibrant  like  young  America 
itself  coming  out  at  you  from  the 
screen.  .  .  . 

We  waited  to  see  if  you  readers 
would  agree  with  me  and,  like  the 
smart  cookies  you  are,  you  did.  Then 
I  invited  Bill  and  his  girl  to  lunch. 

His  girl's  Barbara  Hale.  They're  the 
cutest  pair  I've  met  in  a  twelve-month. 
Imagine  Jerry  walking  straight  out  of 
"Endearing  Young  Charms,"  and  that's 
Bill.  Barbara — well,  take  a  good  look 
at  this  page.  And  just  as  if  the  dream- 
puss  God  gave  her  wasn't  enough, 
she's  got  to  have  naturally  curly  hair 
yet.  Sitting  over  their  turkey,  they 
reminded  me  of  a  couple  of  good  chil- 
dren, waiting  to  get  outside  and  pinch 
themselves  to  {Continued  on  page  71) 


No  limit  to  handymon-movie  hero  Bill's  talents! 
He's  been  a  rancher,  dancer  (in  a  show  where 
Van  J.  chorus-boy'ed) — and  bit  part  opera  singer. 


Steady  gal  Barbara  Hale  trotted  along  to  the  presentation  cere- 
monies where  Hecfda  Hopper  dubbed  Bill  "the  most  promising  actor 
of  the  month."  And  the  award?  A  magnificent  engraved  Sruen  Watch. 


42 


Esther  knocked  herself  out  jitterbugging  on  "Hoodlum  Saint"  set  with  Bill  Powell,  then  went  out  dancing  with  husband-to-be  Ben  Gage. 


I 


i 


44 


A  wedding  of 


two  wonderful  people  who 


think  life  should 


be  lived  for  the  laughs: 


Esther  Williams 


and  Ben  Gage 


S/Sgt.  Gage  watched  closely,  to  see  that  Esther  dotted  her  i's,  crossed 
her  t's  in  filling  out  license.  For  V-J  Day,  Esther  gave  Ben  loudest  plaid 
shirt  she  could  find,  bought  in  shop  for  oversized  men.    He's  6  ft.  5! 


By  Cynthia  Miller 


|kll  brides  are  beautiful  .  .  .  but  Esther  had  a  headstart!  Bill  Powell  says,  "She 
:esn't  need  to  appear  in  bathing  suits;  that  girl  can  get  by  on  her  acting!" 
x  Gl  Gage  groomed  it  in  the  veteran's  dream:    Just  a  blue  serge  suit! 


■  It  was  a  lovely  wedding.  The  little  church 
was  lit  only  by  candles — tall  and  white  on  the 
altar  and  at  the  pews.  Garlands  of  white 
chrysanthemums  and  Shasta  daisies  roped  off 
the  aisle. 

Sonny  Tufts.  Ed  Gardner,  Ed  Morgan,  Bill 
Tracy — close  friends  of  Ben — showed  the 
guests  to  their  plaees.  As  Esther's  mother 
and  Ben's  were  seated,  Jane  Powell's  fresh 
young  voice  rose  in  Grieg's  "I  Love  You." 

In  the  vestry,  Esther's  eyes  suddenly 
brimmed.  Mel  McEldowney,  her  best  friend, 
knew  how  to  handle  a  crisis. 

"Don't  let  'em  spill  over.  It'll  ruin  your 
makeup — " 

Between  a  gulp  and  a  giggle,  Esther  forced 
them  back. 

Now  Jane  was  singing  "Because."  Then 
came  the  first  notes  of  the  Wedding  March. 
Mel  walked  down  the  aisle,  followed  by  Robin 
and  David,  Esther's  niece  and  nephew,  five 
and  four  years  old,  respectively.  Robin,  in 
flowered  silk,  carried  a  nosegay  of  sweetheart 
roses.  Holding  tight  to  her  hand,  David  looked 
around  in  an  interested  way. 

The  bride  wore  pink.  As  she  came  down, 
all  radiance  now  on  her  father's  arm,  her  eyes 
went  to  Ben,  standing  at  the  altar  with  his 
brother,  Captain  Chuck  Gage. 

In  the  simple  ceremony  the  guests  noted 
one  variation,  not  knowing  it  had  been  made 
at  Esther's  request. 

"Who  gives  this  woman  to  be  married  to 
this  man?" 

"Her  mother,  and  I,"  Mr.  Williams  re- 
plied. 

They  noted  too,  (Continued  on  page  87) 


45 


By  Kirtley  Baskette 


■  Dane  Clark  was  snoozing  peacefully  in  his  hotel 
room  one  morning  when  he  felt  a  rude  bang  on  his 
shoulder  and  heard  a  voice  like  a  cannon's  cough 
order  him  roughly: 
"Roll  over,  Mac!" 

Dane  rolled  over  and  stared  his  big  brown  eyes 
up  into  as  lethal  a  looking  sample  of  humanity 
as  he  ever  hopes  to  see.  The  mug  had  a  beak 
like  a  buzzard  and  eyes  as  cold  as  dry  ice.  He 
was  levelling  a  snub  snouted  automatic  at  approxi- 
mately the  level  of  Dane's  startled  brain  and  his 
trigger  finger  shook  almost  as  much  as  the  bed 
sheets  that  covered  Clark. 

"Uh-uh,"  he  finally  grunted  with  a  disappointed 
sigh.  "Wrong  guy.  I  must  have  de  wrong  room. 
My  mistake,  Pally."  And  he  slipped  the  rod 
back  into  his  pocket  and  shuffled  out. 

That  happened  not  in  Hollywood  or  before  a 
camera,  but  in  real  life  and  in  Chicago,  where 
Dane  was  playing  on  the  road  in  "Golden  Boy" 
and  sacking  down  nights  in  a  dim  little  hotel 
across  the  Chicago  River  between  shows.  Not  until 
he  checked  out  in  haste  did  he  discover  that  the 
hotel  was  owned  by  a  gang  of  mobsters  and  that 
the  wall  nicks  over  his  dresser  were  bullet  holes 
where  Buggsy  Somebody's  gang  had  rubbed  out 
Cock-Eye  Somebody  Else's  gang  and  where  a  simi- 
lar murder  party  had  been  scheduled  for  his  own 
narrow  escape. 

But  it's  one  typical  reason,  among  many,  why 
Hollywood  held  few  (Continued  on  page  113) 


V  Faye  Emerson  sympathizes  with  Dane,  whose  fans  mobbed  him  in  New 
York — including  a  300-pounder  who  landed  on  D.'s  toe!  Consolation: 
Dane  received  exhibitors'  award  as  "man  most  likelv  to  succeed  fastest." 


4^0 


Dane  Clark  took 

to  the  road  .  .  .  with  an  empty 

purse,  a  producer 

who  drank,  and  a  (flat) 

tired  old  car! 


A  At  17,  Dane  (back  row,  second  from  left)  starred  in  track,  football, 
baseball,  basketball  .  .  .  even  took  a  crack  at  the  prize  ring!  Tried  pro 
sports  before  crashing  The  Theatuh;  now  he's  starring  in  "Stolen  Life." 


dachrome  by  Willinger 


47 


SmilMMM  tft£u  a/t  fete  few  uwyj  tXtl*tcjs . 


^r-^ig  and  ji3ts.^ittJ 


e 


■  Don  hauled  the  bags  out.  Phyllis  looked  at 
them  as  if  they  were  snakes. 

"Fm  not  going  to  take  a  lot  of  stuff.  Just 
what  I  absolutely  need." 

"Sure."  said  Don.  "Make  believe  it's  a 
weekend  or  something." 

A  hopeful  gleam  lit  her  eye.  "Maybe  they 
won't  like  me  and  I'll  come  right  back.  Or  it 
might  be  a  flop." 

"Is  that  nice?"  he  demanded. 

"No."  She  wandered  toward  the  closet,  and 
her  voice  came  back  slightly  muffled.  "Look 
at  all  the  things  you  can  do  while  Fm  gone. 
Play  tennis,  go  to  football  games,  make  lots 
of  cabinets  for  when  we  have  our  own  home — " 

"Yeah,"  said  Don. 

She  turned  and  gave  him  an  overbright 
smile.  "I'll  write  every  day  and  tell  you  what 
to  do  tomorrow — " 

"That  reminds  me — "  He  fished  out  an 
envelope  and  handed  it  to  her.  "Your  going- 
away  present."  It  was  full  of  airmail  and  spe- 
cial delivery  stamps,  "No  wires.  The  budget 
can't  stand  'em." 

"I  hate  them  anyway.  They're  so  short,  they 
always  sound  mad." 

Suddenly  they  were  tight  in  each  other's 
arms,  all  the  silly  words  drowned  in  the  ache 
of  parting.  But  just  for  a  minute.  Then  Don 
lifted  her  chin.  "We're  pigs,"  he  said  firmly. 
"Look  at  the  millions  of  kids  who  really  had 
to  say  goodbye — "  (Continued  on  page  126 1 


At  long  iost,  somebody  took  pity  on  -frustrated  staff  photog  Bob  Beer- 
man!  Af  MODERN  SCREEN'S  Poll  Party,  the  Don  Taylors  invited  him  over 
to  muq  on  their  side  of  the  lens  (the  ham  side) — and  did  he  love  it! 


49 


'.ydachrome  by  Willinger 


Department  of  pointed  freckles  and  pained  expres- 
sions .  .  .  Ella  Raines  and  Gl  Bey  at  Ciro's  going 
wild  V  woolly  West  at  Press  Photographers'  Ball. 


Big  laugh  at  La  Rue's  [before  the  split-up)  over  Lana's  title,  "The  Albino  Girl."  Seems 
that  for  "The  Postman  Always  Rings  Twice"  she  had  to  dye  her  hair  almost  white.  But 
why's  T.  roaring?    In  "Night  In  Paradise"  he's  decked  out  as  an  80-year-old — plus  wig! 


THE  LAZY  LOOK  IS  STILL  THERE,  AND  THE 
SOFT  YOICE  AND  WAY  WITH  THE  GALS. 
BUT  TURHAN'S  A  GI  NOW,  AND  YANKEE 
AS  THAT  CREW  CUT     •     BY  JACK  WADE 


■  "Selly"  Selahettin,  or  just  "Butch" 
Bey  to  his  buddies,  came  back  to 
Hollywood  a  few  weeks  ago,  sport- 
ing three — count  'em,  three — expert 
marksmanship  medals  on  his  manly 
chest  and  five  precious  points  on  his 
army  service  record.  He  came  back 
to  tell  his  folks  and  his  friends  good- 
bye, before  Uncle  Sam  shipped  him 
overseas.  And  he  had  a  terrible  time 
remembering  that  he  was  Turhan 
Bey,  the  Terrible  Turk,  erstwhile 
movie  star,  swoon  sheik,  bobby  sock 
boon  and  languid  lover. 

In  fact,  the  first  day  Private  Tur- 
han Selahettin  (you  don't  find  the 
"Bey"  on  the  gold  dog  tag  Lana 
Turner  gave  him)  came  back  home 
from  Camp  Roberts,  he  committed 
the  cardinal  social  sin  in  Hollywood. 
He  bounced  out  of  bed  at  6:30,  by 
force  of  new  habit,  making  his 
mother,  grandmother  and  even  his 
black  Scottie,  Keddy,  think  he  had 
lost  his  mind.  He  made  his  own  bed 
to  drum-tight  perfection,  rubbed  his 
shoes  to  a  blinding  gloss,  ran  a 
comb  and  scissors  over  his  spiky 
black  GI  facsimile  of  a  homemade 
haircut,  gobbled  a  half-dozen  Ssggs 
and  even  offered  to  help  with  the 
breakfast  dishes. 

Then,  at  7:30  sharp  he  grabbed 
the  phone  and  dialed  Ella  Raines' 
number. 

"Good  morning,"  greeted  Selly 
over  the  wire.  "Miss  Raines?" 

"Yes?"  yawned  Ella  fuzzily. 
"Who — who  is  this — Western 
Union?  Is  there  a  death  in  the 
family?"  (Continued  on  page  120) 


by  JAMES  M.  CAIN 


A  famous  author 


looks  at  La  Turner  ( and  that's 


not  hard!)   and  sees 


more  than  blonde  beauty  ...  he 


sees  an  actress! 


■  When  Carey  Wilson  of  Metro  called 
up  one  day  with  the  news  that  he 
had  Lana  Turner  to  play  in  my  "Post- 
man Always  Rings  Twice,"  I  was  not 
only  pleased  but  elated.  For  you  may 
think  of  Lana  as  a  glamor  girl — 
the  type  that  brings  nothing  but  her 
own  flaming  personality  to  the  screen. 
And  you  can't  be  blamed  at  all,  for 
leave  us  face  it,  she  is  a  tasty  dish.  I 
didn't  think  of  her  that  way,  at  least 
not  after  that  week  at  the  studio  last 
winter  when  I  had  to  run  a  number 
of  her  pictures  one  after  the  other, 
not  only  once  but  many  times.  This 
is  a  murderous  test  for  an  actress, 
but  I  didn't  tire  of  Lana  because  I 
began  to  notice  something.  She 
moved  me.  Whatever  she  did,  I  felt 
something.  Then,  in  "Ziegfeld  Girl," 
I  noticed  the  deft  way  she  played  a 
pretty  little  rumpot.  She  didn't  go 
overboard  with  it.  She  wasn't  mo- 
notonous with  it.  She  didn't  fail  to 
get  vividness  into  it.  So  you  realized 
that  the  girl's  trouble  was  not  only 
booze,  but  a  profound  and  terrible 
crack-up  inside.  Not  only  did  Lana 
arouse  pity  in  me  for  this  little  sin- 
ner, but  she  made  such  interesting 
shadings  between  tight,  lit,  high, 
stinko,  blotto  and  stiff,  that  I  became 


"Meeting  Lana,"  says  author  James  M.  Cain,  "was  an  experience."  He  went  to  their 
appointment,  he  admits,  expecting  a  slick  glamor  girl.  "What  I  did  meet,"  he  recalls, 
"was  an  intelligent  woman  whose  sensitiveness  is  as  phenomenal  as  it  is  instinctive." 


52 


With  her  wonderful  2y2-yeor-old  daughter  Cheryl  absorbing  most  of  her  free  time,  Lana  still 
manages  to  cram  in  a  great  deal  of  gallivanting.  Bob  Hutton's  her  top  fella  right  now,  wit"h 
Peter  Lowford  (here  at  the  Press  Photographers'  Ball  at  Ciro's)  and  Rory  Calhoun  in  the  running. 


Lana  loves  clothes,  goes  from  one  extreme  to  another,  like  being  a  femme  fatale  one  day, 
emerging  a  tall  Margaret  O'Brien  the  next.  In  "Postman,"  (she's  checking  here  on  lines 
with  co-star  John  Garfield  and  script  girl),  she  wears  dead  white  clothes  throughout. 


1.  Frank  Ch 
strayed  into 
hangs  on  a 


2.  Gradually,  Frank  realizes  that  Cora  hates  her  husband  and  would  do 
anything  to  rid  herself  of  the  miserly,  dull  and  20-years-older  Nick.  "Let's 
run  away,"  Frank  begs.   "Where  to?"  she  retorts,  "another  beanery?" 


fascinated  with  her.  And  suddenly  it  dawned  on  me; 
this  is  no  new  glamor  girl  at  all,  in  spite  of  her  lovely 
face;  this  is  an  actress  of  the  very  first  competence,  one 
to  watch,  and  watch  with  sober  respect. 

So  when  Carey  told  me  she  would  do  my  story,  I 
knew  my  character  Cora  was  going  to  get  the  works. 
And  then  later,  when  it  had  all  turned  out  so  beauti- 
fully and  I  found  I  was  to  meet  her,  I  was  quite  ex- 
cited, as  you  may  imagine. 

I  hadn't  been  in  Romanoff's  five  minutes  before  I 
got  my  first  surprise,  a  most  agreeable  one.  Promptly 
at  four  o'clock,  splitting  the  minute  in  half,  she  showed 
up.  Now  punctuality  makes  more  friends  than  wit,  but 
you  don't  quite  expect  it  of  picture  stars  meeting 
writers  for  afternoon  tea. 


My  next  surprise  was  her  height.  On  the  screen,  she 
seems  to  me  petite.  No  doubt  this  is  because  all  things 
in  perfect  proportion,  whether  the  Parthenon,  Frank 
Sinatra  s  voice,  or  a  woman's  figure,  always  seem  a 
little  smaller  than  they  really  are.  Her  actual  height 
is  5'  "Z>y<>' ',  which  is  medium,  and  yet,  with  her  slim- 
ness,  high  heels,  and  everything  else,  she's  tall. 

Next  there  is  her  total  effect,  which  is  much  quieter, 
simpler,  and  more  subdued  than  I  would  have  thought 
from  her  pictures.  When  I  mentioned  this  she  laughed 
and  said:  "That  glow  you  say  I  have — maybe  it  is  just 
an  act."  She  has  little  of  the  pert,  rapid  manner  that 
you  might  expect  from  her  acting  style.  She  is  in- 
clined to  be  serious,  and  to  speak  in  a  considered, 
careful  way,  frequently  using  (Continued  on  page  109) 


54 


5.  Dazed,  Frank  says  that  Cora  tried  to  murder  him,  too,  but 
they  are  acquitted.  Riding  home,  the  car  overturns,  Cora  is 
killed — and  Frank  is  convicted  of  the  one  murder  he  didn't  plot! 


4.  The  murder  attempt  fails,  and  in  desperation,  they  get  Nick  (Cecil  Kella- 
way)  drunk  and  plan  to  jump  the  car,  then  hurtle  it  with  the  groggy  Nick  in- 
side, over  a  precipice.  But  Frank  isn't  quick  enough,  and  is  also  pitched  down. 


55 


Was  Diana  confused  on  the  "Our  Hearts  Were 
Growing  Up"  set!  She  got  her  signals  crossed, 
and   three   boy  f'iends  showed   up   at  once 


Diana's  all  grown  up  now,  changed  her  hair  to  golden  brown 
(and  doesn't  care  who  knows  it),  grew  four  inches  in  a  year,  even 
buys  dress-up  hats  .  .  .  but  never  gets  around  to  wearing  'em! 


Mom  and  Pop  groanea 
while  Diana  Lynn  moaned  and 

mooned  around  the  house.    But  now 
the  growing  pains  are  over  .  .  . 

By  Fredda  Dudley 


The  scene  is  night  in  Hollywood,  deep  night 
ay  around  three-thirty  a.m.  Even  the  late 
spots  on  The  Strip  are  closed,  cabbies  are 
dozing  or  doping  the  next  day's  races,  and 
through  the  sleeping  night  ring  the  steps  of 
a  man  with  insomnia. 

In  a  pleasant  house  in  a  charming  resi- 
dential district,  a  girl  named  Dolly  Loehr  is 
stirring  fitfully  in  her  sleep.  She  throws  out 
one  arm,  flounces  over,  makes  an  awful  face. 
Almost  at  once,  she  moans,  rolls  on  the  other 
side,  thrusts  one  arm  up  over  the  pillows. 
Then  she  bites  her  tongue  on  a  scream  and 
sits  bolt  upright  in  bed. 

It's  the  dream  again.  She  has  it  occasion- 
ally; not  often  enough  to  get  accustomed  to, 
and  not  seldom  enough  to  scare  a  person 
witless,  but  frequently  enough  to  keep  her  re- 
membering it. 

The  dream  starts  (Continued  on  page  110) 


57 


Sue  Carol's  fine,  thanks,  after  an  attack  of  flu.  Husband  Alan  Ladd 
visited  pal  Richard  Denning  on  "Black  Beauty"  set,  unknowingly  stepped 
into  camera  range.  So  they  left  him  in  the  picture — without  any  billing! 


Guy  Madison  beams  over  Suzi  Crandall's  shoulder  at  Ciro's  Press  Photog- 
raphers' Ball.  Guy's  chief  complaint  as  a  house  guest  is  that  the  beds  are 
all  too  soft  for  his  Navy  "achin'  back."   Prefers  to  curl  up  on  the  floor! 


Esther  Williams  says  "I  do;"  Liz  Taylor 
turns  author;  Jimmy  Stewart's  back 

on  the  town!  Dana  Andrews  prefers  blondes;  marriage 
puts  the  lid  on  Betty  Hutton 


I  When  Esther  Williams  walked  down  the 
aisle  to  meet  Ben  Gage  at  the  altar  oi  the 
Westwood  Community  Church,  one  of  the  most 
in-love  couples  I  have  ever  known  in  all  the 
long  years  I've  been  in  Hollywood,  said,  "I 
do." 

And  how  they  looked  at  one  another  when 
they  said  it! 

Only  the  members  of  both  families  and 
the  closest  friends  were  present  at  the  Church 
ceremony  because  Ben  and  Esther  wanted  to 
be  surrounded  by  only  those  nearest  to  them 
during  their  big  moment. 

But  it  was  a  lovely  setting.  The  little  church 
was  a  bower  of  white  chrysanthemums,  for  it 


58 

-  i  


was  the  chrysanthemum  season — a  lovely, 
crisp  winter  day. 

Irene  made  the  bride's  gown — and  let  me 
tell  you  about  it:  It  was  a  long  pink  crepe 
trimmed  in  soft  lace  and  the  pink  hat  that 
showed  her  face  was  trimmed  with  the  same 
lace.  In  Esther's  hand  was  a  small  white 
satin  prayer  book  and  from  its  pages  hung 
small  pink  orchids  strung  along  a  pink  satin 
streamer. 

Her  matron  of  honor,  Mrs.  Malvina  Hum- 
phries, looked  lovely  in  her  gracious  gown. 
The  unbelievably  good  looking  best  man  (and 
:hese  gorgeous  Gage  guys  are  certainly  tall, 
blonde  and  handsome!)  was  Ben's  brother. 


Captain  Charles  Gage. 

But  what  made  everybody  particularly 
happy  was  the  presence  of  Ben's  little  82-year- 
old  grandmother,  Mrs.  Louella  Austin,  who 
made  her  first  trip  in  an  airplane  to  be  on 
hand  for  the  wedding.  What  a  charmer  she  is, 
really  overshadowing  the  glamor  girls  who 
attended  the  reception,  later,  at  the  home  of 
Malvina.  A  word  about  Malvina:  She  is  the 
girl  who,  ever  since  Esther  arrived  on  the 
M-G-M  lot,  has  been  her  personal  repre- 
sentative. 

An  amusing  incident  occurred  at  the  wed- 
ding when  Ben's  little  grandmother  was  intro- 
duced to  Lana  Turner.   The  glamorous  Lana 


was  with  Bob  Hutton.  "What  is  your  name?" 
asked  Grandma,  to  whom  the  movies  are  a 
closed  book.  Quick  as  a  flash,  Lana  an- 
swered, "Betty  Hutton."  Being  with  Bob,  I 
suppose  she  had  Hutton  on  her  mind.  Grand- 
ma, none  the  wiser,  politely  said,  "Pleased  to 
meet  you!" 

The  tall  and  handsome  groom  was  given  a 
radio  contract  on  his  wedding  day,  so  he  had 
only  a  two-day  honeymoon  with  his  lovely 
bride. 

All  the  young  set  were  there:  Kathryn 
Grayson,  Gene  Kelly  (on  leave  from  the 
Navy),  Peter  Lawford,  Sonny  Tufts,  William 
Tracy,  who  has  landed  a  job  which  he'll  take 


59 


LOU  ELL  A  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS 


Gregory  Peck  lovingly  paints  a'  freckleface  on  v/ife  Greta  at  Press  Photog- 
raphers' Ball.  Selznick  has  loaned  Gregory  to  M-G-M,  who  offered  him 
long  term  contract.    He's  started  a   $20,000  annuity  for  son  Jonathan. 


Joan  Leslie  (at  Ciro's  with  John  Sands)  had  her  friends  worried  for  a 
while  with  ill  health  and  overwork.  Rest  cure  in  Yosemite's  lofty  moun- 
tains did  the  trick,  and  now  she's  in  top  dancing  form — and  slimmer! 


as  soon  as  he  gels  out  of  uniform,  and  Jane  Wyman 
with  husband  Ronald  Reagan.  The  Reagans  posed 
for  dozens  of  pictures  with  the  bride  and  groom. 

At  the  wedding  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Elizabeth 
Taylor,  whose  book,  "The  Adventures  of  Nibbles,"  will 
come  out  in  March.  Her  mother  showed  me  a  letter 
from  the  publishers,  and  I  have  never  read  such  raves. 
They  believe  the  little  girl  has  written  a  classic.  She  ex- 
presses her  own  psychology  through  a  squirrel.  Really 
a  marvelously  imaginative  child. 

I  don't  often  go  out  on  a  limb  predicting  that  Holly- 
wood couples  will  be  happy — and  stay  married.  But 
I  am  doing  it  in  the  case  of  Esther  and  Ben. 

Many  months  before  their  marriage,  in  fact  it  was  at  a 
time  when  they  didn't  see  when  they  could  be  married 
because  Ben  was  still  in  the  service,  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  these  two  at  my  house.  It  was  obvious  that 
they  were  maaad  about  each  other.  But  better  than 
the  big  romantic  urge,  was  the  knowledge  they  both 
had  that  they  were  grand  companions — "the  same 
kind  of  people"  as  they  put  it. 

"You  know,  Louella."  Esther  told  me,  her  young 
face  very  serious,  "I  would  never  have  married  again 
unless  I  had  been  sure  it  was  right.  My  first  marriage 
to  Dr.  Leonard  Kovner  was  not  happy  although  we 
stuck  it  out  for  four  years.  They  were  miserable 
years  for  both  of  us.  We  had  nothing  in  common.  He 
hated  my  career  and  I  knew  a  few  weeks  after  I 
married  him  that  it  was  all  wrong. 

"After  we  parted,  I  went  out  with  a  lot  of  other  boys. 
But  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  never  remarry 
just  because  I  was  infatuated  or  lonely.  It  would 
have  to  be  the  real  thing — something  to  last  a  lifetime." 

"And  then  I  met  Ben"  she  said  with  her  eyes 
glowing.  "It  was  at  a  Jewish  Auxiliary  dinner  for 
the  Old  People's  Home!  Ben  had  come  with  Ginny 
Simms  but  I  guess  it  must  have  been  just  a  "date" 
between  them  because,  suddenly,  Ginny  was  sur- 
rounded by  dozens  of  admirers  and  Ben  was  on  the 
outskirts.  I  was  alone — he  was  alone.  So  we  just 
naturally  gravitated  to  one  another,  I  suppose. 

"That  was  the  beginning.  From  there  on  I  never 
wanted  to  go  out  with  anyone  else.  Once  in  awhile, 
I  did — like  the  time  the  studio  wanted  me  to  attend  a 
premiere  with  Van  Johnson."  (I  had  to  laugh  at  the 
idea  of  that  being  a  hardship!)  Esther  was  absolutely 
dead  pan  when  she  continued,  "But  Van  understood — 
and  right  after  the  preview  he  took  me  back  to  Ben 
who  was  waiting  at  the  Mocambo!" 

Do  you  wonder  I  say  I'm  betting  this  marriage  sticks? 

Betty  Hutton  and  Hedy  Lamarr  never  used  to  wear 
hats.  But  now  Betty  has  gone  in  for  fancy  lids  on  a 
big  scale.  The  reason?  Her  husband,  Ted  Briskin, 
likes  'em  and  buys  them  for  her  by  the  haH  dozen  lots. 
Sounds  funny — but  one  of  the  most  amusing  was  a 
black  satin  affair  that  looks  exactly  like  a  man's  derby. 
Maybe  you  or  I  couldn't  wear  it — but  on  Hutton  it 
looks  cute  and  sassy. 

*     *  » 

Of  all  the  things  for  a  hobby — Sonny  Tufts  has  gone 
nuts  over  fishes,  fishes,  fishes. 

Not  only  is  he  out  off  Long  (Continued  on  page  62) 


60 


CHRISTINA  MLIR  NEWBERRY.  II 
daughter  of 

Lt.  Col.  and  Mrs.  Phelps  Newberry 
engaged  to 

James  Douglas  Darling.  II 


'hristlna  and  jim  met  early  last 
spring  in  Overbrook — one  of  Philadel- 
phia's fashionable  "Mainline"  suburbs. 

A  few  weeks  later  Christina  said  ••Yes" 
.  .  .  she's  another  charming  Pond's  bride- 
to-be — tall,  slim,  with  shining  dark  hair, 
green-gray  eyes. 

Christina  has  a  happy  little  way  of 
knowing  just  what  she  likes  and  why. 
And  Pond's  Cold  Cream  is  one  of  her 
"likes."  "I  don't  see  how  there  could  be 
a  nicer  face  cream  anywhere,"  she  says. 

This  is  hotc  she  uses  Pond's:  She  smooths 
silky,  fragrant  Pond's  Cold  Cream  on  face 
and  throat — then  smacks  over  it  lightly  to 
help  loosen  and  dissolve  dirt  and  make-up. 
Tissues  off. 

She  rinses  with  more  Pond"s  —  using  quick 
little  whirls  of  her  fingers  to  work  it  all 
around.  Tissues  again.  •This  second  cream- 
ing is  grand  to  make  your  face  feel  extra 
clean  and  soft,"  she  says. 


Christina's  complexion  is  beautifully  soft  and  smooth 


She's  LoveeyI  She  uses  Pond's! 


You  11  find  Christina's  way  of  using 
Pond  s  Cold  Cream  delightful.  Copv  her 
twice-over  Pond's  creamings  every  night 
and  every  morning — for  in-between-time 
freshen-ups.  too!  Watch  your  skin  look 
softer,  smoother,  prettier!  It's  no  acci- 
dent so  many  more  women  and  girls  use 
Pond  s  than  any  other  face  cream  at  any 
price.  Ask  for  a  luxurious,  big  jar  at 
your  favorite  beauty  counter,  today.  Start 
your  Pond's  beauty  care  tonight! 

A  few  of  the  many 
Pond's  Society  Beauties 

MRS.  MORGAN  BELMONT       THE  LADY  GRENFELL 
THE  MARCHIONESS  OF  CARISBROOKE 
MRS.  RICHARD  C.  DL  PONT 
GLORIA  VANDERB1LT  STOKOWSKA 


CLOTHING  NEEDED!  Christina  helps  regu- 
larly at  the  Needlework  Guild  in  Detroit.  Here 
she  is  helping  to  pack  new  clothes  to  send 
a«av.  "Never  have  so  manv  people  needed 
just  everyday  clothes'."  she  says.  There 
are  clothing  relief  agencies  you  can  help. 


ASK  FOR  A  Bl£  JAR  OF  POND'S! 
You'll  love  the  luxury-size  jar.  It  has 
a  nice  wide  top  that  lets  vou  dip  in  with 
both  hands  so  vou  whisk  out  all  the 
cream  you  need  with  one  sweep  of 
\  our  fingers.  Get  a  big  Pond's  jar  today ! 


61 


Warner  party  drew  Bob  Hutton  and  Tom  D'Andrea.  Bob, 
whose  fans  plead  with  him  to  date  Joan  Leslie,  grins  and 
plays  the  field.  Drinks  3  qts.  of  milk  daily  to  gain  weight. 


mm 


Sonja  Henie  enjoyed  playing  spectator  instead  of  performer 
at  Ice  Follies  opening  with  Van  Johnson.  Only  pic  in  Van's 
room  is  autographed  photo  of  Norma  Shearer  and  husband. 


Upsadaisy!  And  Edijor  Henry  Malmgreen's  little  Abigail  was  boosted 
atop  Trigger  at  Rodeo.  Roy  Rogers  calmed  the  crowds,  averted 
panic  when  a  bull  got  loose  and  threatened  to  charge  into  audience. 


Beach  fishing  for  abalone  every  minute  he  has  off  from  the  studio, 
but  he  now  wants  to  open  a  cafe  on  the  pier  specializing  in  unusual 
fish  recipes  and  dishes. 

If  you  know  any  novel  ways  to  whip  up  a  fish  or  if  you  have 
some  old  family  recipe  for  a  good  sauce.  Sonny  boy  would  be 
glad  to  hear  from  you. 

"I  have  a  recipe  book  with  about  500  unusual  ways  to  prepare 
fish  dishes,"  he  told  me,  "all  sent  me  by  friends  or  fans.  Now  all  I 
need  is  to  get  the  right  chef  to  prepare  them  and  111  be  set  up 
in  the  cafe  business." 

*    •  * 

When  little  Kristen  Morgan  lost  a  baby  tooth  recently,  her  pa, 
Dennis  Morgan,  told  her  to  put  it  under  a  pillow  and  make  a 
wish.  So  Kristen  wished  for  a  doll  and  the  next  day  it  was  there. 

Not  long  after,  Lillian  Morgan,  Dennis'  wife,  had  to  have  a 
tooth  extracted.  Little  Kristen  was  very  excited.  "Put  it  under 
your  pillow,  mamma"  she  said,  "Daddy  said  if  you  make  a  wish, 
you  can  have  anything  you  want." 

"All  right,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan  with  a  gleam  in  her  eye,  "I  want 
everybody  to  hear  my  wish  so  you  children  can  see  how  your 
father  is  never  wrong.  I'm  wishing,"  she  giggled,  "for  a  mink 
coat!" 


LOUELLA  PARSONS' 

GOOD  NEWS 


Last  month,  (or  was  it  a  couple  of  months  ago?),  I  gave  Dane 
Clark  a  little  slap  on  the  wrist  for  taking  it  big. 

Now  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you  something  nice  that  happened 
at  a  recent  radio  broadcast  which  (Continued  on  page  64) 


SHE  CREATES  THE  MOST  MISCHIEVOUS 


in  Blushing  TECHNICOLOR 


Coming  soon  to  your  favorite  theatre  to  bring  you  the  best  laughs  ever! 


LOUELLA  PARSONS' 
GOOD  NEWS 


Richard  Ney's  a  civilian  now,  and  asked  to  be  released  'from  M-G-M 
because  "I  feel  I  should  be  at  a  studio  where  my  wife  (Greer  Garson, 
above)  is  not  an  important  star."   They've  just  vacationed  in  N.  Y. 


Paul  Brooks  knows  better  than  to  tempt  Jeanne  Crain  with  anything 
more  than  soft  drinks.  Escort  who  coaxes  her  to  touch  hard  likker 
is  crossed  off  date  list!    Paul's  supposed  to  resemble  Errol  Flynn. 


j 

64 


He's  back  in  tweeds  again,  is  ex-Copt.  Ronald  Reagan,  ond  still  tops 
with  fans  after  three  years  in  service.  Ex-Lt.  Wayne  Morris  sheds 
medals  and  navy  blue,  too.   (With  Eleanor  Parker  at  Warners'  party.) 


proves  trie  kind  ot  all  right  guy  Dane  really  is. 

Dane  was  starring  on  the  radio  show  and  there  were 
several  bit  players  around  him  rehearsing  their  lines 
before  the  broadcast  started.  Everybody  was  smoking  and 
talking  over  the  play. 

Suddenly,  a  radio  attendant  came  up  and  said  to  one 
of  the  girls  playing  a  minor  role,  "Can't  you  read?  That 
sign  behind  you  says  "NO  SMOKING.'" 

Embarrassed,  the  girl  quickly  snuffed  out  her  cigarette 
and  Dane  started  to  do  likewise". 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  you — Mr.  Clark,"  said  the  attendant, 
"you're  the  star!" 

Zowie!  Bing!  Bang!  Dane's  got  a  temper — and  he  lost 
it.  He  told  that  guy  plenty  about  one  set  of  rules  for 
stars  and  another  for  lesser  players — and  believe  me,  he 
certainly  earned  the  admiration  of  everyone  within  ear- 
shot. So  this  month,  Dane,  I'm  pinning  a  carnation  on  you. 
•    *  * 

What  They  Think  of  Each  Other  Department: 

Betty  Hutton  thinks  that  Joan  Leslie  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  girls,  off  screen,  in  Hollywood. 

Ingrid  Bergman  loves  to  slip  into  the  projection  room 
and  see  the  rushes  on  Jennifer  Jones'  movies.  Then  she 
telephones  her  and  tells  her  how  good  she  was. 

One  of  the  funniest  romantic  mix-ups  of  the  month 
occurred  at  the  Mocambo  the  other  night.  Talk  about  your 
comedy-of -errors — the  following  (Continued  on  page  94) 


CHEN  YU 


Look  at  this  sparkling  procession  of  new  and  different  nail  lacquer 
and  lipstick  shades — yours  to  choose  from — and  each  one  a  gen- 
uine chen  YU  "original!'  Right  here  on  this  page,  in  this  collec- 
tion of  fashion  right  colors,  you  are  sure  to  find  the  shade  that 
will  bring  your  nails  and  lips  exquisite,  new  and  steadfast 
beauty.  You  may  get  them  at  your  favorite  store  and  beauty 
salon — the  nail  lacquer  75c — the  lipstick  $1  (tax  extra).  Or, 
here  is  your  chance  to  try  two  shades!  Send  the  coupon  from 
this  announcement  and  you  will  receive  two  chip-repellent 
chen  yu  lacquer  shades  and  a  bottle  of  chen  yu  Lacquerol 
Base.  Each  trial  bottle  gives  you  many  luxury  manicures — 
months  of  startling  new  beauty.  You  can  get  trial  size 
matching  lipsticks  too.    Mark  coupon.    Send  it  today. 


SEND  COUPON 
FOR  TRIAL  SIZES 


n 


<9 


□  CHINESE  RED 

□  SEA  SHELL 

□  PINK  SAPPHIRE 

□  WISTARIA 

□  FLOWERING  PLUM 

□  BLACK  CHERRY 

□  BLACK  SAPPHIRE 

□  MANDARIN  RED 

□  CANTON  RED 


CHEN  YU  Inc.,  200  E.  Illinois  Street,  Dept.  MM-2,  Chicago  (11),  III. 

□  Send  me  two  sample  size  flacons  (shades  checked  here)  □  For  an  additional  twenty-five  cents, 
of  Chen  Yu  Nail  Lacquer  and  a  bottle  of  Lacquerol  base.  I  will  receive  two  trial  size  Chen  Yu 
I  enclose  twenty-five  cents  to  cover  cost  of  packing,  mail-    Lipsticks  to  match  the  Lacquer  shades 


ing  and  Government  Tax. 

□  BURMA  RED 

□  ORIENTAL  SAPPHIRE 

□  DRAGON'S  BLOOD 

□  TEMPLE  FIRE 
D  FROZEN  FIRE 


I  have  checked. 

Name    

Street  

City  State. 

(This  Offer  Good  in  U.S.A.  Only) 


by  Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor 


Joan  Fontaine's  lips  entice  Mark  Stevens — they're  play-acting  in  "From  This  Day  Forward." 


■  Maybe  I  was  looking  skeptical.  Be- 
cause Joan  insisted  again,  "Really,  I  al- 
ways do  my  own  lips.  No  studio  make- 
up man  has  ever  wielded  my  lipstick!" 
Now,  there.  That  takes  care  of  all  you 
complairiers  who  whine  that  your  lips 
could  never  he  as  perfect  as  the  Holly- 
wood stars'  because  they  have  profes- 
sional help  that  you  lack.  All  that  you 
may  lack  is  the  know-how  of  Joan  Fon- 
taine. And  the  business  at  hand  is  to 
provide  you  with  that  very  hp  lore! 

SEEING  RED.  There  are  still  more 
lipstick  colors  on  the  makeup  horizon 
than  shades  of  red  in  the  rainbow.  The 
tones  run  from  pale  orange  to  russet 
brown,  from  tender  pink  to  deep  purple, 
from  light,  clear  red  to  brilliant  scarlet. 
Joan  Fontaine  chooses  a  delectable  cy- 
clamen pink  to  set  off  her  pale  gold  hair 
and  delicate,  honey-colored  skin.  Of 
course,  a  Rita  Hayworth  type,  with  her 
exotic,  Spanish  beauty,  picks  her  paints 
from  the  other  side  of  the  box,  in  the 
glamorous  blue-red  range.  One  and  all, 
the  Hollywood  lassies  use  a  darker,  bluer- 


Rosy9  ripe,  lash 
and  gently  curved! 
Let  that  de- 
scription fit  your 
own  lips* 
Learn  to  use 
lipstick 


toned  coloring  at  night  or  before  the 
camera  because  orange  tones  don't  vi- 
brate under  artificial  lights.  Remember 
that  when  you  want  to  capture  a  male  on 
the  dance  floor,  or  have  a  picture  taken 
to  send  to  a  distant  beau.  You  might 
as  well  use  the  same  "lovable  lip"  tech- 
nique that  the  movie  girls  have  found 
so  successful! 

Hollywood  experts  all  agree  that  no 
girl  need  wear  the  same  toned  lipstick 
day  after  day.  You  may  have  as  many 
as  your  purse  can  hold — and  afford — as 
long  as  you  don't  try  -bright  orange  lips 
with  a  plum-colored  hat,  purple  toned 
lipstick  if  your  hair  is  golden,  or  heavy, 
vampire  shades  if  your  coloring  and 
features  are  delicate  and  unsophisticated. 
Wear  makeup  that  suits  your  type  and 
blends  with  your  hair,  skin  and  costume 
colors;  and,  within  these  limits,  you'll 
find  a  wide  range  of  shades  that  you  can 
call  your  own. 

ART  SCHOOL.  Artists  take  years  to 
learn  how  to  draw  a  picture  and  it 
wouldn't  hurt  Nancy,  Betty  and  Sue  to 


spend  a  few  hours  studying  lip-art.  Most 
of  the  females  from  Maine  to  Texas 
brandish  their  lipsticks  a  couple  of  times 
a  day,  but  too  many  of  them  still  look 
as  if  they  put  it  on  in  a  blackout.  Joan 
Fontaine  says,  "Let's  have  a  little  less 
speed  and  more  skill.  A  good  lipsticking 
job  should  last  a  long  time,  so  learn  to 
do  it  right." 

Joan  and  practically  all  movie  stars 
use  a  brush  to  paint  their  lips.  They 
say  an  artist  can't  draw  a  picture  with 
a  thick,  blunt  pole,  and  they  can't  make 
a  delicate,  clear-cut  mouth  with  a  wide, 
clumsy  lipstick.  But  if  you  refuse  to  fol- 
low the  lead  of  the  Hollywood  lovelies, 
and  prefer  to  depend  on  the  lipstick 
alone,  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  keep  the 
end  in  a  workable  point!  Heavy  pres- 
sure is  unnecessary.  It  doesn't  improve 
the  shape  of  your  mouth  to  push  your 
lipstick  out  of  shape.  If,  in  spite  of  your 
care,  though,  your  lipstick  gradually  as- 
sumes the  form  of  an  indefinite  blob,  put 
it  in  the  icebox  to  harden,  and  shave  the 
end  to  a  neat  point  with  a  sharp  knife. 


It's  a  timid  girl  who  doesn't  try  a  new 
mouth  on  the  old  lips  once  in  a  while.  A 
simple  trick  is  to  up-turn  the  corners  of 
the  upper  lip.  Susan  Hayward  uses  two 
colors  at  the  same  time — a  bright  one 
to  add  width  where  her  mouth  is  too 
narrow  and  a  darker  one  to  decrease  the 
size  of  her  lower  lip.  You  can  wear  light, 
bright  makeup  when  you  want  to  look 
like  a  fresh-faced  cherub,  and  darker, 
exotic  shades  when  you  feel  in  the 
glamor  girl  mood. 

LIPSTICK  STICK-ING.  The  answer 
to  "How  can  I  make  lipstick  stay  put?" 
is  to  put  it  on  right!  Never  smear  new 
lipstick  over  stale.  Use  cream  and  tissue 
to  give  a  clean  working  surface.  Draw 
your  outline,  fill  in  the  color  and  then 
call  upon  the  ever-helpful  tissues  to  blot 
away  excess  lipstick. 

Learn  to  depend  upon  lip  pomades 
and  colorless  sticks  to  keep  your  lips 
smooth  in  this  rugged  weather.  Cream 
your  lips  at  night.  Keep  'em  fit  to 
deserve  the  glamor  of  lipstick.  Then 
your  lips  will  be  lovely — and  lovable. 


Straight  Line  Design 


Design  g  g 


N  "  w  3  basic .  di  ^ng 
^brushes'.  _ 


Co"ve* 

m  Concave 

*ere:  =u 


Why  Pepsodent  Straight  Line  Design  Cleans 
Teeth  Best.  Most  teeth  in  the  average  mouth 
lie  in  a  series  of  relatively  straight  lines.  Author- 
itative research  shows  Pepsodent's  Straight 
Line  Design  fits  more  teeth  better  than  convex 
or  concave  designs . . .  Actually  cleans  up  to  30% 
more  tooth  surface  per  stroke. 


SverY 


has  the  Straight  Line  Design 
most  dentists  recommend 


■  American  career  gals  are  the  best- 
dressed  women  in  the  world.  Who  says? 
Statistics,  for  one  thing.  For  another — 
and  this  is  warmer — The  Great  Amer- 
ican Boss.  Whose  clothes  is  he  always 
raving  about,  to  his  girl,  to  his  mom,  to 
his  wife?  His  smooth-typing,  smooth- 
looking  secretary's,  or  the  little  copy- 
writer's on  the  14th  floor,  or  the-babe- 
who  -  sat  -  next  -  to  -  him  -  on  -  the  -  siibway's. 
Whose  clothes?  Yours.  This  month's 
fashions  are,  we  think,  in  the  tradition 
you  love.  The  easy-going,  deliberately 
simple,  ever-so-versatile  tradition  that 
keeps  you  looking  as  though  you  lived 
'way  beyond  your  means.  They  are  all 
NanTucket  Naturals,  which  means  they 
are  designed  with  dash  and  imagination, 
cut  with  infinite  care  and  devotion  to 
detail.  They  are  all  business-and-pleas- 
ure  jobs,  even  as  the  gals  who  own  them. 
Quick-change  them  with  accessories, 
with  expensive  looking  costume  jewelry. 
All  the  good,  heavy  looking  stuff  on  these 
pages  is  by  R.  M.  Jordan.  Heirlooms 
for  pin-money! 

Double-check:  The  elegant  black  and 
white  checked  wool  for  this  dress  might 
have  been  lifted  straight  off  your  fella's 
back.  Pre-war  as  a  'round  the  world 
cruise,  it's  the  kind  of  fabric  you've 
dreamed  about.  Perfect  for  the  office, 
it  sheds  carbon  smudges  like  a  duck 
sheds  H20,  doesn't  get  "sat  out"  even 
after  dozens  of  nine-to-fives.  The  jacket's 
softly  tailored  as  a  silk  blouse,  from 
dolman  sleeves  to  nipped-in  waist,  per- 
fect foil  for  the  straight  'n'  narrow, 
strictly  business  skirt.  Here's  a  marvel- 
ous basic  outfit  with  more  lives  than  a 
cat,  more  chic  (Continued  on  page  70) 


love. 


you 


CAREER  GIRL  FASHIONS 


By  JEAN  KINKEAD  AND  TOUSSIA  PINES 


68 


^^"T^o^ecer  wlN'w!  dresses  UP 
-rv,5  versatile  Tv/o  r"       a-,ns+ay.  » '  are 


HERE   ARE   CAREER   CLOTHES  WITH 

THAT  BEST  DRESSED  AMERICAN  GIRL  LOOK. 
MADE    BY    NANTUCKET  NATURALS. 

THEY'RE  WORN  BY  CAREER 
GAL  JINX  FALKENBURG. 


here's  a  ?  h>m  fhot  c  . 


69 


Mothers  call  them  &Qby-&ui\ders! 


Why  most  young  bab/es  need 
these  cereals  rich  in  added  iron 

Baby  starts  off  with  a  supply  of  iron  gathered  dur- 
ing the  prenatal  period.  This  supply  often  runs  low 
about  two  or  three  months  after  birth,  then  baby 
must  get  his  precious  iron  from  what  he  eats. 

That's  why  Gerber  nutritionists,  working  with 
doctors,  have  added  generous  amounts  of  iron  to 
Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal. 
Both  cereals  have  added  vitamins  of  the  B  complex 
derived  from  natural  sources  as  a  further  help  to 
baby's  well-being. 

Both  cereals  are  pre-cooked,  ready-to-serve  — mix 
right  in  baby's  dish  with  milk  or  formula,  hot  or 
cold.  Pediatricians  advise  serving  Cereal  Food  at  one 
feeding,  Strained  Oatmeal  at  the  next.  It  helps  baby 
eat  better!  Be  sure  to  get  Gerber's  cereals— with 
"America's  Best-Known  Baby"  on  every  package. 


Remember,  it  is  always  wise  to  check  your 
baby's  feeding  program  with  your  doctor. 


erber's 


FREMONT.  MICH. 


OAKLAND,  CAl 


^Aee  set-tuple 


Cereals       Strained  Foods  •    Chopped  Foods 


Address:  Gerber  Products  Company,  Dept.  DE  2-6,  Fremont,  Michigan. 


My  baby  is  now   months 

old.  Please  send  me  samples  of  ^ 

Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal  and  rsame  

Gerber's  Cereal  Food. 

Address...-  City  and  Slate  . 


than  Hedda.  Try  it  with  a  sheer  black 
turtle  neck  sweater  or  a  triple  strand  of 
pearls;  with  a  loud  ascot  or  a  bow-tie 
blouse.  Wear  the  skirt  with  sweaters  and 
blouses,  the  jacket  atop  a  plain  black 
dress.  Endlessly  switch-able,  endlessly 
beautiful.  Price:  About  $30.  Marching 
down  the  lapel  are  three  good-looking 
gold  leaves,  papa,  mama  and  baby — all  for 
just  $2.00! 

Mufti:  What  a  blue  serge  suit  is  to  an 
ex-GI,  this  chalk-striped  grey  wool  is 
to  a  brand  new  "she-villain."  Soft  as  a 
Dorsey  blue  note,  feminine  as  a  shoulder- 
length  bob,  this  is  her  dress,  for  that 
momentous  switch  back  to  careering.  It 
has  everything  she's  been  pining  for — 
everything  you've  been  pining  for,  even 
if  you've  never  left  home.  Good  lines, 
good  goods,  a  terrifically  smart  casualness. 
Note  the  deej)  and  beautiful  dolman 
sleeves,  the  chaste  round  neck  that  is 
strictly  1946  and  ultra-sophisticated,  that 
fool-the-people  two-piece  look.  Gloat  over 
the  perfectly  matched  stripes,  the  slim 
self-belt — details  that  make  it  look  fabu- 
lously expensive,  fabulously  right.  Wheth- 
er you're  some  nice  guy's  Girl  Friday 
or  just  one  of  the  gals  in  the  back  room, 
you'll  adore  this  dress.  For  its  under- 
statement, its  well-bred  air,  its  endearing 
way  of  making  the  boss  grin  when  he 
sees  you.  Price  about  $25,  a  bit  steep  for 
a  dress,  yes,  but  that  kind  of  tailoring  is 
worth  it. 

June  in  January:  Wear  your  heart  on 
your  sleeve  and  all  over  the  place,  and 
don't  think  your  guy  won't  love  it.  The 
whimsical  hearts  are  a  wonderful  tur- 
quoise, that  incredible  shade  that's  in- 
variably your  color  whether  you're  a  tow- 
head,  a  redhead  or  Hedy  Lamarr.  In  a 
smooth  print  rayon  jersey  with  a  fullback's 
shoulders  and  a  ballerina's  waist,  it's 
figure  magic  and — as  night  follows  day — 
it's  beau-bait.  Exciting  promise  of  Spring 
under  your  fur  coat  now,  this  one'll  be 
just  as  heart-stopping  come  a  sunny 
May  morning,  come  a  moonlit  August 
night.  Wear  it  to  the  office  over  a  black 
jersey  blouse,  jumper-fashion;  stab  it  with 
color,  swapping  black  velvet  belt  for  a 
tangerine-colored  one;  load  it  with 
antique-ish  costume  jewelry. .  There's  no 
end  to  the  tricks  it  has  up  its  hypothetical 
sleeve,  no  end  to  the  heads  it'll  turn. 
Price:  About  $23.  On  each  cuff,  two  stun- 
ning hunks  of  ersatz  gold  to  make  you  feel 
like  a  duchess  for  just  $1  each. 


Thank  you  for  all  the  wonderful  mail; 
you've  got  us  feeling  like  Alan  Ladd  or 
someone.  Awful  glad  you  like  what  you 
see.  Please  keep  on  liking  it,  and  keep 
on  telling  us.  For  names  of  stores,  in- 
formation about  sizes  and  colors,  for  all 
the  dope — and  quickly — write  to  Fashion 
Adviser,  Modern  Screen,  149  Madison 
Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  And  by 
the  way — please  tell  us  which  issue  you're 
talking  about  when  you  write  in — you'll 
get  your  answer  back  faster — and  it  will 
even  be  right! 


ARE  YOU  DATED? 

Don't  be  a  leaky  dream-boat. 
Get  in  the  social  swim.  Jean 
Kinkead  (the  gal  that  knows) 
gives  you  all  the  lowdown  on 
how  to  snag  stags  in  "HOW  TO 
BE  POPULAR  WITH  BOYS," 
a  MODERN  SCREEN  Service 
Chart.  See  Super  Coupon  on 
page  22. 


WATCH  BILL  WILLIAMS 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


make  sure  it  was  true. 

I  don't  know  which  of  the  two  was  hap- 
pier over  the  watch.  Barbara  touched  it 
and  looked  up  at  Bill  "If  your  head  ever 
swells,  I'll  take  it  away  from  you — " 

Bill  looked  at  me.  "If  my  head  ever 
swells,"  he  grinned,  "will  you  cut  my 
throat,  please?" 

Barbara  had  to  eat  and  run.  She  was 
working — getting  her  first  big  break  at 
RKO  in  "Lady  Luck,"  opposite  Bob  Young. 
When  Bob's  name  was  mentioned,  they  fell 
all  over  each  other  in  a  race  of  words  to 
tell  me  how  wonderful  he'd  been  to  them 
both — coaching  them,  fluffing  his  own  lines 
to  cover  their  mistakes,  brushing  their 
thanks  off  with  a  gag.  They'd  have  been 
quite  willing  to  give  this  whole  story  to 
Bob  Young  if  I  hadn't  stopped  them. 

However,  it  was  Bill's  story  I  was  after, 
so  here  it  is. 

There  have  been  two  women  in  his  life 
— Barbara  and  his  mother.  By  the  time 
life  eased  up  on  Mrs.  Williams  in  one 
direction,  it  cracked  down  in  another.  She 
developed  bronchial  asthma  and  would 
wake  up  at  night,  gasping  for  breath.  The 
doctor  taught  Bill  how  to  give  adrenalin 
shots.  For  years  he  slept  with  one  ear 
open.  When  he  was  18,  his  mother  died. 

They'd  lived  for  each  other.  After  the 
death  of  Bill's  father,  she'd  gone  to  work 
as  a  waitress — working  fourteen  hours  a 
day,  so  exhausted  at  night  that  she'd  drag 
herself  home  from  the  El  with  her  shoes 
in  her  hand.  The  Jewish  family  upstairs 
took  care  of  Bill  as  if  he'd  been  one  of 
their  own.  He  ate  their  "lockshen"  soup 
and  matzoth  balls  and  slept  on  a  little  mat- 
tress in  their  bathtub,  since  they  had  no 
other  bed  to  put  him  in. 

Brooklyn  boy  ... 

It  was  the  kind  of  neighborhood — in  the 
Williamsburg  section  of  Brooklyn — that 
develops  the  best  or  worst  in  its  children, 
depending  on  their  fibre.  Bill  learned 
self-reliance  early.  He  ran  errands,  sold 
papers,  shined  shoes  and  brought  the  pen- 
nies proudly  home  to  his  mom.  When  he 
was  nine,  she  married  a  fire  department 
lieutenant,  who  earned  sixty  a  week — 
riches  in  Williamsburg — and  was  very  kind 
to  Bill.  But  Bill  continued  to  work  after 
school  and  do  his  share. 

There  were  no  parks  or  playgrounds  in 
the  district,  and  you  took  your  recreation 
where  you  found  it.  Bill  was  no  sissy, 
but  the  tough  gangs  didn't  attract  him, 
and  once  he'd  discovered  the  YMCA,  life 
took  on  new  meaning.  He  found  that 
sports  were  his  dish,  and  especially  swim- 
ming. His  future  was  all  mapped  out — 
engineering  for  a  living  and  swimming 
for  fun.  He  became  junior  national  champ 
in  the  220  and  440  yard  races,  and  began 
picking  up  a  few  bucks  at  exhibition 
meets.  Instead  of  washing  dishes,  he  could 
swim  his  way  through  Pratt  Institute. 

He'd  been  at  Pratt  six  months  when  a 
man  named  George  Golden  stepped  up  to 
him  at  Sands  Point  Beach,  where  ritzy 
people  pay  to  watch  you  swim,  and  asked: 

"How'dja  like  to  be  in  show  business?" 

Uh-huh,  a  kidder!  But  Bill's  a  polite  boy. 
His  mother  taught  him  to  sir  and  ma'am 
his  elders — a  habit  that  still  persists,  by  the 
way.  He's  the  first  movie  guy  who  ever 
said  "yes,  ma'am"  to  me,  and  I  liked  it! 

To  return  to  Mr.  Golden,  however. 
"What  could  I  do  in  show  business,  sir?" 
asked  Bill. 

"Well,  you  wouldn't  have  to  talk,  if  that's 
what's  worrying  you.  I  produce  vaude- 
ville and  nightclub  acts,  and  I  need  a 
blonde  boy — your  height  and  weight  and 


'        t      exo«C  S^Sh  blende.  See  ^ 

thank  on  vo«t  sfan-^l  6attery  *  J,  Con- 
damour  on  }  mlSty  n  (rest 

the  box!  Compaq 

*Ts*'  Choose  hom  8  St*  ooDbv^ 
beCorepo^nnf^ 

CREATE  PO 


YOUR  MATCHED  MAKE  UP 


j 


m 


I.  Big  $1  box  Woodbury  Film-Finish  Powder 
2.  Star-styled  lipstick — keyed  to  your  skin-type 
3.  Matching  rouge — your  just-right  shade 
Boxes  of  Film-Finish  Powder,  2Si  and  I  Off,  plus  tax. 


Woodbury 
lowder 


*plua  tax. 


NOW. . .  Let  the  Magic  of 


add  Color  and  Sparkle  to 


Here's  Glamour  Made  Easy  . . .  yes,  in  just 

3  minutes  —  at  home  —  you  can  give  your 
hair  glorious  new  color,  with  Marchand's 
wonderful  Make-Up  Hair  Rinse.  So  easy  to 
use,  it  goes  on  and  washes  off  with  as  little 
fuss  as  your  facial  make-up! 

Many  Different  Color  Effects  ...  No  mat- 
ter what  shade  your  hair  may  be,  with  this 
thrilling  hair  "make-up",  you  can  highlight 
and  brighten  its  natural  shade  .  .  .  give  it  a 
definitely  warmer  tone,  or  add  a  soft  cop- 
pery glow  .  .  .  even  blend  little  gray  streaks 
in  with  your  original  youthful  shade! 

Not  a  Permanent  Dye...  Marchand's  Rinse 
is  absolutely  harmless  —  as  safe  to  use  as 
lemon  or  vinegar.  And  these  delicate  tints 
do  so  much  more  for  your  hair! 

After  your  shampoo,  simply  dissolve  a  pack- 
age of  Marchand's  "Make-Up  Hair  Rinse  in 
warm  water  and  brush  or  pour  it  through 
your  hair.  Almost  instantly  dulling  soap  film 
disappears,  your  curls  sparkle  and  gleam  as 
they  never  could  with  a  shampoo  alone! 


12  Smart  Shades  .  .  .  you  can  get  the  very 

color  effect  you  want  with  this  modern  Hair 
Make-Up.  Try  it,  after  your  next  shampoo! 


looks.  Here's  my  card.  Give  me  a  ring 
tomorrow." 

A  few  months  later,  the  team  he  cap- 
tained was  swimming  at  the  Park  Central 
Hotel,  when  this  guy  pops  up  again.  "Why 
didn't  you  call  me?" 

"I  forgot  all  about  it — " 

"Look,  do  me  a  favor.  When  you're 
through  here,  come  up  to  the  roof  of  the 
Forrest  Hotel.  You  don't  have  to  sign  any 
contracts.  Come  up  and  take  a  look." 

That  sounded  reasonable  till  Bill  found 
himself  on  the  Forrest  Roof,  watching  two 
blonde  huskies  tossing  a  little  dark  girl 
around.  He  backed  hastily  away. 

Mr.  Golden  grabbed  him.  "It's  not  as 
tough  as  it  looks.  We  wouldn't  expect  you 
to  do  it  right  away,  but  you  can  learn, 
can't  you?    It  pays  sixty  a  week — " 

So  that's  what  got  Bill  into  show  busi- 
ness^— no  ache  for  the  footlights,  but  sixty 
smackers  a  week.  In  a  sober  mood  he  went 
home  and  asked  Mom  what  she  thought. 

"It's  up  to  you,  son.  You're  old  enough 
to  make  up  your  own  mind — " 

"Well,  it  just  sounds  like  too  much  money 
to  turn  down.  Think  I'll  try  it." 

adagio  act  .  .  . 

They  rehearsed  for  two  months,  and 
thanks  to  his  disciplined  body,  he  was  soon 
tossing  Lita  around  like  a  veteran.  When 
the  Stuart  Morgan  Dancers  were  ready  for 
their  first  booking,  Bill  went  along  as  a 
full-fledged  member  of  the  troupe. 

At  first  they  played  around  New  York. 
Then  they'd  go  out  on  the  road.  Bill  and 
his  mother  never  said  goodbye.  It  was 
always  "Well,  so  long,  son — " 

"S'long,  Mom.  See  you  soon — " 

He'd  bought  a  little  convertible  job, 
which  he'd  park  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  so  she  could  see  him  when  she 
waved  from  the  third-story  window.  Every 
day  he  was  gone,  she'd  get  a  letter  from 
him,  and  he  from  her. 

Meantime,  the  act  was  making  itself  a 
name.  Booking  agents  yelled  for  them, 
and  engagements  took  them  farther  and 
farther  afield.  In  the  summer  of  '38  they 
went  down  to  Texas. 

Bill  and  his  mother  had  said  their  so- 
longs.  As  usual,  he  stood  at  the  car  door 
for  a  moment,  looking  up.  The  window 
was  open.  Mom  leaned  out  a  little  as  she 
waved.  "Goodbye,  son,"  she  called. 

It  hadn't  meant  a  thing,  Bill  kept  telling 
himself  all  the  way  to  Texas.  He  was  a 
doggone  fool  to  let  it  upset  him.  So  she'd 
said  goodbye,  so  what? — he  was  acting  like 
a  superstitious  dope.  Sure  she  was  sick, 
but  no  sicker  than  she'd  been  in  years.  In 
fact,  she'd  been  looking  better  lately,  he 
assured  himself — 

But  he  didn't  rest  till  he  found  her  first 
letter  waiting  at  the  hotel.  Other  letters 
followed.  Mom  was  feeling  fine  .  .  . 

They  were  working  in  Fort  Worth  that 
week,  and  living  in  Dallas.  Every  night 
Bill  raced  the  freight  train  home — 33  miles 
in  40  minutes.  One  of  those  silly  games — 
he'd  beat  the  train  or  the  train'd  beat  him, 
it  didn't  matter.  But  one  stormy  night 
something  hit  him  wrong.  He  was  too 
darn  anxious.  The  dark  slick  road,  the 
rain  pelting  against  his  windshield,  made 
him  uneasy.  Suddenly  he  found  that  his 
hands  were  trembling  on  the  wheel.  "Slow 
down,  you  jerk!"  he  snarled  at  himself — 
and  went  faster — 

At  the  hotel  he  found  a  message  from 
Western  Union.  They  had  a  wire  for  him. 
As  he  moved  toward  the  door,  a  girl  in  the 
company  caught  sight  of  his  face,  and 
stared  for  a  second — 

"Where  you  going  in  this  weather,  Bill?" 

"Western  Union.  Says  here  they've  got 
a  wire  for  me.  Nothing  important,  I  guess, 
but  I  thought  I'd  drive  down.  Want  to 
come  along?" 

They  didn't  say  much  on  the  way  down, 
but  he  was  glad  when  she  got  out  of  the 


car  and  went  in  with  him.  The  wire  was 
from  his  stepfather.    "Mother  dead — " 

He  doesn't  remember  going  back  to  the 
car.  But  he  does  remember  the  girl's  voice, 
"Go  ahead,  Bill,  cry — "  and  her  arms 
around  him,  and  himself  bawling  till  there 
weren't  any  tears  left — 

Then  she  said,  "Let's  go  back,  and  I'll 
make  some  coffee."  Then  they  went  out- 
side. The  storm  was  over,  the  stars  had 
come  out,  it  was  a  beautiful  night.  She  let 
him  talk  for  hours  about  his  mother.  She 
wasn't  his  girl,  they  weren't  even  particular 
friends.  But  for  her  tenderness  and  under- 
standing that  night,  because  she  knew 
what  to  say  and  what  to  leave  unsaid, 
he'll  never  forget  her. 

Nor  will  he  forget  what  the  rest  of  them 
did.  Next  day  was  a  bank  holiday,  and  he 
didn't  have  enough  money  to  fly  home.  So 
they  all  chipped  in  for  the  plane  fare. 

He  didn't  see  his  mother  again.  "Don't 
you  want  to  look  at  her?"  they  asked. 

Bill  shook  his  head.  He  wanted  to  re- 
member her  alive.  That's  how  she'd  have 
wanted  it,  too. 

Three-and-a-half  years  later,  Uncle  Sam 
sent  Bill  his  greetings,  but  they  didn't  take. 

Those  years  included  a  brilliant  tour 
of  Europe,  and  except  for  Hitler,  they 
might  have  stayed  on  and  on.  As  it  was, 
they  pulled  out  just  before  war  was  de- 
clared. They  signed  with  Earl  Carroll  in 
Hollywood  for  a  long-term  stay. 

Knowing  that  it  wouldn't  be  long  now, 
Bill  was  working  and  going  to  school  at 
the  same  time.  With  his  eye  on  the  air 
force,  he  studied  navigation  and  radio  from 
nine  to  five,  gulped  his  dinner,  and  worked 
at  the  theater  till  two.  But  a  plane  short- 
age interrupted  his  pre-flight  training.  He 
was  drafted,  sent  to  Fort  MacArthur,  and 
released  in  three  months. 

"That  was  on  account  of  a  horse,"  Bill 
explained,  "and  me  being  a  smart  aleck." 

A  couple  of  years  earlier  he'd  swaggered 
into  a  riding  stable,  "Give  me  the  wildest 
horse  you've  got — " 

And  they  did.  And  the  horse  got  away 
from  him.  He  managed  to  hang  on  till  they 
came  to  a  turn  in  the  road.  Horsie  made 
the  turn,  and  Bill  went  off  on  his  back. 
He  was  laid  up  for  four  days,  the  back  got 
a  little  troublesome  as  time  went  on,  but 
he  paid  no  attention. 

But  the  army  doctors  discovered  a  sacro- 
iliac injury  that  couldn't  be  repaired,  and 
Bill  was  turned  loose  in  Hollywood. 

nothing  to  lose  .  .  . 

The  act — which  was  both  home  and  job 
to  Bill — had  broken  up.  He  knew  Holly- 
wood was  a  tough  nut  to  crack.  Still,  be- 
ing here,  he  might  as  well  try  his  choppers 
on  it.  And  at  first  Hollywood  seemed  bent 
on  proving  that  it  wasn't  tough  at  all. 

A  friend  sent  him  to  Bob  Oakley,  the 
agent.  Oakley  took  him  to  Universal, 
where  Les  Goodwins  was  making  "Murder 
in  the  Blue  Room."  Goodwins  threw  him 
a  glance  and  said,  "Yes,  that's  the  boy." 
This  bit  was  followed  by  another  in  "30 
Seconds  over  Tokyo."  That  was  followed 
by  a  phone  call  from  Oakley.  "Come  on 
down.   I've  got  a  surprise  for  you — " 

The  surprise  was  an  RKO  contract. 
"They're  crazy,"  said  Bill.  "I've  never 
even  been  on  the  lot — " 

"No,  but  they  got  a  load  of  the  'Tokyo' 
film.    Sign  here." 

That  was  in  '43,  and  Bill  spent  the  next 
year  going  through  the  grinder  and  com- 
ing out  minced. 

Then  20th-Fox  dropped  Tracy,  and  War- 
ners' dropped  Van  Johnson.  At  RKO, 
they  were  hunting  a  big  name  to  play  the 
second  lead  in  "Endearing  Young  Charms," 
and  couldn't  find  one.  Charlie  Koerner, 
smart  fella,  said:  "Let's  test  some  of  our 
own  kids."  Bill  was  one  of  those  tested. 
He  walked  out  on  the  set,  elated,  and 
walked  off,  sunk.  (Continued  on  page  74) 


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It  was  just  before  Christmas.  He  was 
so  sure  they  were  dropping  him,  that  he 
felt  like  a  fool  going  to  the  Christmas 
party.  He  was  so  sure  that,  when  Laraine 
Day  walked  over  and  said,  "You  got  the 
part,  Bill,"  he  bristled.  With  movie  peo- 
ple, anything's  good  for  a  rib,  but  he 
thought  this  was  overdoing  it  a  little.  Ex- 
cuse him,  Laraine,  if  he  didn't  haha — 

Then  Mr.  Koerner  came  up.  "Congratu- 
lations, Bill.   I  see  Laraine 's  told  you — " 

I'm  glad  they're  not  typing  him  as  a  cute 
kid,  because  he's  more  than  that.  In 
"Deadline  at  Dawn,"  he  goes  dramatic.  In 
"Until  the  End  of  Time"  with  Guy  Madi- 
son and  Bob  Mitchum,  he  plays  a  highly 
emotional  part.  Then  he'll  be  co-starred 
with  Barbara  in  "A  Likely  Story."  Watch 
for  that  one,  girls.  I  think  you'll  get  as  big 
a  bang  out  of  seeing  them  together  as  I  did. 

At  first  they  didn't  even  know  each 
other's  names.  Bill  was  that  blonde  boy 
with  the  dimples.  Barbara  was  that  sweet 
looking  kid  with  the  dark  curly  hair.  He 
wanted  to  take  her  out,  but  he  knew  she 
was  dating  somebody  else  at  the  time,  and 
it's  against  his  code  to  horn  in  on  the  other 
guy's  gal. 

But  when  you're  on  the  same  lot,  you 
can't  help  bumping  into  each  other,  and 
having  coffee  or  lunch  together  isn't  a  date. 
One  noon  Barbara  told  Bill — for  no  par- 
ticular reason — that  she  and  the  boy  friend 
had  broken  up. 

"Bet  you'll  be  back  together  inside  of 
three  weeks — " 

"What  would  you  like  to  bet?" 

Bill  saw  his  chance.  "A  dinner."  Either 
way,  he  couldn't  miss. 

happy  loser  .  .  . 

Sure  enough,  three  weeks  later  Barbara 
called  him.  "You  lost  your  bet.  When  do 
we  eat  that  dinner?" 

They  went  to  the  Villa  Nova  on  the 
Strip.  She  told  him  she  was  over  the 
other  boy.  They  began  seeing  each  other 
one  or  two  nights  a  week,  then  three  or 
four  till  it  finally  stretched  to  seven. 

When  Barbara  left  us  that  day,  I  com- 
mented on  her  beauty. 

"I  don't  want  to  sound  like  a  square,"  he 
said,  "and  a  face  like  hers  never  hurt  a 
girl  with  a  guy.  But  I've  been  around, 
Miss  Hopper,  and  it's  not  her  looks.  It's 
what  she  has  inside — " 

Bill  shares  a  small  apartment  with  a 
friend.  Barbara  lives  with  Annette  and 
Harold  Soldinger — he's  a  cutter  at  RKO, 
and  she's  Barbara's  stand-in.  They  budget 
their  money.  Bill  allows  himself  $33  a 
week,  Barbara  gets  along  on  $25.  The 
balance  goes  into  annuities. 

"I  had  too  rough  a  time  as  a  kid,"  says 
Bill.  "I  don't  want  my  own  kids — when, 
as  and  if — to  go  through  that.  I'd  rather 
skimp  now  for  security  later — and  by 
security  I  don't  mean  plush  and  platinum. 
These  annuities'll  bring  in  sixty  or  seventy 
bucks  a  week,  and  that's  enough.  Then  if 
Hollywood  gives  you  the  business,  you  can 
always  say,  "Thanks  for  the  socko,  boys.  It 
was  nice  bein'  here — ' 

"Even  if  Hollywood's  kind,  I  don't  want 
it  to  own  me.  I  want  to  live  life  while 
I've  got  it — not  make  a  pile,  and  then 
you're  too  old  to  enjoy  it." 

That's  the  declaration  of  independence 
they're  working  toward.  The  budget  per- 
mits no  clubbing  or  dining  out.  They  eat 
at  the  Soldingers.  If  the  girls  are  working, 
and  Bill  isn't,  he  markets  and  cooks.  Says 
he  learned  how  to  broil  a  steak  here  and 
and  a  pork  chop  there,  with  meat  loaf  and 
spaghetti  as  his  specialty.  Only  thing  he 
won't  bother  with  are  vegetables  on  ac- 
count of  the  cleaning — those  he  gets  out 
of  a  can.  Dinner's  on  the  table  when  the 
girls  get  in  at  6:30.  By  8:30  they're  in 
bed.  The  boys  sit  around  for  a  while  gab- 
bing, then  Bill  goes  home  to  his  fan  mail. 

He's  got  theories  about  that,  too.  "So 


far,  I've  handled  it  myself.  If  it  ever  gets 
too  heavy,  111  have  someone  address  the 
envelopes.  But  the  signaturesTl  be  mine. 
I  don't  want  that  phony  touch.  You  get 
letters  from  kids  who  are  sick — kids  just 
back  from  overseas.  If  they  set  any  store 
by  your  autograph,  the  least  you  can  do 
is  give  them  the  real  thing — " 

I  asked  Bill  what  they  did  with  then- 
evenings  when  they  weren't  working. 

"Go  ice  skating — take  in  a  movie — roll 
back  the  Soldinger  rugs  for  a  jam  ses- 
sion, wind  up  with  coffee  and  scrambled 
eggs  and  call  it  a  big  night.  Or  we  sit  with 
babies." 

That  one  threw  me.    "Come  again,"  I 
blinked. 

everybody  loves  a  baby  .  .  . 

"Sure.    Show  Barbara  a  baby  and  she's  I 
gone.    Any  time  our  friends  need  sitters, 
they  call  us.   Barbara  thinks  they're  doing 
her  a  favor — " 

"What  about  you?" 

"As  long  as  I'm  with  Barbara,"  he  said 
quietly,  "I  don't  care  what  we  do — " 

Somehow  we  got  on  the  subject  of 
clothes.  I  admired  his  tie.  "That's  because 
I'm  having  lunch  with  you,"  he  informed 
me.  "Otherwise,  I  bum  around  in  an  open 
shirt.  For  professional  reasons,  I've  got 
to  have  a  wardrobe.  But  personally,  I  can't 
get  excited  over  clothes.  Besides,  I  have 
no  taste.  Barbara  picks  my  ties.  And  I 
.  wouldn't  think  of  buying  a  suit  without 
her — " 

'"Then  of  course  you  let  Barbara  choose 
her  own,"  I  suggested,  and  couldn't  help 
howling  when  I  got  a  flat  no. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  explained.  "I  don't 
know  what  colors  go  together,  but  I  do 
know  what  I  like  on  a  girl — " 

He  knows  so  well  that  he  made  Barbara 
give  up  makeup.  "You  look  better  without 
it—" 

Then,  they'll  pass  some  cutie  on  the  lot  \ 
"Gee,  but  she's  pretty — " 

Barbara's  nose  goes  up.    'Tunny,  you 
like  a  lot  of  makeup,  on  her — " 

"Nothing  funny  about  it!"  says  the  eter- 
nal male.  "I  don't  care  if  she  gets  herself 
up  like  an  Indian.  She's  not  my  girl — " 

People  who  know  them  better  than  I  do 
tell  me  what  they've  done  for  each  other. 
Barbara  aimed  to  be  an  artist.  Someone 
asked  her  to- model,  and  then  came  a  movie 
offer.  To  Barbara,  this  was  a  laugh. 

'That's  a  silly  attitude,"  said  Bill.  "Either 
don't  do  it,  or  do  the  best  you  know  how." 

Bill,  having  slugged  from  birth,  was 
over -serious.  He  played  it  too  heavy, 
Barbara  keeps  it  young.  But  she's  got  more 
than  the  gift  of  girlish  laughter.  Under 
the  bubbling  surface  lies  an  educated 
heart.  She  knows  all  Bill's  missed  through 
the  years  of  struggle  and  loneliness, 
through  the  loss  of  his  mother  and,  as  far 
as  she  can,  she's  going  to  make  it  up. 
I  realized  that  when  I  heard  about  his  last 
birthday. 

happy  birthday,  willie-boy  .  .  . 

They  went  over  to  Lucey's  to  celebrate, 
driving  Barbara's  car.  It's  a  little  shinier 
than  Bill's,  so  they  use  it  for  swank,  and 
this  was  definitely  a  swanky  occasion.  As 
they  got  out,  she  said:  "There's  something 
in  the  back  for  you,  Willie — "  Yes.  that's 
what  she  calls  him,  and  he  calls  her  Mon- 
keyface. 

In  the  trunk,  he  found  a  huge  box 
crammed  with  packages.  He  looked  at  her 
questioningly. 

"Don't  worry,"  she  laughed.  "I've  been 
saving  up  for  weeks.  Anyway,  some  of 
them  are  gags  and  they  didn't  cost  so 
much — " 

"But  why  so  many?" 

"I  owe  them  to  you,  darling,"  Barbara 
said  softly.  "One  for  every  year  you've 
lived—" 


^J&zu^  ■  ■  ■ 

It's  easy  to  enjoy  the  sheer,  caressing  luxury  of  pure  linen 
sheets  .  .  .  merely  launder  your  cotton  sheets  with  Linit,  the 
superior  starch  that  makes  cotton  look  and  feel  like  linen. 

Linit  is  different  .  .  .  the  thin,  fluid  Linit  mixture  pene- 
trates the  fabric,  makes  ironing  easier  and  gives  a  soft, 
smooth,  dust-resistant  finish  to  all  household  fabrics. 

Sunny  says:  It's  so  easy  to  use  Linit  . .  .  simple  directions  on  every 
paekage  .  .  .  for  starching  all  household  fabrics,  cnrtains.  cotton 
dresses,  children's  clothes  .  .  .  even  daintiest  underthings  are  re- 
stored to  "newness"  by  Light  Linit  starching. 


£  Cora  Products  Sales  Co. 


. . .  adds 
the  "finishing  touch ' 


LOUISE  ALLBRITTON,  APPEARING  IN  "TANGIER,"  A  UNIVERSAL  PICTURE 


YOUR  HANDS  can  speak  love's  language. 

Use  Louise  Allbritton's  personal  hand  care— this 
famous  Jergens  Lotion. 

The  Stars,  7  to  I,  use  Jergens  Lotion 

NOW  EVEN  MORE  EFFECTIVE— thanks  to  wartime 
discoveries  in  skin-care.  Jergens  scientists 
now  make  Jergens  Lotion  more  effective 
than  ever.  Women  tested  this  even  finer 
Jergens.   "My  hands  feel  smoother,  softer," 
"It  protects  my  hands  longer"  ; 

they  said.  Included  in  this  post-war  Jergens  Lotion 
—those  2  ingredients  so  special  for 
skin-smoothing  that  many  doctors  use  them. 
In  the  stores  now;  no  change  in  the 
bottle;  still  100  to  $1.00  (plus  tax). 
Thrilling  to  use!  Never  sticky;  f 
none  of  that  oiliness  ! 


""JERGENS  LOTION 

76   Now  more  Effective  than  ever — thanks  to  Wartime  Research 


STRICTLY  FROM  DIXIE 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


fun."  (Mary  Wordeman  has  Southern  Cali- 
fornia's cutest  Southern  accent — straight 
from  Tennessee.) 

"I  reckon  I  might  as  well  go,"  said  her 
son,  whose  accent  is  also  strictly  from 
Dixie. 

At  the  party,  Charles  Vidor  (who  was 
looking  for  someone  to  do  the  juvenile 
role  in  "Together  Again,"  starring  Irene 
Dunne  and  Charles  Boyer)  spotted  the 
happy  features  of  Cojo.  Strolling  up  to  him, 
Mr.  Vidor  said,  "How  would  you  like  to 
have  a  screen  test?" 

Said  Cojo  seriously,  although  he  thought 
he  was  being  ribbed,  "Ah'm  fixin'  to  go  in 
the  ahmy  when  Ah'm  eighteen,  which  Ah 
will  be  next  February,  but  in  the  mean- 
time Ah  reckon  Ah  might  as  well." 

"Be  at  the  studio  tomorrow,"  said  Mr. 
Vidor. 

The  next  morning  nothing  of  note  hap- 
pened around  the  Wordeman  household. 
Cojo  had  a  late  and  leisurely  breakfast 
with  his  mother,  and  gossiped  about  the 
very  nice  party  of  the  previous  night.  The 
telephone  disturbed  a  scene  of  domestic 
relaxation.  "Where  is  your  son?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Vidor  of  an  astonished  Mary 
Wordeman.  "That  wasn't  a  joke — I  want 
to  test  him." 

So  Cojo  was  tested  and  signed  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  Mr.  Vidor,  in  making  out 
the  preliminary  legal  forms,  said  to  Cojo, 
"How  do  you  spell  'Jerome?' "  Because  he 
had  never  really  penetrated  the  Southern 
accent  that  turned  the  name  Courtland 
Jourolmon  into  something  that  might  be 
spelled  'Cou'tland  J'r'm.'  Mr.  Vidor  ac- 
tually thought  that  Cojo's  surname  was 
Jerome  or  Jerrom  or  Jeromm. 

Answered  Cojo  with  magnificent  indif- 
ference, "I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Vidor. 
Anyway  you  like." 

Mr.  Vidor  gave  him  A  Look.  "Come  on — 
one  r  or  two?"  he  asked. 

"I  guess  one  r,"  said  Cojo. 

"And  one  m  or  two?" 

"I'm  sure  I  couldn't  say,  but  I  feel  that 
one  m  is  probably  right,"  said  Cojo,  no 
authority  on  the  names  of  other  people. 

After  Cojo  had  gone,  Mr.  Vidor  tele- 
phoned Mary  Wordeman.  "We've  decided 
to  turn  your  son's  name  around,"  he  ex- 
plained. "We  think  Jerome  Courtland  is  a 
little  better  for  motion  picture  purposes. 
We  can  call  him  Jerry.  And,  by  the  way, 
how  do  you  spell  'Jerome'— Cojo  didn't 
seem  to  know." 

Mary  howled.  She  said  that  her  son's 
name  was  Courtland  Jourolmon,  not 
Jerome.  But  she  didn't  think  that  it  mat- 
tered. Jerome  Courtland  was  a  fine  stage 
name.  "Everyone  who  knows  him  will  go 
right  on  calling  him  Cojo,  anyhoo,"  she 
said  blithely. 

Being  in  pictures  was  fine.    Mr.  Vidor 


I  BEGGED  HER  ...  I  PLEADED! 

I  begged  her  to  stop,  but  that  pesky 
little  sister  of  mine  kept  making  with 
the  ya-ta-ta,  ya-ta-ta  all  day,  giving 
for  free  with  what  happened  when  she 
met  that  glamorous,  gorgeous  hunk  of 
movie  star.  "Parm  me  for  pernting," 
I  finally  interrupted,  "but  don't  you 
know  that  Modern  Screen  pays  for 
that  palaver?"  You  should  have  seen 
her  face  when  I  told  her  she  might 
win  $5  if  she'd  just  write  it  out — clear 
and  brief — and  mail  it  off  to  the  "I  Saw 
It  Happen"  Editor,  Modern  Screen,  1 49 
Madison  Avenue,  New  York  1$,  N.  Y. 


didn't  try  to  direct  Cojo;  he  simply  ex- 
plained the  meaning  of  a  scene  and  the 
general  audience  reaction  that  he  hoped 
to  obtain,  then  left  it  to  Cojo  to  devise  his 
own  business.  But  Mr.  Vidor,  being  a 
shrewd  operator,  kept  his  camera  trained 
on  Cojo,  in  most  instances,  after  Cojo 
thought  the  scene  was  shot.  Remember, 
after  he  had  kissed  Irene  Dunne,  how  he 
pulled  up  his  trousers  over  negligible  hips, 
hopped  into  the  air  and  clicked  his  heels? 
Well,  that  was  not  directoral  technique; 
but  the  shot  remained  in  the  picture. 

Only  once  did  the  camera  fail  to  catch 
something  that  would  have  been  terrific. 
When  he  was  supposed  to  have  backed 
Irene  Dunne  into  a  corner  to  kiss  her, 
Cojo's  great  worry  was  that  he  was  going 
to  get  some  of  her  lipstick  smeared  on 
his  face.  Even  after  the  final  take,  he  pulled 
away,  rubbed  his  hand  across  his  cheek, 
and  demanded,  "Did  you  get  lipstick  all 
over  me?*'  Unfortunately  both  the  sound 
track  and  the  camera  had  been  killed, 

rhumb  sprainer  .  .  . 

During  the  three  months  or  so  of  the 
picture's  production  time,  Cojo  was  hop- 
ping about  onto  Sunset  Boulevard  every 
morning  and  thumbing  '  a  ride  to  the 
studio.  He  could  have  borrowed  any  of  the 
family  cars,  but  he  didn't  want  to  be 
bothered.  He  liked  the  independence  of 
hitching;  the  responsibility  of  taking  good 
care  of  a  car  in  Los  Angeles  traffic  was  a 
worry,  so  he  skipped  it 

One  night  when  a  group  of  friends  were 
spending  the  evening  with  the  Wordemans, 
a  conversation  arose  as  to  the  exact  word- 
ing of  a  popular  song.  "It  goes  like  this," 
said  Cojo  with  authority,  and  rippled  over 
the  first  five  or  six  bars  of  the  music.  His 
voice,  not  quite  settled  at  that  time,  was 
a  voluminous  baritone-bass. 

Ralph  Blaine,  musical  genius  under  con- 
tract to  Metro,  happened  to  be  one  of  the 
guests.  He  didn't  exactly  leap  from  his 
chair  and  do  a  jig  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  but  his  mental  reaction  was  along 
those  lines.  "Huckleberry  Finn,"  he  man- 
aged to  say.  "Perfect  for  Huckleberry 
Finn." 

Seems  that  Mr.  Blaine,  in  conjunction 
with  other  writing  experts  at  Metro,  has 
written  a  musical  based  on  the  homespun 
stories  of  Mark  Twain.  It  would  have  been 
produced  long  ago,  except  for  the  problem 
of  casting  Huckleberry  Finn — and  here  he 
was,  shy  good  nature,  step-ladder  legs, 
active  Adam's  apple,  deep-set  intelligent 
eyes  and  all.  The  perfect  Twain  character. 
They  persuaded  Cojo  to  come  down  to 
Metro  the  following  day  and  to  spend  sev- 
eral hours  making  recordings. 

lend-lease  .  .  . 

Whether  Columbia  will  loan  Cojo,  when 
he  comes  home  and  is  demobilized,  is  a 
question  that  Metro  would  like  to  take  up 
with  a  reliable  crystal-gazer. 

Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  acting, 
hitch-hiking,  and  singing  end  the  list  of 
Cojo's  accomplishments.  He's  versatile. 

Cojo's  interest  in  zoology  and  botany 
has  always  been  intense.  One  summer, 
when  his  family  had  rented  a  ranch  in  San 
Bernardino  County,  he  made  it  a  habit  to 
say  to  his  mother,  "How  about  a  wax- 
paper  package  of  eats?  I'm  going  out  to  get 
a  picture  of  some  deer  tonight" 

His  mother  would  prepare  a  stack  of 
sandwiches;  Cojo  would  assemble  cameras, 
lens  attachments,  and  flash  bulbs,  and  set 
off  into  the  summer  night.  He'd  come  back 
at  dawn,  scratched,  torn,  stuck  with 
brambles,  and  blissfully  happy.  "I  got  the 
best  goshdarned  shots  last  night  that  you've 
ever  seen,"  was  his  modest  comment.  ■ 

On  another  occasion,  after  sitting  for 
hours  observing  the  antics  of  a  bumblebee. 
Cojo  went  to  his  room  and  busied  himself 
with   pencil,    pen    and    ink,    and  paint. 


CAROL  BRUCE 

a  gooJ  man  -  I  ^      b  so  ge„de. 


NEW...  a  CREAM  DEODORANT 

which  SAFELY 
STOPS  under-arm  PERSPIRATION 

1.  Does  not  irritate  skin.  Does  not  rot 
dresses  and  men's  shirts. 

2.  Prevents  under-arm  odor.  Stops  per- 
spiration safely. 

3.  A  pure,  white,  antiseptic,  stainless 
vanishing  cream. 

4.  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 
after  shaving. 

5.  Arrid  has  been  awarded  the  Approval 
Seal  of  the  American  Institute  of 
Laundering  —  harmless  to  fabric.  Use 
Arrid  regularly. 


'I 


39^- 


(Also  100  and  590 
At  any  store  which  sells  toilet  goods 


MORE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  USE 

ARRID 

THAN  ANY  OTHER  DEODORANT 


When  he  came  downstairs,  he  was  carry- 
ing a  drawing  of  a  bumblebee  wearing  a 
pugilist's  turtleneck  sweater  and  boxing 
gloves  on  the  upper  FOUR  of  his  paws. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walt  Disney  were 
guests  at  the  Wordeman  home  one  night— 
and  when  Cojo  wasn't  around — Mary 
Wordeman  showed  the  bumblebee  draw- 
ing to  Mr.  Disney.  "Send  that  boy  over  to 
me  if  he  ever  wants  a  job,"  glowed  Donald 
Duck's  director.  "He  has  the  talent  to  do 
exactly  the  kind  of  thing  we  need — and  can 
seldom  find." 

exploring  nature  .  .  . 

When  Mary  Wordeman  wrote  to  her  son, 
who  was  on  his  way  to  serve  in  the  Army 
of  Occupation  in  Korea,  and  asked  him 
to  let  her  know  at  once  what  he  wanted 
for  Christmas,  he  answered  that  he  wanted 
all  the  drawing  materials  that  could  be 
crammed  into  one  of  those  regulation- 
sized  overseas  mailing  cartons.  He  wanted 
pastels,  poster  paint,  charcoal,  poster  board, 
and  drawing  paper.  This  last  had  to  be 
paper-knived  into  fairly  small  sections  to 
satisfy  mailing  restrictions,  but  at  least 
Cojo  would  have  something  to  work  with. 
He  wrote,  "The  scenery  is  super;  I  want  to 
record  it  in  color.  And  I  reckon  I  can  learn 
a  lot  about  expert  craftsmanship  from  some 
of  the  types  of  Oriental  art  I  see  around 
here."  How's  that  for  taking  advantage  of 
a  situation — and  having  fun,  too? 

Cojo's  intense  interest  in  natural  history 
led  him  to  tell  a  newspaper  writer,  while 
he  was  working  opposite  Shirley  Temple  in 
"Kiss  And  Tell,"  that  he  was  going  to 
make  exploration  his  life  work.  He  men- 
tioned specifically,  his  ambition  to  chart 
the  Amazon  Valley. 

This  news  had  barely  hit  print  when 
Cojo  began  to  get  mail.  One  husky  Tech 
Sergeant  in  Georgia  wrote  that  he  was 
about  to  be  demobilized  after  having 
served  his  hitch  and  that  he,  too,  had  al- 
ways cherished  an  ambition  to  chart  the 
Amazon  Valley.  He  said  he  didn't  have 
any  dough  except  his  mustering-out  pay 
with  which  to  finance  such  an  expedition, 
but  he'd  be  glad  to  chuck  it  in,  if  Cojo 
could  get  financing  elsewhere.  Cojo  had  to 
answer  that  the  army  was  going  to  take 
care  of  his  voyages  of  discovery  for  a  few 
years,  but  that  he  would  keep  the  sergeant 
in  mind,  if  things  developed  in  the  future. 

A  girl  wrote  to  say,  "Gosh,  when  you 
talk  about  the  Amazon,  don't  you  realize 
that  the  region  is  simply  alive  with  snakes? 
Ugh!" 

Cojo  grinned.  As  a  kid,  some  of  his  best 
friends  were  snakes.  In  the  morning,  his 
mother  used  to  go  to  his  bedroom  door, 
open  the  door,  but  remain  just  across  the 
doorsill.  Before  she  entered  the  room,  she 
scrutinized  every  inch  of  floor  space,  and 
all  shadowed  corners,  because  Cojo  had  a 
pet  black  snake  that  he  loved  with  a  great 
affection.  The  black  snake  had  a  perfectly 
satisfactory  wire  box  in  which  he  was 
supposed  to  sleep,  but  Cojo  decided  that 
the  snake  was  lonesome.  If  it  were  possible, 
Cojo  would  sneak  his  four-foot  playmate 
into  the  house  when  Mary  wasn't  looking, 
and  into  his  bed. 

On  several  occasions,  Mary  went  in  to 
kiss  the  boy  goodnight,  and  was  startled 
— to  put  it  mildly — to  find  a  heap  of  coiled 
reptile  peacefully  slumbering  beside  Cojo's 
tousled  head.  Luckily,  Mary  Wordeman  is 
not  a  screamer.  She  would  withdraw  to  the 
door  and  call  in  a  ringing  voice,  "Court- 
land  Jourolmon,  you  wake  up  this  very 
instant  and  take  that  nasty  old  snake  out 
to  his  wire  box.  I  will  not  have  a  snake 
sleeping  in  my  house." 

While  Cojo  was  taking  his  basic  train- 
ing in  Texas  early  last  spring,  a  group 
of  men  were  gathered  on  the  parade 
ground  one  morning,  so  Cojo  joined  them. 
The  men  were  keeping  a  respectable  dis- 
tance from  a  fine,  fat  serpent.  Cojo  moved 


into  the  circle,  knelt  down,  fondled  the 
snake  and  looked  it  over  carefully.  Then 
he  killed  it  without  haste,  but  with  great 
care  that  it  would  be  thoroughly  dead. 

One  of  the  men  said,  "That  was  a  funny 
thing  to  see  you  pick  up  that  snake,  look 
it  over,  then  kill  it.  You  acted  as  if  you 
would  make  a  pet  of  it." 

Said  Cojo,  "Because  the  weather's  so 
cold,  the  snake  was  sluggish,  so  he  was 
safe  to  handle  for  a  minute,  but  that  was 
a  copperhead.  I  had  to  kill  him." 

Instead  of  killing  the  copperhead  with 
a  club,  Cojo  could  have,  if  necessary,  dis- 
patched him  with  one  shot  from  a  revolver 
— that's  how  accurate  his  shooting  eye  is. 
All  during  his  school  days,  Cojo  won  suc- 
cessive sharpshooting  medals.  Whenever 
he  received  a  trophy  or  a  memento  of  any 
kind,  he  would  mail  it  to  his  mother.  Now 
she  has  a  velvet-lined  box  filled  with  sil- 
ver, gold  and  bronze  medals.  While  Cojo 
was  still  in  Texas,  he  sent  her  another 
medal:  The  silver  oblong,  blue- enameled, 
on  which  is  superimposed  a  silver  rifle,  in- 
dicating that  the  man  who  wears  it  has 
earned  a  rating  of  expert  rifleman. 

Cojo's  letters  from  Korea  are  usually 
brief  and  to  the  point,  but  there  is  one 
sentence  that  he  never  omits.  Somewhere 
there  is  always  this  question,  "How's  Kurt? 
Tell  him  hello  for  me." 

Kurt  is  Cojo's  kid  brother,  a  very  husky 
gent  who  was  a  year  old  on  November  4th. 
When  Cojo  was  at  home,  it  was  quite  a 


CMON,  JOIN  THE  PARTY! 

Wild  about  June  Allyson?  Got 
a  yen  for  Pete  Lawford? 
Wouldn't  you  like  them  to  know 
how  you  feel?  Then  come  on 
and  join  the  gang.  "How  to  Join 
a  Fan  Club,"  an  M.S.  Service 
Chart,  tells  you  all  about  the 
MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB 
ASSOCIATION;  how  to  get  free 
snaps,  club  journals,  etc.  See 
Super  Coupon,  page  22. 


sight  to  see  him  lugging  around  fat- 
cheeked,  round-eyed  Mr.  Wordeman,  Jr. 
When  Kurt  was  hungry,  Cojo  gave  him  his 
bottle;  when  Kurt  turned  out  to  be  a 
drip,  Cojo  rushed  reinforcements  in  the 
form  of  three-cornered  slacks. 

Cojo,  when  he  reached  San  Francisco  on 
his  way  to  Korea,  was  able  to  notify  his 
mother,  so  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wordeman  rushed 
north  to  tell  him  goodbye.  The  first  thing 
Cojo  asked  was,  "Did  you  bring  that  old 
soak,  Kurt,  along?" 

No,  they  had  left  Kurt  with  the  nurse. 
They  had  been  afraid  that  the  trip  would 
be  too  much  for  so  small  a  traveler;  he 
might  have  caught  cold.  Really,  everyone 
tried  to  explain  at  once,  it  was  no  place 
for  a  baby.  Cojo  rested  his  hand  on  his 
mother's  arm,  "That's  okay,"  he  said  gently. 
"Just  tell  the  youngster  so-long  for  me 
for  awhile." 

During  the  several  days  that  the  Worde- 
mans  were  with  Cojo — as  often  as  he  could 
get  a  pass — Cojo's  mother  noted  a  vague 
change  in  him.  She  tried  to  analyze  it:  He 
had  always  been  rather  a  quiet  person, 
but  now  his  quiet  was  not  so  much  of  un- 
certainty, as  of  perfect  adult  assurance.  His 
questions  were  to  the  point,  and  neat  as 
a  bone.  His  answers  were  firm  and  fast. 

Mary  Wordeman,  groping  in  her  mind 
for  an  explanation,  finally  found  it:  Cojo 
had  gone  into  the  army  very  much  a  boy. 
Just  eighteen,  he  had  been  carefree,  easy- 


going. But  now,  not  quite  nineteen,  he  was 
a  man  who  had  taken  a  man's  responsible 
place  in  his  outfit. 

At  night,  she  said  to  her  husband,  "I 
know  I'm  foolish  to  cry,  but  I  just  can't 
help  it.  I'm  used  to  thinking  of  him  as  my 
baby,  and  I  suppose  I've  got  to  get  over 
that.  He's  a  man,  and  very  much  of  a  man. 
I  guess  I  know  now  how  a  mother  feels 
when  her  only  daughter  gets  married." 

Cojo  knew  that  a  change  had  taken 
place  in  their  relationship.  He  had  always 
kidded  his  mother  in  exactly  the  same  cas- 
ual way  he  had  kidded  his  girl  friends.  He 
teased  her  about  her  hairdo,  her  sloppy  joe 
sweaters,  her  pleated  skirts.  Because  she 
had  been  only  seventeen  when  he  was  born, 
they  had  practically  grown  up  together. 

Now  his  attitude  had  changed.  He  had 
begun  to  call  her  Mother  instead  of  the 
junior  name,  "Mommy."  The  last  time  they 
were  together,  he  cupped  her  shoulder  in 
his  big  hand.  "Don't  you  go  worrin',  now. 
I'm  going  to  be  all  right.  I've  had  excel- 
lent training,  and  Fm  going  to  profit  by  it" 

To  Mr.  Wordeman,  Cojo  said,  Tve  de- 
cided definitely  that  I  want  to  study 
architecture  when  I  get  home.  Two  years 
at  U.S.C.,  then  some  practical  experience. 
I  figure  it  would  be  a  mistake  not  to  take 
advantage  of  the  good  start  you  could  give 
me  in  the  profession."  (Mr.  Wordeman  is  a 
well-known  architect) 

When  someone  asked  if  Cojo  didn't  plan 
to  return  to  motion  pictures,  he  said,  "I've 
never  looked  on  it  as  a  life  work.  You  see, 
when  I  get  back,  I  may  not  be  as  gangling 
as  I  am  now.  The  reason  they  liked  me 
was  because  I  was  an  adolescent.  Having 
outgrown  that  stage,  I  mayn't  appeal  to 
directors.  I  figure  I'd  better  have  a  pro- 
fession in  mind." 

A  girl  friend?  Absolutely.  Cojo's  family 
will  not  disclose  her  name  on  pain  of  Cojo 
refusing  to  write,  but  it's  safe  to  say  that 
she's  exactly  the  type  of  girl  who  could 
live  around  your  corner.  She  wears  her 
hair  parted  on  one  side  and  fastened  with 
a  silver  barrett  the  ends  hanging  straight 
and  free.  She  dotes  on  saddle  oxfords  for 
outdoors,  ballet  shoes  in  the  house;  she 
likes  blue  jeans  for  sports,  sweaters  and 
skirts  for  school,  and  simple,  straight 
dresses  for  movie  dates. 

Cojo  brought  her  to  the  studio  one  day, 
whereupon  everyone  carefully  looked  her 
over.  Several  days  later  someone  said, 
"That's  a  sweet  girl,  Cojo.  Looks  like  a 
good  scout" 

"I'll  say  she's  a  good  scout"  enthused 
Cojo.  "That  girl  can  climb  a  mountain 
right  beside  me,  keeping  up  my  pace,  and 
never  even  getting  winded." 

when  a  gal's  a  pal  .  .  . 

She  can  also  give  him  a  fast  game  of 
tennis,  and  he's  plenty  good,  having  played 
in  the  Vince  Richards  category.  She  also 
shares  his  excitement  over  a  double  hot 
fudge  awful-awful.  Every  afternoon,  be- 
fore Cojo  went  into  the  army,  he  and  the 
GF.  whipped  over  to  the  local  sugarbowl 
and  sat  for  hours,  working  at  mounds  of 
ice  cream  smothered  in  fruit  syrup,  choco- 
late goop,  ground  nut  meats,  and  gobs  of 
whipped  cream. 

Stuffed  as  barrack  bags,  they  would  hie 
themselves  to  Cojo's  home  where  they 
would  sit  around  the  Capehart  and  play 
recordings — strictly  on  the  sweet  and  sen- 
timental side.  You  may  take  your  Spike 
Jones,  your  Louie  Armstrong,  your  Krupa, 
but  Cojo  and  his  fluff  will  stick  to  Glenn 
Miller,  Lombardo,  some  Dorsey,  Freddy 
Martin  and  such  smoothies. 

So  the  kid  in  Korea  has  plenty  on  his 
mind  and  plenty  to  come  back  to:  Pictures, 
architecture,  a  Disney  offer,  a  wonderful 
home,  Kurt,  and  a  girl  friend.  So,  in  Cojo's 
case,  G.I.  means  Great  Indications — for  a 
slick  future. 


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44 


One  Rose,  by  those  Fair  Fingers  culFd, 
were  worth  a  hundred  kisses! 


Tennyson 


Nice  going,  Mr.  T. . . .  but  can  fingers  U 
stay  "fair"  and  make  with  the  mop?  P^- 

It  can  be  done!  Yes  ...  in  spite  of  scrubbing  floors 
.  .  .  scouring  .  . .  cooking  ...  all  the  hard  housework 
in  the  world  .  .  .  Pacquins  Hand  Cream  still  helps 
keep  hands  adorably  soft  and  smooth.  Use  Pacquins 
regularly  for  whiter,  smoother-looking  hands. 


Ask  your  doctor  or  his  nurse  about 

keeping  hands  in  good  condition  in  spite  of  30  to  40 
soapy-water  scrubbings  a  day.  Pacquins  was  original- 
ly formulated  for  their  professional  use  . . .  and  their 
hands  get  really  hard  treatment!  Pacquins  is  super- 
rich  with  humectant, an  ingredient  that  helps  parched, 
roughened  skin  feel  softer,  more  supple.  Pacquins 
is  pleasant  to  use  too.  Snow  white ...  not  greasy! 


HAND  CREAM  ^^S* 


Creamy  -  smooth  . .  .  not  sticky, 
greasy.  More  hands  use  Pacquins 
any  other  hand  cream  in  the  world 


w   

■  ■  *K 

i  than      W  ~2 

rorld!     f  j& 


AT     ANY     DRUG,     DEPARTMENT,     OR     TEN-CENT  STORE 


ROGUE  MALE 

{Continued  from  page  34) 


where  he's  working  is  not  what  you  would 
call  very  Hollywood  conscious.  He  hasn't 
got  what  made  Sammy  Run.  He  does  not 
know  who  was  Ciromancing  and  what 
they  wore.  He  is  a  ringer  in  on  a  free 
pass;  in  other  words — being  a  movie  star 
shouldn't  happen  to  a  guy  like  Bob  Mitch- 
um.  He's  not  the  type. 

The  day  he  started  work  at  M-G-M  to 
make  "Thirty  Seconds  Over  Tokyo,"  Bob 
breezed  up  to  the  gate.  "Wait  a  minute," 
called  the  cop.  "Where  do  you  think  you're 
going?  There  ain't  no  jobs  at  the  studio 
now  for  you  guys." 

"I've  already  got  a  job,"  came  back  Bob. 

"Yeah?"  challenged  the  gateman.  "Well, 
let's  see  your  union  card." 

He  had  to  explain  it  wasn't  that  kind  of 
a  job.  He  was  an  actor,  making  a  picture. 
He  wasn't  a  set  laborer,  a  grip,  a  prop 
or  a  carpenter.  But  you  couldn't  blame 
the  cop.  Bob  was  wearing  an  old  sweat 
shirt  and  a  pair  of  blue  jeans.  He  looked 
about  as  much  like  an  actor  as  L'il  Abner. 

Frankly,  Bob  Mitchum  feels  that  way 
too.  Especially  now  that  the  lightning  has 
struck  him  and  he's  getting  the  movie  star 
glamor  treatment  wherever  he  goes.  It's 
twice  the  surprise  to  Bob,  because  all  the 
time  this  fantastic  fame  is  cooking,  where 
is  Mitchum?  Not  even  in  Hollywood.  He's 
in  the  army.  When  he  went  in,  he  was  no- 
body to  toss  a  director  into  a  twit.  When 
he  came  out — he  was  a  star  in  Hollywood. 

"gotta  see  a  guy"  .  .  . 

There's  no  more  happy-go-lucky,  reck- 
less, easy-going  guy  ever  to  hit  the  town 
than  Bob.  Why,  he  even  ran  out  on  his  first 
look  at  the  biggest  picture  he's  made  to 
date— "The  Story  of  GI  Joe"— the  minute 
some  real  life  excitement  started  popping. 

That  was  just  a  few  weeks  ago,  when 
Private  Robert  Mitchum  was  traveling 
with  that  Ernie  Pyle  epic  of  Yank  dog- 
faces, as  it  played  around  the  nation.  He 
was  under  orders  to  plug  the  picture, 
where  he  played  Captain  Walker.  If  it 
was  a  hit,  Mitchum's  Hollywood  post-war 
future  was  set  So  here  was  the  army 
ordering  him  to  make  a  hit  out  of  the  last 
film  he'd  done  in  civilian  life — all  expenses 
paid,  no  K.P.,  no  sassy  top  sergeants,  no 
nothin',  riding  on  Pullman  cushions  and 
stopping  at  fancy  hotels  (when  Bob  has 
been  used  to  the  rods  and  hobo  jungles 
whenever  he  traveled  before).  Could  any- 
thing be  dreamier?  Wouldn't  you  think 
Bob  Mitchum  would  know  every  scene  of 
"GI  Joe"  backwards  and  forwards? 

Well,  Bob  never  could  find  time  to  take 
a  look  at  "GI  Joe."  In  New  York,  for  in- 
stance, he  ran  into  an  old  pal  of  his, 
Freddie  Steele,  the  ex-middleweight  ring 
champ,  who'd  also  had  a  part  in  "GI  Joe." 
They  both  put  up  at  the  Sherry-Netherland 
and  started  buzzing  for  bellboys  and 
swapping  yarns,  so  as  soon  as  he'd  finish 
his  trick  on  the  stage,  ("Mostly  I  just 
apologized  for  being  there,"  Bob  says), 
Bob  would  hustle  back  and  join  Freddie 
and  his  prize  fight  buddies.  He  told  him- 
self, "I'll  catch  the  picture  in  Detroit." 

But  when  he  got  to  Detroit,  he'd  hardly 
cracked  open  his  bag  in  the  Book -Cadillac 
when  a  knock  came  on  the  door  and  a  wide- 
eyed  young  girl  was  stuttering,  "I-I-w- 
want  to  interview  you-you  for  my  news- 
paper!" Bob  didn't  ask  what  newspaper,  if 
any.  He  knew  it  was  a  smitten  sweetie  and 
he  just  grinned,  "Come  on  in,"  and  went 
ahead  with  his  unpacking.  Right  away 
another  teener  trooped  in  with  the  same 
excuse,  and  pretty  soon  the  room  was  filled 
with  gigglers  who  somehow  never  asked 
him  a  single  question  that  a  newspaper 


could  use.  When  he  had  to  report  to  the 
theater  to  make  an  appearance,  they  all 
looked  so  crushed  Bob  told  them  he'd  come 
back  and  be  "interviewed" — and  he  did. 
So  that  killed  the  chance  to  see  "GI  Joe" 
there. 

Pretty  soon  he  was  packing  for  the 
plane,  and  the  first  "newspaper  girl"  who'd 
crashed  Bob's  room  in  the  first  place,  said 
she  just  had  to  get  her  story. 

"But  I'm  leaving,"  explained  Bob. 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl,  "I'll  wait  here." 

"I'm  afraid,  sister,"  cracked  Mitchum, 
"you  might  wait  a  long  time.  I'm  catching 
a  plane  for  Texas!" 

He  thought  he'd  surely  get  a  look  at 
his  own  movie  down  deep  in  the  heart 
of  Hollywood,  where  time  stands  still  and 
all  that. 

Well— he  was  moseying  past  the  Adol- 
phus  Hotel  on  his  way  to  the  matinee  the 
day  he  got  in  Dallas  when  a  gang  of  sol- 
diers (Bob  was  in  uniform,  of  course), 
grabbed  him  and  said,  "Come  on  upstairs — 
we  got  a  party  going." 

"Why  not?"  said  Mitchum.  "Soon  as  I 
finish  my  act." 

one  strike — he's  out  .  .  . 

It  was  quite  a  party.  One  of  those  "Shore 
Leave"  clambakes  being  tossed  by  Lieu- 
tenant I.  T.  Quinn,  who's  a  legendary  hero 
in  Arab  land,  where  he  rescued  the  cor- 
respondent, Hal  Boyle,  in  a  wild  jeep  ride 
that  was  one  of  the  war's  classic  adven- 
tures. Lt.  Quinn  and  his  fellow  celebrants 
took  Mitchum  right  over  and  he  was  lucky 
enough  to  get  out  of  there  for  the  times 
he  had  to  put  over  his  job  on  the  stage. 

Bob  just  never  did  get  around  to  see- 
ing his  own  movie  until  he  landed  in  San 
Francisco,  after  spending  V-J  Day  crossing 
the  desert  on  a  hot  train  with  the  air  con- 
ditioning busted.  That  calmed  him  down 
a  bit  and  he  actually  sat  in  a  seat  in  the 
United  Artists  theater  one  day  after  his 
personal  appearance  and  watched  the  very 
swell  picture  unreel.  But  he'd  barely  got 
a  good  look  when  he  heard  the  usherettes 
screaming  and  a  lot  of  shouts,  crashes  and 
smashes  and  uproar  in  the  street.  Some- 
body yelled  "Riot!"  and  Bob  jumped  up  in 
the  middle  to  see  the  excitement. 

That  was  the  day  some  Bay  City  charac- 
ters picked  to  go  berserk  and  smash 
shop  windows,  and  tear  up  the  town  (you 
probably  read  about  it  in  the  papers)  and 
with  that  sort  of  goings-on  going  on — you 
don't  expect  a  steel-spring  type  like  Mitch- 
um to  sit  through  a  movie,  do  you — even  if 
it  was  his  own?  He  raced  out  and  mixed  in 
the  cops-and-raiders  battle,  and  had  the 
time  of  his  life  dodging  brickbats  and 
night  stick  billies.  Whether  or  not  Bob 
Mitchum  has  yet  seen  "The  Story  of  GI 
Joe"  from  beginning  to  end,  I  wouldn't 
know.  But  I  maintain  that  traveling  all 
over  the  nation  with  it  and  never  getting 
around  to  taking  a  look  would  be  some  sort 
of  a  Hollywood  record — for  any  actor,  that 
is,  besides  Robert  Mitchum.  When  you 
bump  up  against  Baby  Boy  Bob,  though, 
you  just  toss  away  the  Hollywood  rule  book 
and  relax.  What  happens  to  him  is  always 
out  of  this  Hollywood  world. 

Who,  for  instance,  ever  heard  of  an 
actor,  under  contract  to  a  studio  for  over 
a  year,  turning  up  as  star  when  his  own 
bosses — and  practically  everyone  else  on 
his  home  lot — had  no  idea  who  he  was? 
That  happened  to  Bob  Mitchum. 

Shortly  after  Bob  finished  "Thirty  Sec- 
onds Over  Tokyo"  he  went  right  into  "GI 
Joe."  Then  he  went  right  into  the  U.  S. 
Army.  After  "Tokyo"  was  released  and 
the  fans  had  a  good' swoon,  rumors  of  this 
sensational  young  Mitchum  character  be- 
gan to  float  around  RKO,  where  Bob 
draws  his  check.  Studios  began  asking  for 
loan-outs  and  some  even  offered  to  pay 
cash  on  the  line  for  Bob's  contract.  Natu- 
rally, all  this  finally  came  to  the  desk  of 


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RKO's  production  chief,  Hal  Wallis.  He 
was  puzzled. 

"Who  is  this  Robert  Mitchum,  anyway?" 
he  asked,  "and  where  is  he?" 

"He's  in  the  army,"  they  told  him,  "but 
he  was  around  here  for  a  year." 

"What  does  he  look  like?"  Wallis  wanted 
to  know.  "I  can't  place  him." 

Until  Bob  Mitchum  came  back  from  the 
army  the  other  day  to  make  "Until  The 
End  Of  Time"  at  his  home  lot,  he  had 
made  no  more  impression  around  RKO 
than  a  pea-shooter  on  a  tank.  As  I  said, 
he's  not  the  type.  He  had  signed-  on  orig- 
inally to  make  hoss  operas,  and  half  the 
time  those  epics  weren't  even  shooting  in- 
side the  studio  gates.  But  when  he  was 
hanging  around,  he  never  even  had  a 
dressing  room,  but  changed  his  costumes 
back  between  the  flats  with  the  extras  and 
stand-ins.  Until  he  came  back  from  the 
army  he'd  never  even  sat  at  a  table  in 
the  commissary,  perching  instead  on  a 
corner  stool  with  the  camera  crew,  who 
were  his  buddies.  He  didn't  know  a  star 
on  the  lot,  outside  of  the  star  of  his  cow- 
boy picture.  He'd  been  in  the  photo  gal- 
lery for  a  portrait  only  once,  and  when 
RKO  found  they  had  a  new  star  on  their 
hands,  they  were  amazed  to  discover  that 
there  were  only  two  pictures  of  Bob  Mit- 
chum in  all  their  jam-packed  files.  One 
full  face  and  one  profile  of  Mitchum — like 
a  rogue's  gallery  shot! 

free  soul  .  .  . 

But  that's  just  part  of  what  makes  Reck- 
less Robert  Mitchum  a  brand-new  ex- 
perience for  glamor-gorged  Hollywood.  He 
doesn't  do  anything  according  to  Hoyle. 
He's  one  rugged  individualist — hallelujah! 

For  instance,  Bob's  never  started  a  pic- 
ture yet  where  he  didn't  lose  his  script 
the  very  first  day.  Most  young  actors 
practically  take  their  movie  scripts  to 
bed  with  them,  but  something  always  hap- 
pens to  turn  Bob's  mind  to  other,  more  in- 
teresting things.  He  never  learns  his  lines 
until  he  gets  on  the  set  and  then  if  he 
forgets  what  he's  supposed  to  say  in  a 
scene  he  just  rattles  on. 

The  other  day,  shooting  "Until  the  End 
Of  Time,"  this  happened  to  Mitchum  and 
Dore  Schary,  the  producer,  was  amazed 
to  hear  Bob  come  up  with  some  sock 
dialogue  that  improved  the  scene.  But  the 
camera  had  already  cut,  so  he  asked 
Bob  to  repeat  the  ad  lib. 

"I  can't  remember  what  it  was,"  said 
Bob  airily.  "But  let's  do  it  and  I'll  come 
up  with  something  else." 

He  did — and  it  was  even  better.  They 
kept  it  in  the  picture. 

Bob's  easy-ace  attitude  toward  the 
career  that  has  caught  up  with  him  is  only 
natural,  after  all.  He's  been  a  free  soul  all 
his  life,  from  the  time  he  slipped  on  long 
pants  and  away  from  home  to  have  a  look 
at  the  world.  There's  not  half  the  dreamed- 
up  drama  in  all  Hollywood's  studios  to 
match  the  real  life  action  he's  seen.  It's 
the  life  he's  led  that  makes  him  as  much  a 
character  as  any  he'll  ever  play,  nutty  to 
conventional  Hollywood  at  times,  but 
nimble-witted  and  ready  to  rise  to  what- 
ever comes  along.  You'd  expect  a  normal 
reaction  from  a  normal,  happy  guy — but  to 
Bob  Mitchum,  Hollywood's  just  a  step 
along  his  private  royal  road  to  romance. 

Before  he  ever  saw  the  inside  of  a  studio 
he'd  bummed  across  the  country  and  back 
nine  times.  He'd  been  in  and  out  of  trouble 
more  times  than  a  bail  bond.  Among  sev- 
eral dozen  ways  of  earning  his  tick, 
Bob  has  been  a  truck  driver,  waiter,  bus 
boy,  bouncer,  chauffeur,  ditch  digger,  life- 
guard, fisherman,  mechanic,  prize  fighter, 
stevedore,  astrologer's  assistant,  dock  wal- 
loper, powder  monkey,  and  just  plain  bum 
— to  mention  a  few.  He  can  sit  and  spin 
yarns  for  hours  about  each  and  every  one 
— and  will  at  the  drop  of  a  beer  bottle. 


Because,  don't  forget  it  one  moment — Bob 
Mitch um  is  the  kind  of  Joe  things  just 
naturally  happen  to  no  matter  what  he's  up 
to.  You  can  mention  any  town  in  the 
U.S.A.  or  any  weird  profession  and  he  can 
come  up  with  a  personal  story,  usually 
speckled  with  laughs. 

Like  the  time  he  was  tripping  the  light 
fantastic  as  an  adagio  dancer  in  a  night 
club  and  he  dropped  the  ballet  girl  on  the 
piano  keys!  Or,  his  stretch  as  a  garage 
grease  monkey — until  he  put  the  ring  gear 
in  wrong  on  a  customer's  Ford  and  the 
only  way  it  would  run  was  backwards! 
Like  the  time  he  got  $25  for  a  semi-wind- 
up  bout  on  a  ham  and  egg  fight  program, 
ignorantly  tied  into  the  Mexican  Olympic 
heavyweight  champ  and  got  his  face  mur- 
dered so  that  he  stayed  a  week  in  the  hos- 
pital (that's  why  his  nose  is  off  line  today) . 

Or  like  the  day  he  was  riding  a  day 
coach  along  the  Texas  border  and  a  Yaqui 
Indian,  jug-happy  with  native  liquor,  came 
through  the  car  swishing  a  knife  and 
tried  to  slit  everybody's  throat  until  Bob 
and  some  cowboys  roped  and  tied  him.  Or 
the  winter  night  in  Idaho  when  he  wrapped 
up  in  newspapers  to  keep  from  freezing 
in  a  box  car  and  a  fellow-hobo  set  him 
on  fire  with  a  cigarette  and  burned  his 
pants  off! 

town's  gone  soft  .  .  . 

That's  just  a  sample — you  start  on  Bob's 
adventures  and  you're  in  for  a  book — but 
you  can  plainly  see  that  alongside  of 
what's  gone  on  in  the  past,  Horrible  Holly- 
wood is  nothing  to  make  Rambling  Robert 
change  his  ways  or  turn  a  whisker. 

The  other  night,  the  studio  handed  him 
tickets  for  Bob  and  his  pretty  wife,  Dorothy, 
to  take  in  a  swanky  movie  social  soiree  at 
Ciro's.  "You've  got  to  get  seen  around," 
said  his  career  advisors.  "Nobody  knows 
who  you  are." 

Bob  handed  them  back.  "Give  'em  to 
somebody  who  can  use  'em,"  grinned 
Mitchum.  "Now,  what  in  heck  would  I  do 
at  Ciro's?  Besides,"  he  added,  "I  haven't 
anything  to  wear." 

"No  tuxedo?"  they  gasped 

"I  had  one,"  recalled  Bob,  "but  I  lent 
it  out  a  couple  of  years  ago  and  I  guess 
my  friends  have  kept  it  working.  Never 
saw  it  since." 

"No  dark  suit?" 

"No  suit — period,"  said  Bob. 

It  was  true.  He  hadn't  even  one  suit  to 
his  name.  He  had  a  couple  that  were  bat- 
tered up  when  he  joined  the  army,  but 
Dottie  got  large  hearted  and  gave  them 
away  to  some  foreign  relief  or  other.  So 
when  he  was  discharged  there  wasn't  a 
suit  and  he  couldn't  buy  one,  or  just  didn't 
get  around  to  it,  one  of  the  two,  and  I 
suspect  the  latter.  Because  there's  nothing 
that  Bob  Mitchum  cares  less  about  than 
clothes — unless  maybe  it's  exercise.  Ask 
Mitchum  what  he  does  to  keep  in  trim, 
and  he'll  answer,  "Well,  I  carry  out  the 
garbage  once  a  week!" 

Bob  just  couldn't  be  glamorous  if  he 
tried — and  he  certainly  is  not  going  to 
try.  He  lost  28  pounds  in  the  army,  but  not 
his  rollicking  love  of  freedom  and  fun.  In 
fact,  it  pains  him  severely,  that  on  his 
return  to  Hollywood  from  the  service,  a 
lot  of  the  "disreputable  characters"  he 
talks  about  have  forsaken  him,  become 
respectable,  reformed  and  even  taken  to 
wearing  coats  and  ties  and  combing  their 
hair.  He  feels  let  down.  Time  was  when 
Bob  had  a  gang  of  stags  he  could  roam 
around  with,  barhop,  play  poker,  and  chew 
the  fat  all  night  with  when  he  got  restless. 
That  was  usually  his  idea  of  blowing  off 
steam  after  he'd  ground  out  a  twelve  day- 
and-night  Western. 

Such  periodic  shenanigans  don't  bother 
his  pretty  and  understanding  wife,  Doro- 
thy, a  bit.  She's  known  and  loved  Bob 
since  he  was  a  wild  kid  in  Delaware  and 


KAYO'S  V 
PEN  TROUBLES! 


"It's  giving  me  the  screaming 
mimies!"  moans  Danny  Koye  now  starring 
in  Samuel  Goldwyn's  "THE  KID  FROM  BROOKLYN 


Clogged  again,  eh,  Danny?  Well,  what  do  you  expect 
with  ordinary  high-acid  ink?  Switch  to  Parker  Quink. 
The  soh-x  in  it  stops  most  pen  troubles  before  they  start 
.  .  .  makes  Quink  a  pen-protecting  ink! 


Sure  thing,  Danny!  Quink  is  the  only  ink  containing 
soh-x.  It  dissolves  and  flushes  away  sediment  left  by 
high-acid  inks— prevents  gumming  and  clogging— keeps 
pens  free-flowing.  And  it  does  lots  more,  Danny  .  .  . 


'  WHAT  NO  RABBITS, NO  MIRRORS  ?_ 
'       I  STILL  SAY  IT'S  MAGIC  \" 


Look,  Danny,  65%  of  all  pen  troubles  are  caused  by 
high-acid  inks.  But  the  solv-x  in  Quink  actually  pre- 
vents rubber  rot  and  corrosion  of  metal  parts.  It 
safeguards  your  pen — adds  years  to  its  life! 

Every  drop  of  Quink  contains  solv-x 


PARKER 

Quink 


to  protect  pens  4  vital  ways: 

1.  Ends  all  gumming  and  clogging.  Gives 
quick  starling,  even  flow. 

2.  deans  your  pen  as  it  writes  .  .  .  keeps  it 
out  of  the  repair  shop. 

3.  Dissolves  and  flushes  away  the  sediment 
left  by  ordinary  inks. 

4.  Prevents  metal  corrosion  and  rubber  rot 
caused  by  high-acid  inks. 


Kayo  your  pen  troubles  like  Danny 
Kaye — switch  to  Parker  Quink  with 
solv-x!  Costs  no  more  than  other  inks. 
In  4  permanent,  5  washable  colors. 


Regular  size,  25^;  school  size,  15^. 
Also  in  pints  and  quarts.  The  Parker 
Pen  Company,  Janesville,  Wisconsin 
and  Toronto,  Canada. 


parker  Quink 


THE  ONLY  INK 
CONTAINING  SOLV-X 


she  knows  the  urge  to  roam  runs  deep  in 
his  bloodstream.  In  fact,  all  the  time  Bob 
was  courting  Dottie,  he'd  be  hopping  a 
freight  every  now  and  then  to  chase 
across  the  country  on  some  adventure  or 
other.  But  he  always  hopped  one  back. 

"When  Bob  puts  on  a  coat  and  tie  and 
leaves  the  house,"  Dottie  sighs  with  a 
smile,  "it  means  one  of  two  things.  Either 
he'll  be  gone  two  days — or  else  he's  going 
out  to  fix  the  car." 

mechanical  moron  ... 

Of  the  two  evils,  Dottie  will  pick  the 
former,  any  day  in  the  week.  She  doesn't 
bother  her  pretty'  head  about  Baby  Boy 
Bobby  straying  from  the  fold,  because  in 
their  relaxed  marriage  they're  as  happy  as 
larks  and  as  frank  with  each  other  about 
everything  as  only  schoolday  sweethearts 
who've  made  a  go  of  it  can  be. 

Other  day  Bob  got  a  rave  letter  from  a 
girl  in  a  Midwest  small  town,  where,  as  it 
happened,  he'd  passed  through  many  times 
on  his  travels. 

"Dear  Bob,"  she  wrote.  "Didn't  you  used 
to  sit  on  my  girl  friend's  front  porch  and 
sing— 'I'm  in  the  Mood  for  Love?'  " 

Bob  showed  the  letter  to  Dottie.  "Well, 
did  you?"  she  asked. 

He  grinned,  "Could  be,"  he  said,  "so 
what?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  Dottie,  giving  him 
the  back  of  her  hand;  "I'll  just  bet  you 
were  thinking  of  me  all  the  time." 

Bob  was  lounging  around  one  of  his 
favorite  night  spots  (not  the  fashionable 
kind)  the  other  night  with  a  "disreputable" 
pal  of  his  when  a  couple  of  cuties,  who 
had  no  idea  he  was  a  movie  swoon,  edged 
up  and  started  a  conversation.  "You  know," 
said  one,  "you  could  be  a  good  looking  guy 
if  you  wanted  to." 

"Tell  me  how,  Baby,"  cooed  Bob. 

"Well,"  said  the  cutie.  "Do — do  you  al- 
ways dress  like  that?" 

"Uh-huh,"  droned  Bob,  without  batting 
an  eye.  He  was  draped  in  an  old  pair  of 
slacks  and  an  open  shirt.  His  hair  was 
slipping  down  over  his  eyes.  He  wore  car- 
pet slippers.  The  girl  gave  him  another  size- 
up,  from  tip  to  toe. 

"Say,"  she  said,  "are  you  married?" 

Bob  still  gave  her  the  lazy  eye  and 
nodded,  "Uh-huh." 

"Well,"  she  huffed,  flouncing  off,  "that 
accounts  for  it!" 

He  tells  that  one  to  Dottie  whenever 
she  gets  uppity.  "See — it's  all  your  fault 
I'm  no  pretty-boy,"  he  says,  and  she  just 
gives  him  a  low,  fast  look.  But  when  Bob 
starts  tinkering  with  the  family  car,  Doro- 
thy frowns  for  sure.  Why  he  has  to  get 
dressed  up  to  turn  mechanic  she  doesn't 
know,  and  Bob  probably  wouldn't  either, 
if  you  asked  him;  it's  just  one  of  his  many 
perverse  quirks.  But  what  happens  when 
he  puts  on  a  coat  and  tie  and  lets  go  on  an 
ailing  automobile  is  usually  disastrous. 

He  had  an  old  1929  Whippet  that  he 
took  apart  and  worked  over,  and  the  first 
time  he  took  Dottie  and  the  kids  out  for 
a  spin  in  the  new  job,  the  motor  hopped 
up  through  the  hood  and  spattered  on  the 
highway.  Then  he  bought  another  jalop 
and  took  it  around  back  for  a  remodel  job. 
It  blew  up  in  the  garage  and  knocked  off 
the  garage  door.  When  he  was  on  location 
with  Guy  Madison  down  at  Del  Mar,  near 
San  Diego,  a  few  weeks  ago,  Guy  took 
along  his  crate,  which  promptly  stalled  the 
minute  it  arrived.  "I'll  fix  it,"  said  Mitchum. 
He  did,  all  right.  He  spent  all  his  spare  time 
on  the  trip  pushing  Guy's  car  around,  and 
loosening  everything  in  the  motor.  He  took 
off  the  fuel  pump,  dismantled  the  car- 
buretor, and  dissected  every  part  of  the 
motor.  At  the  end  of  the  week  when  Guy 
wanted  to  drive  home,  it  still  wouldn't  run. 
He  had  to  call  a  tow-car. 

Bob   and  Dottie   and  their  two  boys, 


Jimmy  and  Chris,  got  caught  in  the  hous- 
ing shortage  in  Los  Angeles  and  have  had 
to  settle  for  a  little  bungalow  in  the  un- 
fashionable part  of  Hollywood.  It's  not 
exactly  the  kind  of  a  castle  you'd  expect 
a  movie  star  to  loll  around  in.  In  fact,  it's 
a  little  wooden  house  that  could  do  with  a 
coat  of  paint  and  some  new  furniture. 
But  it's  the  center  of  the  world  to  Bob 
and  his  bunch  and  wherever  he  is  that's 
the  way  it  always  will  be. 

Everybody's  welcome  all  the  time,  day 
or  night.  Dottie  never  knows  when  Bob 
will  want  to  eat  or  how  many  pals  he'll 
drag  along  with  him  when  he  does.  Since 
he's  been  in  the  army,  his  ex-service  mates 
make  it  their  Hollywood  headquarters  and 
sleep  in  all  nooks  and  crannies  of  the  little 
shack.  Jimmy  and  Chris  romp  merrily 
around,  and  Bob  can  sleep  sound  as  a  top 
on  the  divan  in  his  favorite  position 
(prone)  while  the  kids  play  cops  and 
robbers  in,  around,  and  on  top  of  him. 
He's  a  swell  father,  by  the  way,  and  Jimmy 
particularly  is  the  spitting  image  of  his 
old  man.  Bob  raises  them  right,  with  a 
smack  when  they  need  it,  but  he's  think- 
ing about  the  moppets  all  the  time,  and 
really  his  heart's  just  like  a  watermelon 
that  way. 

He  and  Dottie  took  a  trip  up  to  San 
Francisco,  right  after  Uncle  Sam  let  him 
go,  to  celebrate.  They  left  Jimmy  and 
Chris  in  Hollywood  with  Bob's  folks.  They 
did  the  town — which  is  very  nice  doing — ■ 
and  saw  all  their  friends.  One  night  at  a 


MARCH  ISSUE 

The  March  issue  of  MODERN 
SCREEN  comes  roaring  to  the 
newsstands  on  February  12  .  .  . 
but  goes  off  meekly  in  your 
hands  when  you  spot  Dennis 
Morgan  on  the  cover!  So  blow 
down  to  the  corner  and  get  there 
on  time! 


party  Bob  disappeared  right  in  the  middle 
of  dinner  and  Dottie  thought — Good  Lord, 
what  now?  They  looked  all  around  and 
finally  found  Mitchum  back  in  the  nursery. 
The  big  softie  was  lying  on  the  floor  with 
the  phone  receiver  off  and  the  victrola 
was  grinding  out  nursery  jingles.  He'd 
found  some  there  and  thought  that  Jimmy 
and  Chris  ought  to  have  a  listen.  So  he'd 
called  home,  long  distance,  and  was  play- 
ing the  kiddie  discs  to  his  sons  happily — 
although  every  minute  burned  up  plenty  of 
dollars  in  long  distance  tolls. 

That,  of  course,  meant  absolutely  noth- 
ing to  Bob  Mitchum,  because  lucre  is  one 
commodity  he  holds  in  fine  scorn.  He's  al- 
ways having  to  leave  his  ring  or  his  watch 
at  a  gas  station  to  fill  up  the  tank,  and 
through  force  of  necessity,  Dorothy  has 
had  to  take  over  the  financial  duties  for  the 
family.  (Bob  can't  even  be  trusted  with 
the  allowance  his  agent,  Paul  Wilkins, 
doles  him  out  of  his  salary.)  Sometimes 
he  turns  up  with  cash  money  which  goes 
right  away  like  the  wind.  He  keeps  it 
rolled  up  in  his  pocket,  when  he  has  it, 
in  little  wads  and  things,  all  mixed  up. 
It  tangles  with  his  handkerchiefs,  his 
keys,  and  whatever  he  has  in  the  pocket. 

The  Mitchums  were  out  on  one  of  their 
rare  evenings  (with  two  kids  and  the 
"sitter"  situation  what  it  is,  you  can  bet 
they're  rare)  when  Bob  paid  off  the  cab 
driver  with  a  bill.  "Keep  the  change,"  he 
said  grandly.  He  thought  it  was  a  dollar 
bill.  But  Dorothy  has  eyes  made  sharp  with 
just  such  things  as  that.  She  spied  the 
tenspot,  even  though  it  was  rolled  up  like 
a  spitball — a  la  Mitchum. 


"Bob,"  she  cried.  "Are  you  crazy?  You 
gave  him  ten  dollars!" 

Bob  let  out  a  yelp  and  chased  the  cabbie 
down  the  street.  He  was  still  in  second  and 
Bob  has  long  legs.  He  leaped  on  the  run- 
ning board  and  got  back  his  ten.  But  that's 
typical.  What  other  Hollywood  star— I  ask 
you — would  have  reacted  like  Bob  did 
recently  and  come  right  out  with  his 
financial  standing  over  the  phone. 

He  was  house  hunting  for  a  bigger  and 
better  place — and  around  Hollywood  these 
days  that's  a  long,  ghastly  and  grim  proc- 
ess. To  get  a  cubby-hole  you  have  to 
give  your  family  tree,  fingerprints,  high 
school  grades  and  birth  certificate,  practi- 
cally. So  Bob  tied  into  a  prospect  that 
looked  all  right. 

"What  do  you  do,  Mr.  Mitchum?"  Bob 
said  he  was  an  actor.  In  the  movies?  Yes. 
H-m-m-m-m.  "What  are  your  assets?" 
was  the  next  quiz. 

"Hey,  Dot!"  yelled  Bob.  "How  much 
dough  do  we  have?"  She  called  the  answer. 

"One  hundred  and  twelve  bucks  cash," 
said  Bob  in  the  receiver. 

He  didn't  get  the  house. 

For  such  a  frank,  forthright  and  free- 
wheeling guy  as  Bob  Mitchum  you'd  ex- 
pect nothing  but  trouble  getting  regi- 
mented into  the  army.  But,  being  a  man's 
man,  perhaps,  or  knowing  by  plenty  ex- 
perience how  to  get  along  in  any  set  of 
circumstances — something  made  Bob  a 
swell  soldier.  For  the  short  time  he  was  in, 
he  hung  up  the  best  record  in  his  battalion 
at  Camp  Roberts,  snagged  an  expert  rifle- 
man's badge  and  got  six  separate  recom- 
mendations for  officer's  training.  That 
wasn't  because  he  was  a  Hollywood  actor, 
either,  because  all  his  service  time  Bob 
went  incognito  as  possible  as  a  GI,  and 
remember,  too,  if  nobody  in  Hollywood 
knew  the  guy — how  do  you  expect  a  bur  ch 
of  soldiers  to  know  he  was  a  movie  hen? 

Of  course,  when  "GI  Joe"  came  out,  he 
had  to  'fess  up,  but  by  then  he  was  practi- 
cally out  of  the  army,  on  dependencies. 
The  only  time  Bob  got  any  Hollywood  star 
treatment  was  on  his  theater  tour  I  men- 
tioned at  the  start.  But  even  then  there 
wasn't  enough  to  make  Bob  think  he  was 
somebody.  And  since  he's  been  back  he's 
been  far  too  busy  to  sit  back,  puff  up  and 
say,  "So  I'm  a  star — hey?  Well,  now  ain't 
that  sumpin'!"  As  though  he  would! 

Bob  Mitchum  was  anxious  to  get  back  to 
Hollywood  and  to  work.  He  was  so  anxious 
that  when  he  got  discharged  he  wangled  it 
in  2V2  hours — which  Bob  thinks  is  some 
kind  of  a  world's  record  for  getting  your 
"ruptured  duck."  He  was  on  duty  at  the 
separation  center  at  the  time,  which  ex- 
plains the  technique— but  the  stimulus 
was  getting  back  on  the  job  in  Hollywood. 
He  loves  to  make  movies, — really  goes  for 
the  set  work — although  if  you  call  him  ah 
"actor"  he'll  give  you  a  queer  look  and 
tilt  that  left  eyebrow  dangerously. 

ham  on  the  lam  .  .  . 

There's  an  odd  hangover  Bob  Mitchum 
packs  from  his  days  on  the  road.  Some- 
times— -for  no  good  reason  at  all — he'll  take 
it  on  the  lam  before  he  can  think.  It  hap- 
pens when  he's  startled.  One  night,  he 
came  home  late  from  the  studio  and  flopped 
on  the  bed  before  eating.  While  he  was 
snoozing,  Dottie  stepped  out  of  the  house 
to  get  something  at  the  market  and  when 
she  came  back  in  she  slammed  the  door. 
Pretty  soon  she  called  for  Bob — but  no 
answer.  She  looked  in  the  bedroom — no 
Bob.  But  the  window  was  open. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  phone  rang.  "Is 
everything  all  right?"  hissed  Bob. 

"Sure,  you  dope,"  she  said.  "Where  in 
the  world  are  you?" 

"Around  the  corner,"  he  said.  "I  heard 
somebody  after  me." 

"You  nut!"  said  Dottie,  "that  was  me. 
Come  on  home." 


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longer  hair !  Be  convinced ! — Send  for  your  Juelene  NOW. 

Make  This  7-  Day  Test 

. . .  SEND  NO  MONEY! 

JUST  MAIL  THE  CONVENIENT  INTRODUCTORY  COUPON! 
Upon  arrival  of  Juelene  pay  Postman  $1.00  plus  postage.  Or  if  you 
prefer,  send  a  remittance  with  your  order — we  will  pay  the  post- 
age. Then  test  Juelene.  Notice  how  much  more  silky  and  soft  your 
hair  may  be  in  just  seven  short  days.  So  take  advantage  of  this 
INTRODUCTORY,  GET  -  ACQUAINTED  -  OFFER  today— NOW, 
and  know  at  last  the  happiness  of  possessing  really  lovelier  hair. 


INTRODUCTORY  COUPON... 


JUEL  COMPANY,  Dept.  K-603 
1930  Irving  Park  Road,  Chicago  13,  111. 

Yes,  I  want  easy-to-manage,  longer  hair.  I  will  try  the 
JUELENE  SYSTEM  for  7  days.  If  my  mirror  doesn't  show 
satisfactory  results,  I  will  ask  for  my  money  back 

□  I  am  enclosing  $1.00 

□  Send  C.O.D.  plus  postage 

NAME.  

ADDRESS  


CITT  .ZONE  STATE.  

iff"  Our  Customers  Participate  in  Beauty  Gifts 


GENUINE  DIAMOND 


SWEETHEART  SETS 
Guarantee-Bond  with  Every  Purchase  . 


"Well.  I'll  be  darned!"  wondered  Bob. 

It  happened,  too.  just  the  other  day  down 
at  Del  Mar  where  Bob  was  making  scenes 
for  •'Until  the  End  of  Time."  He  was  in 
the  hotel  bar  talking  with  the  dialogue 
director  and  they  started  toward  the  door 
to  take  a  walk  by  the  ocean.  But  halfway 
across  a  waiter  dropped  a  tray  of  dishes 
with  a  resounding  clatter.  Bob  dove  right 
through  an  open  window  and  climbed  a 
fence  before  he  could  stop  himself,  even 
though  the  wide  open  door  was  handy. 

If  3rou  ask  him  his  hopes  and  his  plans, 
hell  just  give  you  a  queer  smile  and  then 
confess  that  that's  the  way  he  feels  about 


Hollywood.  Someday  he'll  be  jumping  out 
the  window  and  taking  it  on  the  lam.  The 
only  place  that  seems  real  and  safe,  com- 
fortable and  sure,  for  Bob  Mitchum  is  a 
farm  back  in  Delaware  where  he  came 
from — and  that's-  what  he  hopes  to  have 
some  day. 

"They'll  get  wise  to  me  here  some  day — 
sooner  or  later."  drawls  Bob  Mitchum. 
blowing  a  thin  blue  cigarette  smoke  ring 
up  to  the  ceiling  and  following  it  re- 
flectively with  his  lazy  eyes. 

"But  meanwhile/'  he  grins,  "to  tell  the 
truth — I  never  found  a  touch  like  this 
before!'' 


THRILL  OF  A  ROMANCE 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


that,  through  all  the  responses.  Esther  and 
Ben  kept  their  eyes  on  each  other. 

"In  sickness  and  health,"  she  said,  look- 
ing straight  up  at  him. 

" — Till  death  do  us  part,"  he  said,  looking 
down  at  her. 

It  was  very  moving.  It  made  you  think 
of  the  old  words — they  plighted  their  troth. 
It  made  you  feel  as  you  ought  to  feel  at  a 
wedding — that  this  was  a  sacrament,  sweet 
and  good  and  lasting. 

how  they  met  .  .  . 

"They  gotta  meet  cute — " 

That's  a  Hollywood  classic.  Producers 
pull  it  on  writers.  "Howdoya  get  the  girl 
and  boy  together?  They  gotta  meet  cute—" 

Esther  Williams  and  Ben  Gage  met  cute. 
She  was  selling  cigarettes  for  a  benefit  at 
Earl  Carroll's.  He'd  brought  Ginny  Simms 
who  was  going  to  sing.  Bunny  Green  in- 
troduced them. 

Esther  likes  to  look  up  to  a  man.  Being 
six  feet  in  her  heels,  it's  not  always  pos- 
sible. But  here  was  this  tremendous  blonde 
creature  in  uniform,  grinning  down  at  her 
from  a  peak  of  six-foot-five.  Golly,  that 
looked  good. 

"What  do  you  do,  young  man?" 

"I  was  a  radio  announcer.  Now  I  an- 
nounce for  the  army." 

"What  do  you  announce?" 

"This  and  that.  Read  love  letters  from 
GIs  for  one  thing,  on  Ginny  Simms'  pro- 
gram. Better  listen  sometime.  They're  very 
romantic — " 

If  you'd  told  Esther  then  that  she'd  have 
fallen  in  love  at  sight  she'd  have  squelched 
you.  That's  stuff  for  kids  in  storybooks. 
She  was  grown  up. 

When  she  left,  it  was  raining.  Because 
of  the  war.  parking  lot  boys  were  scarce, 
and  she  couldn't  find  one.  Normally,  she's 
an  independent  gal  who's  been  known  to 
cope  with  worse.  Now  she  began  feeling 
sorry  for  herself  Other  women  had  men 
to  get  their  cars.  And  here  she'd  ha%re  to 
go  wading  out  in  that  downpour,  long  white 
formal,  flimsy  sandals  and  all.  Of  course 
it  had  its  funny  side.  Champ  swimmer 
afraid  of  the  rain,  but  she  felt  more  like 
crying.  .  . 

"Well.  Girl,  you  seem  to  be  in  trouble — " 
It  was  the  blonde  young  giant  again.  "Can 
I  get  your  car  for  you?" 

"Oh.  if  you  would — " 

He  brought  it  around,  she  thanked  him, 
they  said  goodnight  and  she  drove  away, 
thinking:  "Gee,  that  was  nice — "  But  she 
still  felt  lonesome. 

Though  she'd  been  only  17  at  the  time 
of  her  first  marriage,  its  failure  had  struck 
deep.  Brought  up  in  a  happy  home,  she'd 
■woven  the  rosy  dreams  of  girlhood  around 
her  own  marriage,  and  set  it  up  on  a 
beautiful  shining  pedestal.  When  it  be- 
gan to  show  flaws,  she  wouldn't  see  them. 
When  her  eyes  were  forced  open,  she  kept 
on  trying  desperately  to  make  it  stick. 


When  it  crashed  at  the  end  of  four  years, 
she  lifted  her  head  from  the  wreck  with 
one  deep  resolve.  If  she  never  married 
again — never  had  the  children  she  longed 
for — that  would  still  be  better  than  mak- 
ing another  mistake. 

So  it  kind  of  scared  her  that  Ben  should 
stick  in  her  thoughts.  She'd  find  herself 
twisting  the  dial,  bending  an  ear  to  that 
program  he'd  talked  about.  Romantic  was 
right.  His  voice  reading  those  GI  letters — 
"Darling,  I  love  you  so  much — "  So  what? 
So  a  guy  reads  some  other  guy's  letters 
to  some  other  girl.  What  was  she  mooning 
about?  She'd  snap  it  off.  And  tune  in 
again  the  next  time. 

That's  why  she  looked  away  quick  when, 
a  few  months  later,  she  caught  sight  of 
him  towering  high  at  a  wedding  recep- 
tion. From  his  angle,  however,  Ben 
couldn't  miss  her. 

"Hello,  you're  not  avoiding  me.  are 
you?"  One  word  led  to  another.  "This  is 
going  to  sound  silly,"  said  Ben.  "but  you've 
been  my  dream  girl  for  quite  a  while.  I've 
got  a  picture  of  you  in  my  wallet — " 

Now  that's  a  tribute  to  flatter  any  girl, 
and  if  she  tells  you  different  she  lies.  But 
what  pleased  Esther  most  was  this.  It  was 
no  glamor  picture  but  clipped  from  some 
sports  page  of  her  swimming  days. 

Before  she  left,  he  asked  for  her  phone 
number,  which  scared  her  again.  Somehow 
she  squirmed  out  of  giving  it  to  him.  but 
bright  and  early  next  morning  here's  Mr. 
Gage  on  the  line.  "Hello,  am  I  pressing?'' 
That  made  her  howl,  and  suddenly  she 
was  wondering  wrhat  she'd  been  scared 
about.  "Look."  she  said  on  an  impulse. 
"Would  you  like  to  meet  my  mother?'' 

So  they  had_  their  first  date — dinner  at 
her  mother's  house.  And  after  a  few  more. 
Esther  knew  that  Ben  hadn't  been  kid- 
ding about  the  dream-girl  business. 

no  marriage  talk  .  .  . 

But  she  wouldn't  let  him  talk  marriage: 
there  were  too  many  things  in  the  way. 
Till  her  divorce  was  final,  she  had  no 
right  even  to  think  about  marriage,  and 
though  she  found  him  terribly  attractive, 
this  time  she  had  to  be  sure  down  to  the 
roots.  Besides.  Ben  himself,  while  perfectly 
willing  to  plan,  wasn't  ready  to  marry. 
The  army'd  taken  him  almost  three  years 
ago — fresh  from  a  whopping  contract  as 
Bob  Hope's  announcer.  Well.  Ben  was 
the  kind  of  guy  who'd  have  to  be  head  of 
his  household,  who'd  have  to  foot  the 
bills  and  run  the  joint.  He  wasn't  marry- 
ing on  a  sergeant's  pay,  and  who  knew  how 
long  he'd  be  in  the  service? 

"Let's  not  make  any  plans."  said  Esther. 
"Let's  just  get  to  know  each  other  and 
leave  the  rest  to  time — " 

Mrs.  Williams  once  summed  her  daugh- 
ter up.  "When  her  time  came  to  be  born. 
I  think  God  said:  'This  one's  for  laughs.'  " 

In    Ben.    Esther    found    another  such 


ces,  you  can  get  GENU- 
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3ut,  be  sure  to  order  today: 


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A  gorgeous  Set  ro  make 
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NOTE:  We  do  not  handle  imitation  or  simulated 
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MONDS  only.  We  ship  C.O.D.  ' 
when  ordering. 

L'AMOUR   JEWELRY  CO. 

545  Fifth  Ave..   Dept.  B-107.  N.  Y.  17 


SEND  NO  MONEY! 


L'AMOUR  JEWELRY  CO.,  Dept.  B-107 
545  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York  17.   N.  Y. 


«end  the  Rings  checked  below.  Will  pay  poetznan  price.  - 
plus  postage  and  2CK >  Fed.  tax.  After  10  days.  I  may  ■ 
return  Rings  for  refund  of  money.  | 


Set  No.  12 


Set  No 


16 


Set  No.  4-         Set  No, 

Eng.     D  Eng-     □  En^"-     □  E^S*  3 

Wed.    D  Wed.    O  Wed.    □  Wed.  □ 

My  Tins  size  is.  (or  send  paper  strip  to  size 

Same  -  


Address.., 


City   Zone   State.. 


ft 


our  Style-line 

starts  at 
your  Bust-line 


Good  form  is  basic  for  style — that's 
why  your  "Perma-lift"  *  bra  is  so 
important.  With  a  "Perma-lift" 
bra  your  bustline  is  smooth  and 
young  and  firm — a  must  for  to- 
day's fashions.  The  famous  cush- 
ion inset,  deftly  fashioned  into  the 
base  of  each  bra  cup  is  utterly  un- 
like any  other  bra  support — does 
everything  you  expect  a  superb 
bra  to  do — will  withstand  count- 
less washings  and  long  wear. 

You'll  enjoy  many  more  bene- 
fits in  wearing  "Perma-lift"  bras- 
sieres than  we  claim  for  them.  For 
beauty — for  unsurpassed  style  and 
comfort  ask  for  a  "Perma-lift"  bra 
- — America's  favorite  —  at  fine 
stores  everywhere  1.25  to  2.50. 

*Reg.  U.  S.Pat.  Off.  — A .  Stein  &  Compauy,  Chicago 


big  u  ft.  pat.  err.  j\ 

BRASSIERES  U 

THE  LIFT  THAT  NEVER  LETS  YOU  DOWN 


character — sunny  and  openhearted.  They 
both  like  people.  She  calls  him  the  great 
emcee  of  the  street  corners.  Truckdrivers 
hail  him,  cops  are  his  pals  and  he  knows 
every  newsboy  in  town  by  his  first  name. 
Esther  understands  that  language,  because 
high-hatting  isn't  in  her.  When  kids 
crowd  around,  they  get  a  sisterly  talking- 
to  along  with  the  autograph  .  .  .  "Crimey,  at 
your  age  I  didn't  stand  around  waiting  for 
some  stale  movie  star  to  scribble  me  her 
name.  I  was  busy  swimming — " 

"Look,"  says  Ben,  "they  want  an  auto- 
graph, not  a  lecture — "  "Look,"  says  Esther, 
"they're  getting  two-in-one — "  Ocean 
Park's  been  a  favorite  hangout  with  them. 
Ben  would  come  up  on  a  weekend  pass 
from  Santa  Ana,  they'd  start  out  for  a  party 
and  wind  up  on  the  roller  coaster.  One 
night  they'd  been  having  a  heck  of  a  time 
playing  bingo,  when  Esther  got  a  yen  for  an 
ice  cream  soda.  The  first  two  or  three 
drugstores  they  tried  were  out  of  ice 
cream.  The  last  one  had  ice  cream,  but 
by  then  it  was  closing  time.  .  .  . 

and  make  it  sweet  .  .  . 

"Please,"  Esther  begged.  "Please  make 
me  a  chocolate  soda." 

A  bunch  of  kids  who'd  been  fairly  quiet 
for  kids  up  to  that  point  started  raising 
the  roof  at  their  table.  The  manager  hur- 
ried over  and  hurried  back. 

"Listen.  I  don't  know  if  you're  Esther 
Williams  or  not,  but  will  you  please  settle 
the  argument  and  shut  those  kids  up?" 

"I  will,"  she  said  sweetly,  "if  you'll  make 
me  a  chocolate  soda." 

As  she  dug  into  it  the  kids  started  inch- 
ing over.  They  addressed  Ben.  "That's 
Esther  Williams,  ain't  it,  Mister?" 

"I  wouldn't  know,  never  saw  the  lady 
before.  She  followed  me  in." 

Esther  choked  but  one  young  cavalier 
didn't  think  it  was  funny.  "That's  Esther 
Williams,  all  right,  an'  she  don't  have  to 
follow  no  guy  no  place."  His  hand  went 
into  his  pocket  and  extracted  a  coin.  "I 
gotta  dime,  Miss  Williams.  Could  I  pay  for 
your  soda?" 

She  slid  off  the  stool  and  hugged  him  to 
his  squirming  embarrassment.  Ben  rose. 
"Excuse  me  for  ribbing  you  gentlemen, 
but  the  drinks  are  on  me.  How  about 
another  round?" 

The  manager,  being  a  sentimentalist, 
set  'em  up.  That  little  incident,  trivial 
though  it  may  seem,  is  typical  of  the 
warmth  and  laughter  they've  brought  to 
each  other.  Mrs.  Williams  fell  in  love  with 
Ben,  too,  which  did  him  no  harm  with 
Esther,  who  worships  her  Mom. 

"I  like  what  he  does  to  you.  You're 
sweeter  these  days.  You've  got  that  shine 
in  your  eyes." 

"You  know  why,  don't  you  Mommy? 
He's  a  fool — like  me." 

One  day  he  announced  that  he'd  changed 
his  name  to  Howcum.   "After  you,  honey." 

"How  come  after  me?" 

"That's  just  what  I  mean.  Howcum  after 
me." 

"I  don't  say  Howcum." 

"Sure  you  do,  'n  it's  cute." 

After  that  he  was  Howcum.  "This  is  GI 
Howcum  of  Howcum,  Howcum  &  Stuff 
calling  about  the  hole  in  the  dining  room 
rug."  The  identification  bracelet  he  gave 
her  was  inscribed  "GI  luv  you  Howcum 
Ben." 

His  first  gift  was  a  ring  of  silver  links  to 
match  his  own.  The  plate  joining  the  links 
was  marked  "EW." 

"Pardon  me  for  pointing,"  said  Esther 
"But  the  initials  seem  to  be  off  center." 

"That's  to  leave  room  for  the  G,"  said 
Ben. 

But  the  blue-ribbon  gag  was  the  one  he 
pulled  at  Christmas.  Esther'd  gone  East  on 
a  hospital  tour.  Ben  had  a  furlough  but 
no  transportation.  He  packed  a  bag  any- 
way and  on  a  sporting  chance  made  for 


the  airport  which  was  thick  with  majors 
and  colonels  hellbent  on  the  same  chance. 

It  happened  that  a  general  who'd  been 
flown  in  was  leaving  again  in  .  twenty 
minutes.  Ben  walked  up  to  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?  I  have  important 
business  back  East.  May  I  ride  with  you?" 

"That's  a  rather  unusual  request,  Ser- 
geant. Can't  you  put  it  through  the  proper 
channels?" 

"I  thought  I'd  have  a  better  chance  by 
avoiding  the  red  tape,  sir." 

Even  generals  go  for  the  human  touch. 
"Well,  well,  talk  to  my  pilot." 

The  pilot  was  a  full  colonel.  "I  just  asked 
the  general  for.  a  ride,  sir." 

"I  see  you  did." 

"He  says  it's  all  right  with  him  if  it  is 
with  you." 

"I've  got  nothing  against  sergeants,  Ser- 
geant," said  the  colonel  gravely.  That's  how 
Ben  found  himself  waving  goodbye  to  the 
grounded  majors — but  not  till  he  was  up 
where  they  couldn't  see  him. 

He  met  Esther  at  the  Chicago  airport. 
Down  she  tripped  complete  with  mink 
coat,  and  orchids  presented  by  the  civic 
authorities.  Up  stepped  the  sergeant  clutch- 
ing an  old  beat-up  little  daisy. 

"I  brung  you  a  flower,  lady," 

First  she  died  of  laughing,  then  started 
unpinning  the  orchids  to  make  room  for 
the  daisy. 

Ben  clucked  in  admiration.  T  always 
say  there's  nothing  like  a  dead  daisy  to 
show  off  mink." 

Time  will  tell,  Esther'd  thought,  and  time 
did.  It  told  her  nothing  but  good  about 
Ben  and  it  also  told  her  how  she  felt  her- 
self. At  the  ritziest  nightclub  wearing  the 
loveliest  clothes,  dancing  to  the  swooniest 
music,  if  she  wasn't  with  Ben  she  didn't 
want  to  be  there. 

By  the  time  her  final  decree  came 
through  last  September  she  was  sure  in 
her  heart.  If  she  hadn't  been,  Mexico 
would  have  cinched  it. 

In  mid-October  she  flew  to  Mexico  to  be 
fitted  for  the  Matador  costumes  she  wears 
in  "Fiesta,"  and  to  make  the  picture.  But 
the  starting  date  was  postponed,  and 
M-G-M  found  they  needed  added  scenes 
for  "Hoodlum  Saint,"  in  which  she  co- 
stars  with  Bill  Powell.  So  at  the  end  of 
two  weeks  she  was  called  back. 

She'd  been  away  from  Ben  before,  and 
for  longer  than  two  weeks,  but  never  be- 
fore had  she  missed  him  like  this.  Now 
she  knew  how  close  they'd  grown,  how 
lost  she'd  be  without  him.  The  thought  of 
Ben  waiting  at  the  airport  wrapped  her  in 
a  wonderful  warm  glow.  And  all  of  a  sud- 
den she  could  hardly  wait. 

Mel  was  with  her,  and  she  drove  Mel 
crazy.  "I've  got  to  be  back  in  time  for 
Ben's  birthday.  I've  got  to — " 

glass  kiss  .  .  . 

His  birthday  was  the  29th.  By  nagging 
and  coaxing  and  the  skin  of  their  teeth, 
they  made  it.  The  customs  kept  Esther 
and  Ben  apart  for  a  good  twenty  minutes, 
but  she  sang  "Happy  Birthday"  and  kissed 
him  through  the  glass  partition,  which  was 
better  than  nothing.  They  dined  at  the 
Derby.  The  cake  Esther'd  ordered  by  wire 
bore  a  Spanish  inscription,  translating  into 
"Happy  Birthday  to  my  Darling  from  his 
best  girl — "  Ben  opened  his  presents — a 
ring,  a  sweater  and,  as  the  topper,  two 
pairs  of  pre-war  pajamas. 

"Whee,  that's  what  I  call  an  achieve- 
ment— " 

"Me,  too,"  she  agreed  modestly.  "Espe- 
cially after  last  Christmas,  tramping 
through  the  whole  silly  town  of  New  York, 
trying  to  buy  a  shirt  big  enough  to  cover 
you.  The  clerks  were  so  helpful.  'Sure  you 
don't  mean  a  tent?'  " 

Ben  smiled,  but  a  little  absently. 

"Honey,"  said  Esther,  "You've  got  some- 
thing on  your  mind — " 


out  of  10  Screen  Stars  use  this  Beauty  Care 

  (£/r/s  are  £&(/e//er  / 


He  nodded,  his  eyes  on  hers.  "My  unit's 
been  disbanded.  Only  four  of  us  left.  I'll 
be  out  by  the  end  of  the  week — " 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  Her  smile  was 
tremulous,  but  radiant.  "Well — ?  What  are 
we  waiting  for?" 

They  set  the  date  for  November  18th. 
Ben  had  a  stroke  of  luck.  He's  got  a 
wonderful  singing  voice  and  was  offered  a 
dubbing  job  in  Vic  Mature's  new  picture 
for  the  first  real  money  he'd  earned  in 
years.  Honeymoon  Money,  he  called  it. 

The  blow  fell  and  wham,  went  the 
wedding  plans.  Word  came  that  he'd  been 
transferred  to  the  armed  forces  radio 
service,  and  wouldn't  be  out  for  another 
six  months.  "Now  I  know  how  Punch  and 
Judy  feel,"  Esther  wailed,  "when  the 
ball  socks  em," 

All  was  confusion.  Ben's  mother,  visiting 
his  grandmother  in  Illinois,  wrote;  "I  see 
by  Louella  Parsons  that  you're  getting 
married,  and  I  see  by  Hedda  Hopper  that 
you're  not.  But  Jimmy  Fidler  can't  seem  to 
make  up  his  mind,  so  I'm  just  waiting  till 
the  three  of  them  get  together." 

Punch  and  Judy  picked  themselves  up 
and  set  another  date — March  20th,  the 
anniversary  of  their  meeting.  On  Novem- 
ber 15th,  a  new  army  directive  was  is- 
sued. All  men  in  the  service  42  months  or 
longer  would  be  promptly  discharged. 
Ben  had  been  in  44  months.  But  now  it 
was  too  late.  Esther  had  to  leave  for 
Mexico  on  the  23rd.  She'd  always  sworn 
there'd  be  no  hurry-up  stuff  for  her.  She 
wanted  a  church  wedding  with  all  the 
fixings,  .and  all  her  family  around. 

If  Peggy  Wright  hadn't  married  Gail 
Patrick's  brother  that  night,  Esther  and 
Ben  wouldn't  now  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ben 
was  Lieutenant  Richard  Fitzpatrick's  best 
man.  The  wedding  was  at  Gail's  house, 
and  Esther  wept  steadily  through  the  whole 
thing.  Ben  looked  the  other  way — he 
couldn't  stand  it. 

Later,  with  Mel  and  her  husband,  they 
went  to  Bob  Dalton's,  their  favorite  eating 
spot. 

"I  want  to  get  married,"  said  Esther,  all 
forlorn. 

"Look,"  said  Ben.  "Couldn't  we — ?" 

And  suddenly  they  were  all  talking  and 
figuring,  and  if  this  and  if  that,  and  espe- 
cially if  the  studio'd  give  Esther  a  little 
more  time,  they  could  be  married  on  the 
25th  and  take  a  week's  honeymoon  in 
Mexico.  At  this  prospect,  they  flung  their 
arms  around  each  other  while  Mel  tried  to 
shush  them  and  they  said  the  whole  world 
could  listen,  for  all  they  cared. 

nothing's  impossible  .  .  . 

"It  can't  be  done  but  we're  doing  it," 
caroled  Esther. 

The  studio  was  marvelous.  Jack  Cum- 
mings,  producer  of  "Fiesta,"  said  they 
could  shoot  around  Esther  till  December 
3rd.  Sam  Katz  said  Irene  could  design 
the  wedding  dress.  No  studio  designer's 
supposed  to  make  personal  clothes,  but 
this  was  to  be  a  gift  from  M-G-M.  Esther 
phoned  Mr.  Mayer  in  New  York  to  give  him 
the  news  before  he  got  it  from  the  papers. 

Ben  called  his  mother  in  Evanston.  He'd 
always  promised  his  grandmother  that 
he'd  never  be  married  without  her.  His 
grandmother's  an  independent  little  lady 
of  82 — who  refuses  to  live  with  her  chil- 
dren and  drove  miles  once  to  spend  five 
minutes  with  Esther  between  trains.  She 
took  her  sewing  circle  to  see  "Thrill  Of  A 
Romance,"  and  reported  back  to  Ben: 
"The  girls  all  think  you've  got  something 
there — ■" 

Now  Ben  said  to  his  mother:  "I  won- 
der if  we  ought  to  let  her  fly — " 

This  was  repeated  to  Granny,  who  took 
the  phone  over.  "I'm  flying,  young  man. 
Rather  risk  my  skin  than  miss  your  wed- 
ding." 

Esther  called  Sue  Ladd.  She  and  Ben 


had  a  dinner  date  at  the  Ladds  house  that 
night. 

"You  may  not  know  it,  Sue,  but  you're 
throwing   an   announcement  party — " 

Hospitable  Sue  was  ready  to  do  it  up 
brown,  but  Esther  wouldn't  let  her.  She 
did  get  hold  of  Barbara  and  Sonny  Tufts 
though,  and  the  table  was  lovely  with 
crystal  and  silver  and  flowers,  and  Alan 
dug  out  some  pre-war  champagne  for 
the  toasts. 

In  fact,  the  one  villain  of  the  piece  was 
our  own  Modern  Screen.  Earlier,  we'd 
set  up  a  date  with  Esther  to  shoot  pictures 
that  Friday,  and  wedding  or  no,  Esther's 
a  girl  of  her  word.  The  only  thing  was, 
Ben  wanted  to  meet  her  at  the  jeweler's 
to  look  at  rings.  The  shop  closed  at  five, 
and  at  five  she  was  still  in  the  gallery, 
posing  for  us.  We  felt  pretty  guilty  about 
it,  and  said  so. 

"Skip  it,"  she  smiled.  "I  like  Modern 
Screen  too — " 


for  the  number  of 
his  room.  It  was  1419.  Off  we  went 
to  the  top  floor.  We  walked  out  of 
the  elevator  and  who  should  be  there 
but  some  other  bobbysockers.  We 
sat  with  the  others  till  around  12  when 
the  bellboy  politely  told  us  to  leave! 

So  we  went  downstairs.  Mr.  Tufts 
had  left  the  hotel  at  9  o'clock.  Finally 
a  girl  spotted  him — wheeee — and  he 
was  surrounded.  He  was  enormous! 
He  signed  my  autograph  book  and  I 
saw  his  hankie — it  was  in  his  upper 
pocket.  I  grabbed  it.  "Mr.  Tufts,"  1 
said,  "may  I  have  it?"  He  looked  up 
from  his  signing  and  smiled — so  1  took 
it.  Later  I  found  out  that  the  smile 
must  have  meant  no! 

That  Sunday  it  was  all  in  the  paper. 
Mr.  Tufts  had  gone  to  Lawson  General 
Hospital  and  it  was  very  hot.  He 
reached  for  his  hankie — but  where 
was  it?  Someone  with  him  remem- 
bered seeing  a  "bobbysocker"  take  it. 

For  once  in  my  life  I  got  in  the 
paper!  I'm  the  bobby  socker! 

Joyce  Wender 
Atlanta,  Georgia 


And  that,  folks,  sends  Miss  Williams  to 
the  top  of  our  honey  parade. 

They  chose  the  rings  next  day.  Ben  had 
found  one  he  liked  but  wanted  Esther  to 
make  her  own  choice,  so  he  told  the 
jeweler  to  mix  it  up  with  the  others.  As 
she  picked  each  ring  up,  he'd  cover  the 
price  tag  with  his  finger.  Finally  she  said: 
"I  think  I  like  this  one."  It  was  his  own 
choice — star  sapphire,  perfect  in  cut  but 
modest  in  size,  set  in  platinum. 

"Are  you  sure,  honey?" 

She'd  replaced  it  on  the  pad.  Now  she 
picked  it  up  fast  and,  before  Ben  had  a 
chance  to  stop  her,  glanced  at  the  price 
tag.  .  . 

"Yes,  I'm  sure —  Oh  Ben,  don't  look  at 
me  like  that.  This  is  the  one  I  want,  but 
if  it  cost  too  much,  I  just  wouldn't  enjoy 
it.  After  all,  you've  been  in  the  army  ior 
four  years — " 

His  look  changed.  "Do  something  for  me, 
will  you?  Remind  me  to  tell  you  later 
you're  a  nice  girl — " 


They  picked  up  a  narrow  diamond  wed- 
ding band.  Then  the  jeweler — no  dope — 
brought  out  a  pair  of  beautiful  sapphire 
guards. 

"No,"  said  Esther  firmly. 

"We'll  compromise,"  said  Ben.  "Next 
year  I  won't  be  in  the  army.  Would  you 
like  the  guards  for  your  first  anniversary 
gift?" 

"Yes,  if  you'll  let  it  be  a  double  ring 
ceremony,  so  I  can  buy  you  a  star  sap- 
phire too — " 

So  that  was  settled. 

On  Sunday  they  found  the  church.  Es- 
ther wanted  a  small  church,  since  only 
close  friends  and  family  were  being  asked 
to  the  wedding^ 

"My  movie  star  bride.  She  can't  play 
to  an  empty  house — " 

"You've  got  something  there.  I  want 
someone  who  loves  us  in  every  seat,  and 
there  can't  be  more  than  a  hundred — " 

"Why,  you've  got  that  many  right  in 
your  own  family — " 

He  wasn't  exaggerating  much.  Mrs. 
Williams  was  one  of  ten.  Esther's  brother 
and  sisters  are  married  and  have  children. 
But  she  was  in  earnest  about  having  the 
church  filled.  "It  feels  warmer  that  way. 
I  want  it  cozy,  not  grand.  An  aisle  that's 
not  too  long — an  organ  that's  not  too 
overpowering." 

They  found  it  in  the  Westwood  Hills 
Congregational  Church — a  simple,  old- 
fashioned  place  with  wooden  pews  that 
seated  a  hundred.  One  look  was  enough. 
"Here's  where  I'd  like  to  be  married,  Mr. 
Gage—" 

Fate  had  still  another  crisis  in  store  for 
them.  Ben's  separation  from  the  army  had 
been  set  for  Wednesday — 

"Oh,  darling,  we'll  have  dinner  and 
you'll  be  a  civilian.  How  long  before  you 
get  adjusted  to  civilian  life?" 

"As  long  as  it  takes  me  to  get  my  uni- 
form off — " 

But  when  he  walked  into  the  restaurant. 
Esther  turned  green.  He  was  still  in  uni- 
form. 

"What — does  it  mean?"  she  croaked. 

"I  don't  know,  honey.  I  sailed  through 
all  the  prelims,  stood  there  at  5  waiting  for 
the  final  papers,  and  they  said  it  would 
take  another  week — " 

"Then  we  can"t  have  a  honeymoon — " 

"Take  it  easy.  Baby.  There's  still  a  ray  of 
hope.  I  went  to  the  General.  You  know  me 
and  the  generals.  I  said  "They  can't  do  this 
to  me.'  He  said  'Come  back  Saturday  and 
I'll  let  you  know  if  they  can — ' " 

fuss  'n  feathers  .  .  . 

Well,  he  did  get  out  Saturday — with 
just  enough  time  to  phone  his  delirious 
bride,  dash  back  to  town,  climb  into  civvies 
and  appear  at  Bob  Dalton's  for  his  bach- 
elor dinner.  Of  course  the  affair  was 
supposed  to  be  strictly  stag,  but  Esther 
couldn't  wait  to  see  her  man  in  civvies. 
Her  own  pals  had  cooked  up  a  shower  for 
her,  and  among  the  gifts  were  two  mari- 
bou  jackets.  All  her  life  she's  pined  for  a 
maribou  jacket.  So  they  crashed  the  boys' 
party.  Ben  had  to  parade  for  Esther  in 
his  civvies,  and  she  returned  the  compli- 
ment in  her  maribou  jackets. 

The  wedding  was  at  five.  Mel  helped  her 
dress.  It  was  funny  about  the  slippers. 
They'd  been  made  for  "Thrill  of  A  Ro- 
mance," and  Esther'd  bought  them. 

"I  don't  know  why,"  she'd  said  at  the 
time.  "I  hardly  ever  wear  pink — " 

They  were  perfect  for  the  dream  Irene 
had  designed  in  palest  pink  crepe — short, 
but  with  long  sleeves,  draped  round  the 
hips  and  edged  with  matching  lace.  The 
hat  was  like  a  little  tiara,  from  which  hung 
a  shoulder-length  veil.  That  was  all  new. 
Something  old  was  a  prayerbook,  once 
used  by  Mel's  greatgrandmother.  Some- 
thing borrowed — a  lace  handkerchief, 
brought  by  Ben's  grandmother  for  just 


MRS.  ADOLPHE  MENJOU,   Wife   of  the 

suave  and  distinguished  screen  star 
and  a  reigning  beauty  in  her  own  right. 


CONSTANCE    LUFT  HUHN 

Head  of  the  House  of  Tangee 
and  one  of  America's  foremost 
authorities  on  beauty  and  make- 
up. Mrs.  Huhn  is  the  creator 
of  that  exciting  new  lipstick 
color,  Tangee  Gay -Red  and  of 
Tangee  Petal-Finish  Cake 
Make-XJp  as  well  as  many 
other  cosmetic  triumphs. 


says 


"In  lipsticks,  Tangee  Gay-Red 
is  the  kit-color  of  Hollywood!" 

In  Hollywood  —  city  of  beautiful  women  —  Tangee's  newest 
color  creation  in  lipsticks . . .  Gay-r|.ed . . .  has  made  a  sensa- 
tional success.  Stars  and  starlets . . .  members  of  the  motion 
«  picture  colony . . .  agree  that  this  is  the  lipstick  shade  to  make 

f  lips  look  young  and  gay! 

*  *  * 

At  last  ...  a  perfect  cake  make-up!  Some  cake  make- 
ups you've  used  are  good  in  one  way. . .  some  in  another. . . 
but  the  new  Tangee  Petal-Finish  Cake  Make-Up  is  ideal  in 
every  way.  It's  easy  to  apply —  stays  on  for  extra  hours  — is 
designed  to  protect  the  skin  — and  does  not  give  you  that 
wearing-a-mask  look. 

and  see  h  6  w   beautiful  yo  u  can  be 


m  inn/' 


It's  just  plain  old-fashioned  to 
assume  a  "rockin'-chair's-got- 
me-attitude"  certain  days  each 
month.  Old-fashioned,  be- 
cause today,  Midol  can  free 
you  from  much  of  menstrua- 
tion's functional  cramps,  head- 
ache and  "blues". 
So  don't  pamper— don't  give 
in  to  menstrual  pain.  Instead 
take  Midol  and  experience 
quick  comfort.  Midol  is  of- 
fered specifically  to  relieve  men- 
strual suffering.  It  contains  no 
opiates,  yet  acts  quickly  in 
three  ways:  Eases  Cramps  — 
Soothes  Headache — Stimulates 
mildly  when  you're  "Blue" . 
Try  Midol  next  time.  Take  it 
as  directed.  See  how  comfort- 
ably those  trying  days  pass  by. 
Midol  is  sold  by  all  drugstores. 


used  more  than  all 
other  products  offered  exclusively 
to  relieve  menstrual  suffering 

CRAMPS -HEADACHE -BLUES' 


that  purpose.  Something  blue — the  St. 
Christopher  medal  June  Allyson  had  worn 
at  her  wedding.  The  idea  is  for  Esther  to 
pass  it  on  to  the  next  M-G-M  bride.  In 
the  prayerbook  she  carried  a  bouquet  of 
small  white,  pink-centered  orchids  and 
bouvardia. 

As  always,  Esther  was  behind  time.  She 
kept  darting  frantic  glances  at  the  clock. 
"Before  I  was  old  enough  to  know  what 
a  wedding  meant,  people  said,  'That  child'll 
be  late  at  her  own  wedding.'  Mel,  don't 
let  me  be  late  at  my  own  wedding — " 

Mel  came  through  for  a  photo  finish. 
They  drove  up  to  the  church  at  4: 55. 

The  reception  was  at  Mel's  house.  Old 
family  friends  mingled  with  movie  stars. 
Mrs.  Gage,  Sr.,  was  responsible  for  the  big 
laugh.  Ben  introduced  Lana  Turner  to  her. 
"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "I  didn't  quite  catch 
the  name — "  Ben's  roar  threatened  to 
knock  the  house  down. 

Their  plane  didn't  leave  till  12:30,  but 
time  flew.  Between  hugs  and  kisses,  Esther 
tried  to  open  wedding  presents.  She  heard 
that  some  kids  with  cameras  were  hang- 
ing around  outside,  freezing  to  death.  So 
she  and  Ben  posed  in  the  doorway,  then 
shooed  them  home.  And  suddenly  it  was 


time  to  change  to  the  blue  suit  and  the 
gray  lizard  shoes.  And  the  last  laugh  came 
when  she  threw  her  bouquet.  Because  it 
was  caught  by  Little  Robin,  held  high  in 
her  mother's  arms. 

An  M-G-M  cameraman  went  to  the  air- 
port with  them.  "If  you  don't  take  another 
shot,"  Esther'd  said,  "There's  one  I  must 
have.  Me  and  Ben  grinning  at  each  other 
in  the  plane  on  our  wedding  night.  For 
our  dear  little  grandchildren." 

They'll  live  in  the  little  house  Esther 
bought  last  year.  She  feels  it's  as  much 
Ben's  as  hers.  He  mixed  buckets  of  paint 
and  helped  her  decorate  it,  and  chose  a 
passionate  pink  for  the  hallway  that  scared 
her  at  first,  but  now  she  loves  it.  While 
she's  in  Mexico,  his  dad,  a-  retired  land- 
scape artist,  will  do  the  garden  over. 

Later  they'll  build.  What  kind  of  place 
they  don't  know  yet,  except  it  has  to  be 
warm  and  friendly,  the  way  they  feel. 
And  they'll  take  their  time — very  care- 
fully pick  their  lot,  very  carefully  find 
their  architect  and  draw  up  their  plans  for 
their  very  own  home. 

"It's  got  to  be  perfect,"  said  Mrs.  Ben- 
jamin Gage.  "Because  it's  for  ever  and 
ever  and  ever — " 


CO-ED 


(Continued  from  page  26) 


be  in  the  group.  If  they're  all  going  for 
cokes,  you  go,  too.  If  someone  says,  "Come 
on  over  to  my  house,"  well,  fine!  Some 
day,  when  you've  gained  a  bit  in  poise  and 
assurance,  toss  in  your  casual  invitation: 
"Want  to  raid  my  ice  box  today?"  Do 
they?  Oh  brother! 

That  Big  Dance:  Chub  is  taking  Peggy, 
and  Janie's  going  with  Joe,  of  course — 
and  everyone's  going  but  you.  It's  just  two 
weeks  off,  and  how  are  you  going  to  stand 
it  if  nobody  asks  you.  Now,  look.  Calm 
down.  First  of  all,  remember  this,  it's  hap- 
pened to  everybody  at  least  once  in  their 
lives.  Furthermore,  the  other  gals  are  so 
busy  being  relieved  that  they  made  it  that 
no  one  is  bizz -buzzing  about  what  a  sad- 
sack  you  are.  Anyhow,  if  you're  very,  very 
foxy,  you  may  still  be  asked.  Just  forget  the 
dance  and  how  frantic  you  are,  and  very 
quietly  go  to  work  on  some  nice  unstaked 
guy  at  school.  Smile  at  him,  draw  him 
out,  discover  what  he  does  with  his  spare 
time.  If  he  likes  music,  ask  him  over  some 
night  to  hear  your  records.  Maybe  he's 
an  amateur  photographer.  Gosh!  You'd 
love  to  watch  him  work!  Arrange  to  see 
him  after  school  by  hook  or  crook,  and 
from  there  on,  it's  just  a  hoot  and  a  holler 
to  "What  are  you  doing  Saturday  night?" 
You  know  the  answer  to  that,  don't  you? 
A  dreamy-voiced,  "I've  just  been  thinking 
what  fun  it  would  be  to  drop  in  on  the 
dance.". 

What  is  a  Wallflower?  A  wallflower  is 
a  female  landmine,  and  no  matter  how 
she's  camouflaged,  the  lads  are  smart 
enough  to  leave  her  alone.  In  other  words, 
a  girl  can  be  4.0  on  looks,  wear  out- of - 
this-world  clothes  and  still  be  strictly 
lethal  with  the  guys.  How  does  she  get 
that  way?  Well,  maybe  she's  painfully 
shy,  or  excruciatingly  loud.  She  may  be 
a  dead  pan,  or  just  a  dud  at  everything 
the  boys  consider  fun — from  pitching  pen- 
nies to  pitching  woo.  She  simply  hasn't, 
as  the  Navy  says,  gotten  The  Word.  It's 
a  sad,  sad  plight  while  it  lasts,  but  the 
wonderful  thing  is  that  no  one  needs  to  be 
one.  What's  the  magic?  Why,  simply 
analyze  your  shortcomings  in  the  cold 
light  of  day,  and  remedy  same.  If  you 
have  trouble  with  self-analysis,  get  a  trust- 
ed friend  to  help  you.  Then,  if  you're 
loud,  aggressive  and  a  perpetual  scene- 
stealer,  for  Pete's  sake,  take  it  easy.  Low- 


er your  voice,  pull  in  your  chin  and  laugh 
at  someone  else's  jokes  now  and  then. 
Try  building  up  your  date  instead  of  your- 
self when  you're  in  a  group.  Talk  less, 
learn  to  disagree  gently,  get  your  way — 
if  you  must — via  subtlety.  If  you're  shy, 
brush  up  your  self-esteem.  Excel  at  danc- 
ing or  skating.  Be  an  authority  on  something 
like  male  sports  or  jaiz.  In  so  doing, 
you'll  gain  stature  in  your  own  eyes  and 
that's  practically  the  cure  for  your  shy- 
ness. Remember  that  most  boys  dread 
being  conspicuous,  and  they  hang  around 
the  gals  who  put  them  at  ease.  If  you're 
good  at  that — and  it  involves  little  things 
like  performing  smooth  introductions,  cue- 
ing guys  for  their  pet  anecdotes,  smooth- 
ing their  ruffled  feelings,  when  and  if, 
quelling  arguments  before  they  get  out  of 
hand — you'll  never  be  a  wallflower  and 
that's  a  promise. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

It  was  nearly  6:30 
in  Hollywood  on  St. 
Valentine's  Day, 
1945,  and  the  Frank 
Sinatra  show  was 
coming  to  a  close  for 
that  Wednesday. 
Frank  sang  the- 
signing  -  off  theme. 
kttP^Jfc  ^fc  Lou  Crosby  finished 
AaBl^M—  ^  with  a  jew  words 
for  the  sponsor,  and 

it  was  over. 

Then  we  all  rushed  forward  to  col- 
lect (if  we  were  lucky  enough)  pre- 
cious pieces  of  Frank's  script. 

Then  I  noticed  that  a  member  of  one 
of  Frank's  clubs  handed  Frank  a  huge 
red  paper  heart.  He  held  it  up  for  the 
audience  to  read  and  on  it  were  in- 
scribed the  words: 

"Roses  jire  red, 
Violets  are  blue. 
Bing's  okay  but 
We  swoon  for  you." 
Frank  smiled  that  boyish  smile,  and 
his  eyes  twinkled  as  he  said,  "Well, 
I  swoon  for  Bing." 

Beverlee  Cresto 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. 


1w  mf  four  hce  can  foiv 
in  the  next  few  pre 


Usually,  our  faces  show  what's  happening  to  us. 
For  instance,  suppose  financial  matters  are  con- 
stantly on  your  mind. 

Suppose  you  know  that  there's  practically  no  cash  re- 
serve between  you  and  trouble. 
It  would  be  surprising  if  your  face  didn't  show  it. 
But  suppose  that,  on  the  contrary,  you've  managed  to 
get  yourself  on  a  pretty  sound  financial  basis. 
Suppose  that  you're  putting  aside  part  of  everything 


you  earn  . . .  that  those  dollars  you  save  are  busy  earning 
extra  dollars  for  you  .  .  .  that  you  have  a  nest  egg  and  an 
emergency  fund. 

Naturally,  your  face  will  show  that,  too. 

There's  a  simple  and  pretty  accurate  way  to  tell  which 
way  your  face  is  going  to  go  in  the  next  few  years: 

If  you  are  buying,  regularly,  and  holding  as  many  U.  S. 
Savings  Bonds  as  you  can,  you  needn't  worry. 

Your  face  will  be  among  the  ones  that  wear  a  smile. 


Buy  all  h  Bonds  you  cm...keepall  the  Bonds  you  buy 


This  is  an  official  U.  S.  Treasury  advertisement— prepared  under  auspices  of  Treasury  Department  and  War  Advertising  Council 

\ 


93 


Put  your  right 
hand  here. ..then 
you  be  the  judge! 


If  your  hand  isn't  satin-smooth  —  it's  time 
to  change  to  ^JLwtvr 


Do  you  say,  "I  do  my  own  dishes — 
and  my  hands  can't  stay  soft  and 
smooth"?  Or  is  it  your  job  that  keeps 
you  from  having  lovely  hands? 

Don't  give  up!  Change  to  Luxor 
Hand  Cream  and  expect  to  see  a  real 
difference  in  your  hands. 

You  see,  Luxor  Hand  Cream  gives 
real  help  to  skin  roughened  by  work 
or  weather.  For  Luxor 
contains  Carbamide  — 


(an  ingredient  long  used  by  surgeons 
in  the  treatment  of  wounds) — and 
thus  helps  to  heal  tiny  cracks  you 
can't  even  see  with  the  naked  eye — 
relieves  these  cracks  that  make  skin 
look  red,  feel  rough!  That's  why  the 
effect  is  so  beautiful  and  so  lasting. 

Just  one  jar  of  Luxor  Hand  Cream 
will  show  you  how  easy  it  is  to  have 
softer  hands,  smoother  hands — no 
matter  what  you  do! 


or 


hand  cream 

not  sticky — not  greasy 


GOOD  NEWS 

{Continued  from  page  64) 


might  not  be  as  good  as  Shakespeare's,  but 
it  certainly  held  the  interest  of  a  iascinated 
crowd. 

Lana  Turner  walked  in  with  Bob  Hutton 
and  was  seated  at  the  next  table  to  Cleatus 
Caldwell  (Bob's  former  big  moment)  who 
was  with  Vic  Mature  (a  former  breathless 
interlude  in  Lana's  life).  Get  that  much? 

Then,  at  the  very  next  table,  sat  Buff  Cobb 
(who  used  to  be  mad  for  Vic  and  vice 
versa)  with  Robert  Walker. 

Everybody  was  trying  to  pretend  that 
everybody  else  wasn't  there  when  the  head 
waiter  called  loudly,  "Mr.  Greg  Bautzer  on 
the  telephone  for  Miss  Buff  Cobb."  And,  in 
case  you  don't  know,  Greg  is  supposed  to  be 
back  in  Lana's  life  again  (he  was  also  her 
first  Hollywood  beau!). 

Some  fun.  And  it  could  happen  only  in 
Hollywood. 

*  *  • 

Ran  into  Alan  Ladd  and  Sue  Carol  at  the 
Beverly  Hills  Club  the  very  night  of  the  day 
his  contract  squabbles  were  settled  with  Para- 
mount. What  a  change  in  Alan!  He  was  his 
old  gay  self  again.  He  makes  no  secret  of 
the  fact  that  he  is  a  worrier  and  when 
things  go  wrong  he's  always  sure  they  are 
going  to  get  worse. 

"Why,  just  the  other  day  we  bought  two 
horses,"  said  Sue,  "and  Alan  picked  out  a 
terrible  looking  nag.  I  asked  him  why,  'Oh' 
he  replied,  'he  looked  so  worried  that  he  might 
never  be  bought.  And  I  know  just  how  he 
felt.'  " 

*  *  * 

It  was  a  beautiful  baby  shower  Mrs.  Bob 
Hope  gave  at  the  Beverly  Hills  Club  for  ex- 
pectant mother  Dorothy  Lamour.  I  can't  think 
of  any  girl  who  has  looked  so  pretty  during 
the  time  she  was  "expecting"  than  our  former 
sarong  girl.  Dottie  is  one  of  those  lucky  girls 
who  seem  more  beautiful  than  "before"  the 
happy  event  was  scheduled. 

The  room  was  decorated  in  the  most  beau 
tiful  pink  and  blue  flowers  and  many  of  the 
guests  had  been  invited  to  wear  pink  or  blue 
chapeaux  if  they  owned  them.  The  table 
decorations  were  pink  and  blue  storks  and 
on  each  table  was  a  little  music  box  playing 
nursery  rhymes. 

But  the  cutest  idea  of  all  was  the  baby 
picture  game.  All  the  gals,  including  Hedy 
Lamarr,  Claudette  Colbert,  Sue  Carol,  Ann 
Sothern,  Betty  Hutton,  Rita  Hayworth,  Barbara 
Stanwyck,  Mrs.  Ray  Milland,  Mrs.  Fred  Mac- 
Murray  and  two  dozen  others,  were  asked  to 
bring  along  a  baby  picture  of  themselves. 

Then  all  the  pictures  were  put  in  a  big  box 
and  everybody  was  supposed  to  guess  "who 
was  who"  when  they  were  all  in  diapers! 
Hedy  Lamarr  was  the  easiest  to  guess.  She 
was  gorgeous  even  when  adorned  with  only 
a  safety  pin.  Barbara  Stanwyck  looked  the 
least  like  her  own  baby  picture.  Dottie  La- 
mour looks  almost  the  same.  She  certainly 
was  a  beautiful  baby,  to  quote  the  old  song 
And,  oh,  yes — almost  forgot  to  add  that  the 


gifts  looked  good  enough  to  eat  with  ice 
cream. 

*  *  * 

Ciro's  is  a  night  spot  in  Hollywood  where 
celebrities  are  always  seated  in  a  certain 
section  of  the  cafe  where  they  can  see  (and  be 
seen)  to  better  advantage. 

So  the  other  night,  mine  host  Herman 
Hover  was  flabbergasted  to  walk  through  the 
cafe  and  notice  Van  Johnson  stuck  away  over 
in  an  inconspicuous  corner,  the  Gregory  Pecks 
equally  hidden  away  and  Robert  Walker 
parked  over  somewhere  behind  the  orches- 
tra. 

"I  thought  I  told  you  always  to  give  actors 
our  best  tables,"  said  Hover  heatedly  to  a  new 
head  waiter. 

"Actors,  sir?"  said  the  new  captain.  "Are 
there  any  actors  in  the  place?" 

"What  do  you  call  Van  Johnson,  Gregory 
Peck  and  Bob  Walker??????"  demanded  the 
boss. 

"If  you  are  asking  for  my  critical  opinion, 
sir,"  replied  the  waiter,  "I  would  say  they 
were  personalities!"  Yuk,  Yuk! 

*  *  * 

Vignette  on  Dana  Andrews:  Blondes  are 
his  favorite  "type"  and  he  doesn't  care  who 
knows  it.  Both  his  wife  and  daughter  are 
blondes.  .  .  .  He  won't  give  interviews  at  noon 
or  during  the  lunch  hour  because  he  always 
drives  home  for  lunch.  ...  He  doesn't  drink 
cocktails.  Highballs  are  different.  .  .  .  He 
loves  the  movie  "Laura"  but  is  doggone  sick 
of  the  song.  ...  He  likes  ham  sandwiches, 
women  to  wear  gloves,  to  drive  a  car  very 
fast  and  the  color  of  tomato  red.  .  .  .  He 
hates  motorists  who  honk  horns,  purple,  sar- 
dines, people  who  hem  and  haw  when  they 
talk,  suntan  makeup  and  bare  legs  with 
street  or  evening  clothes.  Just  thought  we'd 
let  you  know. 

*  *  * 

The  M-G-M  studios  started  getting  in  a  wor- 
ried mood  when  Sonja  Henie  told  a  Chicago 
newspaper  man  that  she  didn't  know  what 
might  happen  with  Van  Johnson — that  he  was 
telephoning  her  every  day.  At  that  time, 
Sonja  hadn't  yet  obtained  her  divorce  from 
Dan  Topping,  and  M-G-M  didn't  want  their 
fair-haired  boy  to  be  entangled. 

As  for  Van — he  was  a  little  surprised,  him- 
self! His  feeling  for  Sonja  is  merely  a  friendly 
one  and  the  romantic  angle  had  never  entered 
his  head.  Van  told  someone  I  know  that  his 
friends  are  eager  to  get  him  married.  But 
he's  a  thoroughly  nice  boy  and  a  gentleman, 
and  when  a  lady  makes  a  statement  well, 
what  can  he  do? 


On  the  other  hand,  I  predict  that  one  of 
these  days  Helmut  Dantine  and  Ida  Lupino 
will  marry.  They  have  had  their  quarrels. 
yes,  some  unpleasant  publicity  and  their 
spectacular  moments.  But  she  is  the  only  girl 
for  him. 

The  torch  he  carried  for  his  wife  is  doused 
and  almost  any  evening  he  can  be  located 
at  Ida's  house,  or  you'll  see  them  out  dining 
together. 

A  romance  that  has  come  along  as  steadily 
as  this  will  hardly  die  out  in  a  hurry. 


MOS 


betfern  One/ 

fere's"  wkaf 


v\/&  mean  — 


NAN:  Ya  don't  hafta  be  twins  t'know  it's  best  for  baby's  skin  to  be  doubly- 
blessed  with  Mennen  Antiseptic  Baby  Oil.  Our  beeyootiful,  healthy  skin  sure 
owes  thanks  to  Mennen  "twin  blessings".  .  . 

ANN:  First  off  .  .  .  bein'  antiseptic,  Mennen  Baby  Oil  helps  prevent  diaper 
rash,  urine  irritation  and  lotsa  other  skin  troubles. 

NAN:  Second,  Mennen  Baby  Oil  helps  prevent  roughness  and  dryness,  keeps 
skin  smooth  and  lovely.  It's  the  only  baby  oil  used  with  wonderful  results  on 
millions  of  babies  over  the  past  12  years! 

ANN:  Makes  us  smell  so  sweet,  too!  Most  doctors,  hospitals  and  nurses  say 
Mennen  Baby  Oil  is  best;  follow  their  advice 


'Nationwide  surveys 


BE  SURE  TO  USE  MENNEN  ANTISEPTIC  BABY  POWDER  to  help  keep  baby's  skin  comfy 
and  healthy.  Super-smooth!  New  scent  makes  baby  smell  sweet.  3  out  of 
4  doctors  say  baby  powder  should  be  antiseptic,  and  MENNEN  is!* 


shampoo  will 
Here's  why  your  very  ,  luster! 

Ile„ve  your  ha.r  aglow  with  ^ 

,.  Halo  reveals  the  true :  natural  ^  aU 

llrj  first  time  you  use  rt.  •  - *  ^  8oaps  leave 
glorious  dancing  '  ^alo  contains  no  soap. 

£gy  soap-film  »  ha  '^r -rinse  .  -  -  HdorJ 
3.  Needs  no  lemon  or  v  n.   .    ,  k(.#  (),.,.ans  „f  nch. 


and  manage*"""  -    *  « 


*  BUY  U.  S.  SAVINGS  BONDS  * 


TitlMAt    LABORATORIES.  LOS   ANGELES   36    CALIFORNIA  TRIMAL   DISTRIBUTING   COMPANY.  H AMIITON ,  ONTARIO.  CANADA 


It's  a  little  late  to  be  talking  about  the 
fabulous  party  Mike  Romanoff  gave  at  which 
the  guests  were  asked  to  come  as  their  ances- 
tors. But  Hollywood  is  still  talking  about  this 
most  sumptuous  post-war  affair  to  date. 

I  think  the  thing  that  pleased  everyone  most 
was  the  way  Jimmy  Stewart  seemed  to  have 
thrown  off  his  war  worries  and  entered  into 
the  fun.  He  came  as  a  skeleton,  and  he  told 
me  that  he  had  called  up  one  of  the  leading 
undertakers  and  asked  to  be  delivered  to  the 
party  in  a  coffin.  "Certainly  not,"  said  the 
undertaker,  horrified,  "that  would  be  in  very 
bad  taste." 

It  was  at  this  party  that  Lana  Turner  met 
Bob  Hutton  for  the  first  time  and  danced  and 
sat  and  talked  with  him — and  that  was  all. 
But  it  was  certainly  a  pain  in  the  neck  to 
Cleatus  Caldwell,  ex-wife  of  Ken  Murray,  who 
has  zee  beeg  yen  for  Bob  and  was  supposed 
to  marry  him  when  her  divorce  is  final.  That 
night,  she  and  Bob  quarreled,  and  up  to  the 
hour  of  going  to  press,  they  haven't  made  up. 
It  shows  you  can  never  tell  what  will  happen 
at  one  of  these  big  parties. 

It's  too  bad — because  as  far  as  Lana  is 
concerned,  Bob  is  just  one  of  many  admirers. 
She  told  me  after  the  Turhan  Bey  break  up 
that  she  has  no  intention  of  getting  seriously 
entangled  again. 

*  *  » 

A  radio  commentator  had  it  on  the  air  that 
Joan  Crawford  showed  up  at  a  night  spot 
wearing  black  lipstick  and  black  finger  nails. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  call  the  gent  a  fibber, 
but  I  think  Joan  is  too  smart  where  her  public 
is  concerned  to  show  up  looking  like  a  carica- 
ture. If  it's  true — I  gotta  see  it  with  my  own 
eyes. 

*  *  * 

Now  that  we  are  almost  to  the  end  of  this 
month  of  GOOD  NEWS  there  are  several 
things  I  want  to  ask  you — and  I  would  ap- 
preciate your  writing  me  about  them. 

For  one  thing,  I  have  heard  many  people 
say  lately  that  they  think  Frank  Sinatra  is 
becoming  too  serious  and  "preachy"  with  his 
deep-rooted  interest  in  juvenile  delinquency 
and  racial  tolerance.  I  don't  feel  that  way 
myself.  I  respect  Frank's  sincerity — but  I'd  like 
to  know  how  you  feel. 

Then,  one  fan  wrote  me  and  said  she 
thought  it  was  "indelicate"  for  me  to  mention 
in  my  newspaper  columns  and  in  this  depart- 
ment, that  a  movie  star  was  "expecting." 
Said  the  lady,  "Such  intimate  things  should 
not  be  mentioned  months  and  months  in  ad- 
vance. Why  not  be  dignified  and  confine  your- 
self to  announcing  the  birth  of  the  movie 
babies  and  not  the  expectations?"  Zowie!  I 
would  lose  out  on  a  lot  of  scoops  if  I  did — 
but  how  do  you  feel? 

Still  another  critique  was  that  Hollywood 
was  being  too  gay  these  days  and  tossing  too 
many  big  parties.  After  the  long,  long  years 
of  the  war  in  which  there  was  practically  no 
social  life  in  movie  town,  it  seems  to  me  to  be 
perfectly  natural  that  the  movie  folk  should 
relax  a  bit  and  be  happy.  Do  you  enjoy  read- 
ing about  the  parties  I  tell  you  about  in  Holly- 
wood? Then  drop  me  a  little  note  and  say  so 
— and  I'll  appreciate  it.  That's  all  for  this 
month. 


BOB  WALKER 

(Continued  from  page  38) 


the  "Y."  He  said  he  was  a  young  man  of 
good  character  and — yes — he  was 
willing  to  work  for  his  bed  and  board. 
They  wrote  out  the  address  on  a  piece  of 
"Y"  stationery  and  Bob  grabbed  a  sub- 
way. He  rode  to  the  end  of  the  line.  Then 
he  took  a  street  car  and  jolted  on.  Finally 
he  swung  off,  carrying  his  suitcase.  He  was 
clear  up  in  Yonkers.  He  lugged  the  grip 
down  the  street  to  the  number  written  on 
the  "Y"  paper.  His  heart  sank.  It  was  an 
ancient  house,  miles  from  anywhere. 

But  inside  it  wasn't  as  bad  as  all  that. 
The  Wallace  Co-op  operated  on  the  old 
time-honored  American  colonial  principle 
— "No  work,  no  eat."  The  room  was  fifty 
cents  a  day  and  you  worked  for  your  meals. 
Bob  hung  up  his  clothes  and  rolled  up  his 
sleeves.  He  was  hungry. 

He  crawled  into  the  hay  that  night  weary 
but  at  peace.  He  was  earning  his  own  way, 
even  if  he  dreamed  about  a  stack  of  dishes 
ten  miles  high  tottering  over  and  about 
to  drown  him  in  a  sea  of  dishwater. 

mother's  little  helper  .  .  . 

For  weeks,  he  rolled  out  of  his  cot  in 
the  bare  room  and  was  mother's  little 
helper  around  the  Wallace  Lodge.  Then 
he  chased  after  the  Yonkers  street  car, 
dived  down  in  the  subway  and  finally  got 
to  civilization.  For  some  reason,  the  first 
rounds  he  made  were  Manhattan  restau- 
rants. He  thought  everybody  had  to  eat  and 
certainly  he  could  land  something  there 
that  didn't  require  any  skill,  experience, 
training  or  social  standing.  He  tackled  the 
business  offices  of  all  the  eatery  chains — 
Horn  and  Hardart,  the  Automat  people, 
Childs.  Schraffts,  and  dozens  more.  For 
some  strange  reason  they  had  plenty  of 
bus  boys,  cooks'  helpers,  waiters. 

Bob  hustled  around  to  all  the  possible 
job  hunting  grounds.  He  filled  out  enough 
applications  to  bind  into  a  book.  "Well 
let  you  know,"  they  said — but  they  didn't. 
In  1938  jobs  were  tough  to  get,  even  dog- 
meat  jobs — and  oddly  enough,  those  were 
all  Bob  wanted.  He  wasn't  interested  in 
starting  a  business  career  with  a  future. 
Tne  only  future  that  made  sense  to  Bob 
was  an  acting  future.  He  just  wanted  to 
stay  in  New  York  until  he  could  stick  his 
foot  in  a  stage  door  and  pry  it  open  a 
crack.  But  his  first  disappointment  still 
seared  Bob's  sensitive  soul.  He  didn't  hit 
the  Broadway  pavements  in  his  busted 
condition.  He  didn't  have  the  heart.  There 
was  nobody  to  tell  him  he  was  good,  and 
he  needed  that.  Then  the  letter  came. 

It  was  postmarked  'Tulsa"  and  the  ad- 
dress was  the  handwriting  Bob  knew  so 
well.  "Fm  coming  back  to  school,"  exulted 
Phyl.    "We'll  have  a  wonderful  year." 

Bob  skipped  his  job  chase  that  afternoon. 
When  his  Co-op  labors  were  over,  he 
pulled  the  pants  of  his  best  suit  out  from 
under  the  mattress  and  slipped  on  the 
snowy   clean  shirt  he'd  been  hoarding. 

Phyl  flew  into  his  arms  at  Perm  Station 
chattering  a  mile  a  minute — Tulsa,  the  tent 
show,  the  home  folks,  the  fun,  the  thrill  of 
being  back  in  New  York.  They'd  both  be 
''seniors"  at  the  Academy  of  Dramatic  Arts 
this  year.  Wnat  balls  of  fire  they'd  be, 
now  that  both  had  been  out  in  the  world 
and  rubbed  off  the  green  paint. 

Bob  hailed  a  cab  recklessly  and  listened, 
smiling,  all  the  way.  up  to  the  Barbizon 
for  Women.  It  was  so  wonderful  just  hear- 
ing Phyl's  voice  and  he  didn't  want  to  dam 
the  gay  cascade  by  saying  what  he  had  to 
say.  "If  you  have  any  class,"  he  told  him- 
self, "you'll  let  her  down  easy."  Bob  sat  i 
in  the  Barbizon  lobby  while  Phyl  fresh- 
(Continued  on  page  100) 


Easy  to  give  yourself  this  exciting  1-Cream  Beauty  Treatment 

Here's  all  vou  do  for  your  daily  smooth-skin  treat- 
ment—simplv  use  this  new  Jergens  Face  Cream  (but 
faithfully),  as  though  it  were  4  creams: 

1.  for  regular  Cleansing  and  Make-up  Removal 

2.  for  Softening 

3.  for  a  velvet  Foundation— even*-  time  you  make  up 

4.  as  a  Xiglit  Cream —  effective  against  dry  skin; 
helps  prevent  dry  skin  lines 


Help  Smooth  Away 
"Crow's-feet" 


Skin  scientists  make  Jergens  Face  Cream  for  you— the  same  who  make 
your  Jergens  Lotion.  Many  a  smart  girl  is  thankful.  You  will  be,  too. 
See  lovelv  results,  using  Jergens  Face  Cream  this  way.  lOe  to  SI. 25 
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JERGENS 

FACE  CREAM 


Does  the  work  of  4- creams  for  Smooth.  Kissable  Skin 


By  Nancy  Wood 


Second  in  our 

series  of  Hollywood  restaurants, 
Lucey's  feeds  many  of 
your  favorite  movie  stars 


Movie  actor-restaurateur  Steve  Crane  and  Don 
Alheraras,  headwaiter,  go  into  a  huddle  over  one 
of  the  best  menus  in  the  city  of  make-believe 


Lucey's  is  a  miniature  Italian  castle  with  a 
congenial  atmosphere  and  nothing  gaudy  in  its 
appearance.     Great    place    for    business  talk! 


■  "STAR-LIGHT,  star-bright,  first  star  I 
see  tonight — "  The  first  movie  star  you 
might  see  on  entering  Lucey's  Restaurant 
is  Steve  Crane,  who,  with  Al  Mathes,  owns 
this  favorite  Hollywood  eating  place.  (The 
restaurant  business  happened  to  Steve  last 
spring!)  Then,  after  getting  Mr.  Crane's 
autograph  on  one  of  his  own  menus,  you'd 
look  around  and  see  whole  constellations 
of  heavenly  bodies  from  Paramount,  Co- 
lumbia and  RKO. 

Lucey's  has  very  few  tourist  guests. 
It's  a  little  Italian  castle,  located  in  the 
heart  of  Hollywood.  In  general,  quiet 
reigns.  Dim  lights,  soft  music,  little  tables 
in  tucked  away  nooks,  a  huge  fireplace, 
a  placid  old-world  atmosphere  make  it 


an  ideal  spot  for  coherent  conversation. 
Jimmy  Fidler,  Hedda  Hopper  and  Louella 
Parsons  are  here  often,  interviewing.  Pro- 
ducers have  large  luncheons,  agents  dis- 
cuss who,  what  and  how  much,  and  movie 
people  can  really  enjoy  a  peaceful  meal 
because  cameramen  aren't  permitted  to 
shoot  on  sight,  but  only  with  previous 
consent  of  the  stars. 

Lucey's  list  of  famous  patrons  is  a  long 
one — Rita  Hayworth,  Irene  Dunne,  Charles 
Boyer,  Janet  Blair,  Frank  Sinatra,  Bing 
Crosby,  Bob  Hope,  Sonny  Tufts,  Dorothy 
Lamour,  Betty  Hutton,  Ingrid  Bergman, 
Alan  Ladd  and  Veronica  Lake  among 
others.  The  favorite  guest  of  the  manage- 
ment is  little  Cheryl  Crane,  who  comes 


here  twice  a  week  to  eat  ice  cream  with 
her  daddy.  She  is  usually  accompanied 
by  either  her  nurse  or  her  mother,  Lana 
Turner  (the  former  Mrs.  Steve  Crane). 
Lana  makes  a  dainty  meal  of  cold  sliced 
chicken  and  potato  salad. 

These  glamorous  customers  are  exceed- 
ingly easy  to  please.  Each  usually  has  his 
or  her  favorite  booth.  Booth  13  was  Buddy 
De  Sylva's  before  his  recent  illness.  Ver- 
onica Lake  always  eats  in  No.  3  and  Betty 
Hutton  unsuperstitiously  prefers  13. 

When  he  is  working,  Bing  Crosby  is  in 
at  least  twice  a  day.  Always  in  a  hurry, 
but,  as  you  would  expect,  never  shouting 
for  service.  If  the  staff's  busy,  he  asks 
them  to  put  him  in  any  little  corner  and 


leave  him  to  his  steak  and  hashed  brown 
potatoes.  However,  during  the  production 
of  "The  Bells  of  St.  Mary's,"  Bing,  Ingrid 
Bergman  and  Director  Leo  McCarey  could 
be  found  lunching  in  the  shaded  patio,  in 
plain  view  of  passing  fans! 

Alan  and  Sue  Ladd  are  salad  fiends. 
And  no  wonder!  Lucey's  is  widely  known 
for  gorgeous  salads — the  Lorenzo,  Caliente 
and  Marinare.  (Coaxing  is  useless!  They 
won't  tell  how  they  make  them!)  Sonny 
Tufts  can  make  his  way  through  a  really  im- 
pressive steak.  Joan  Fontaine  can't  let  the 
French  pastry  tray  pass  without  indulging! 

VEAL  SCALLOPINI 

2  lbs.  veal  cutlet,  sliced  Yt  inch  thick 
Salt  and  pepper 
Cracker  meal 

1  clove  garlic,  finely  minced 

Yi  cup  olive  and  salad  oil,  combined 
Yz  cup  sherry 

Pound  thinly  sliced  veal  thoroughly  until 
"spongy."  Sprinkle  lightly  with  salt  and 
pepper  and  dip  into  cracker  meal.  Melt 
butter  in  hot  skillet,  place  veal  in  pan 
and  brown  quickly  (takes  about  2  min- 
utes) .  Add  finely  minced  garlic  to  oil  and 
pour  over  veal  slices.  Lower  heat  to  sim- 
mering, baste  veal  with  sherry  and  simmer 
30  minutes,  or  until  meat  is  very  tender. 
It's  perfectly  delicious  eating  at  this  point, 
but  perhaps  you'd  like  to  serve  it  with 
the  special  sauce  Lucey's  makes:  Saute 
sliced  mushrooms  in  butter  for  five  min- 
utes over  low  heat.  Add  about  a  cup  of 
meat  sauce  (like  that  used  for  spaghetti) 
and  2  tablespoons  mustard  sauce  diablo 
(or  add  brown  prepared  mustard  to  taste) . 
Add  a  dash  of  salt  if  needed.  Serve  hot 
over  veal.  Serves  4  or  5. 

ZUCCHINI  FLORENTINE 

I  lb.  zucchini 
Yz  cup  olive  oil 

1  clove  garlic,  minced 
Cracker  meal 
Pepper,  if  preferred 
Cut  zucchini  lengthwise  into  slices  Yi 
inch  thick  and  then  into  3  or  4  inch  strips 
eight  hours  before  cooking  time.  This  al- 
lows it  to  soften.  Soak  in  salt  water  for 
1  hour  or  more.  Drain  thoroughly.  (This 
is  Lucey's  method.  By  an  alternate  method 
also,  used  in  cooking  this  Italian  specialty, 
freshly  sliced  zucchini  is  soaked  in  hot 
water  30  minutes  before  sauteing.)  Add 
finely  minced  garlic  to  olive  oil  in  skillet 
and  brown.  Meanwhile  dip  drained  zuc- 
chini in  cracker  crumbs  (if  soaked  in 
unsalted  hot  water,  sprinkle  with  salt  at 
this  point).  Place  in  hot  fat  in  skillet  and 
fry,  uncovered,  over  high  heat  9  or  10 
minutes  or  until  tender.    Serves  2  or  3. 

LUCEY'S  ALMOND  PUDDING 

8  ozs.  almonds,  finely  chopped 

Yz  cup  butter 

%  cup  powdered  sugar 

2  eggs,  separated 

%  teospoon  orange  flower  water 
Ys  teaspoon  salt 
lYz  tablespoons  cream 

Chop  aimonds  very  fine,  or  put  through 
nut  grinder.  Cream  butter  until  soft,  add 
sugar  gradually  and  cream  until  light  and 
fluffy.  Add  well-beaten  egg  yolks,  orange 
flower  water  (you  can  buy  this  at  the  drug 
store,  or  use  vanilla  instead),  salt  and 
cream.  Add  almonds  and  blend  thorough- 
ly. Pour  into  small  buttered  pudding  pan. 
Place  pudding  pan  in  pan  of  hot  water 
and  then  in  moderate  oven  (350°  F.) .  Bake 
25  minutes,  or  until  firm.  Cover  with 
meringue  made  by  beating  egg  whites 
until  frothy,  adding  3  tablespoons  sugar 
gradually  and  beating  until  stiff.  Return 
to  moderate  oven  and  brown  meringue.  A 
rich  dessert,  which  should  serve  6  to  8. 


"They  a£m#&t 

weaned  me  ! " 

"I've  been  on  a  queer  diet  the  last  year  or  two  .  .  . 
sometimes  I  wondered  if  I'd  ever  see  any  more 
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But  a  fellow  who's  always  had  the  best  doesn't 
give  up  easy.  And  now  that  I'm  getting  my 
Fels-Naptha,  the  laundry  work  in  this  house  is 
strictly  pre-war. 

I  do  a  family-size  wash  without  a  quiver,  finish 
the  job  on  schedule,  and  believe  me — those  clothes 
are  really  white  again!" 

Fels-Naptha  Soap 

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ened  up  and  fixed  her  train  face.  The 
parade  of  cuties,  photo  models,  Macy  sales- 
girls, show-struck  kids  like  himself  and 
Phyl,  tripped  in  and  out,  bright  and  busy. 
He  couldn't  say  it  here.  When  Phyl  came 
down  he  suggested:  "Let's  walk  over  to 
the  park."  They  found  their  favorite 
bench,  the  one  where  the  squirrels  practi- 
cally picked  your  pockets. 

"I'm  not  going  back  to  the  Academy," 
blurted  Bob.  "I  can't  afford  it.  I'm  broke." 
And  he  told  the  whole  tale.  His  fight  with 
Aunt  Tenny.  His  resolve  to  go  it  alone. 
The  Wallace  Co-operative  lodge.  His  fruit- 
less job  hunt.  The  way  he'd  shied  off  from 
Broadway — all  of  it. 

"Then  I'm  not  going  back  to  school, 
either,"  said  Phyl  promptly. 

She  smothered  Bob's  protests  with  glow- 
ing ideas.  They'd  both  get  jobs  on  Broad- 
way. They  were  both  good.  They  rated  it. 

"Phyl,  dear,"  said  Bob,  "you're  won- 
derful. Will  you  marry  me?"  . 

soon,  maybe  not  tomorrow  .  .  . 

"Of  course,"  she  smiled,  as  if  that  were 
already  understood.  "Of  course  I  will— 
some  day.  But  we've  got  to  get  busy.  Come 
by  for  me  tomorrow — early." 

"As  soon  as  I  get  through  the  dishes, 
dear,"  cracked  Bob  happily. 

They  tackled  Broadway  as  a  team  and 
they  gave  it  all  they  had.  It  wasn't  a  case 
of  the  Walgreen  Club,  hanging  around 
whiling  away  hours  over  the  drug  store 
fountain  with  great  ideas  and  gossip.  Bob 
and  Phyl  couldn't  afford  the  luxury  of 
Walgreens.  They  toured  the  heartless 
agencies  all  day,  cooled  their  shoe  leather 
on  the  outer  office  benches  and  dragged 
home  at  night — Phyl  to  ,  the  Barbizon, 
where  papa  paid  the  bill,  and  Bob  back 
up  to  Yonkers  in  the  middle  of  the  morn- 
ing, rolling  out  right  after  dawn  to  earn 
his  breakfast. 

But  nothing  happened.  Bob  was  just  as 
snakebit  on  Broadway  as  he'd  been  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  And  even  the  beauty  and 
spunk  that  Phyllis  Iseley  packed  didn't 
crack  one  producer's  armor.  The  answer 
was  always,  "Sorry."  Then  they  heard 
about  the  Cherry  Lane  Theater  down  in 
Greenwich  Village  where,  if  you  really 
loved  your  acting,  you  might  get  in  a 
play.  Luck  broke  for  Bob  and  Phyl  the  first 
time  they  called  on  Paul  Gilmore.  He  ran 
the  tiny  place  for  just  such  unknown,  poor 
but  talented  kids  as  Bob  and  Phyl. 

Paul  Gilmore  was  an  old  and  formerly 
famous  actor  but  the  Cherry  Lane  was 
plenty  older.  In  fact,  it  was  antiquated. 
The  stairs  were  rickety  and  stage  boards 
creaked.  When  it  rained  the  trickle  might 
come  dripping  down  anywhere,  on  audience 
or  actors.  Backstage,  rats  and  mice  cozily 
kept  house  and  multiplied. 

Bob  and  Phyl  were  stars — or  at  least 
leads — from  the  start.  They  did  "Springtime 
for  Henry"  and  "Three  Men  on  a  Horse," 
old  standbys  that  Phyl  had  done  in  stock 
back  in  Tulsa.  But  they  did  them  well, 
and  while  fifty  cents  a  night  is  no  road 
to  riches,  they  were  happy.  For  Bob  it  was 
a  long  haul  from  the  Village  clear  up  to 
Yonkers,  with  a  way  stop  at  the  Barbizon, 
but  he  got  used  to  that.  Luckily  both  were 
the  type  who  got  wrapped  up  in  their  work, 
so  that  the  expensive  fun  Manhattan 
offers  didn't  bother  them  a  bit. 

Love  on  a  dime,  only  sometimes  it  was 
a  nickel — that  was  Bob  and  Phyl.  But  when 
you're  nineteen  and  she's  eighteen — what's 
money? 

But  back  in  Tulsa,  Phyllis  Iseley's  family 
wasn't  so  sure.  Phyl  had  gone  back  East 
to  finish  the  Academy  and  here  she  was 
playing  in  some  rat  trap  down  in  the 
slums.  The  Iseleys  took  a  flying  trip  to 
New  York  and  when  they  got  a  look  at 
the  Cherry  Lane  they  weren't  impressed. 
Mr.  Iseley  was  a  practical  show  business 
man.  He  owned  a  chain  of  theaters  in 


Oklahoma  and  Missouri  and  it  was  tie 
Iseley  Stock  Company  that  Phyl  had 
starred  with  that  traveling  tent  show 
summer.  Papa  Iseley  also  had  an  interes: 
in  a  radio  station.  He  thought  his  daugh- 
ter could  get  just  as  valuable  experience 
and  live  a  lot  more  befitting  an  Isele}"  back 
home.  He  put  in  a  call  for  Xew  York. 
There  was  a  spot  open  on  the  radio  station 
for  a  dramatic  show  and  it  would  be 
Phyl's  baby  if  she  wanted  it.  She  could 
produce,  direct  and  star  in  her  own  show. 

The  Cherry  Lane  season  would  end  soon. 
Phyl  thought  of  Boh  up  ir.  the  Co-op.  the 
struggle  Ice  was  having  ar.d  how  ate  intc 
her  heart.  This  would  be  such  a  wonderful 
breather  for  them  both — a  little  money,  a 
project  of  their  own.  relief  from  the  grind- 
ing, competitive  city.  But  not  without  Bob. 

"Papa,  can  you  use  a  leading  man.  too?" 

"Sure,  bring  hint  along." 

Phyl  put  it  up  to  Bob  that  night.  She 
didn't  say  anything  about  that  conversa- 
tion. She  just  said  the  job  was  open  for 
both  of  them  and  it  was  a  wonderful 
break.  What  could  he  lose?  It  sounded 
swell  and  wherever  Phyl  went  that  was 
for  Bob  Walker. 

let's  go  .  .  . 

Phyl  went  on  to  get  things  started  and 
Bob  followed  West.  First,  though,  he  went 
arcur.d  tt  Aunt  Terury's  and  patched  up 
things.  On  his  record.  Hortense  Odium 
decided  Bob  had  plenty  of  character  to 
get  by  and  obviously  anybody  who  would 
ac:  the  hard  v.- ay  he  did  dtwr.  in  the  Vil- 
lage and  play  houseboy  days  for  his  board 
and  keep  wasn't  lacking  in  character. 

Tulsa  was  almost  like  being  back  home 
in  Ogden.  A  small  live-wire  Western  city, 
plenty  up-to-date  and  receptive  to  new 
ideas.  The  Radio  Lab  Phyl  and  Bob 
worked  up  was  one  and  it  went  over  like 
a  B-29.  The  Phyllis  Iseley  Radio  Theater 
was  the  official  tag.  Phyl  and  Bob  acted 
in  all  the  air  plays,  wrote,  directed,  studied 
and  pioneered.  They  had  the  time  of  their 
lives  and  the  program  was  a  success  all  of 
its  fourteen  weeks'  run.  They  made  850  a 
week  between  them,  and  on  top  of  that 
Bob  took  over  the  job  of  managing  a  movie 
house  of  the  Iseley  chain.  That  brought 
in  another  twenty-five.  They  were  practi- 
cally filthy  rich. 

Bob  camped  in  Tulsa  at  a  boarding  house 
down  town  from  the  Iseley  s.  but  somehow 
he  seldom  showed  up  there  for  meals.  Gen- 
erally Phyl  would  say.  "Oh.  come  on 
home!"  and  it  was  hard  to  refuse.  Pretty 
soon  he  was  accepted  as  one  of  the  family 
and  nobody  in  Tulsa  batted  a  surprised  eve 
when  thev  announced  their  marriage.  Thev 
knew  it  would  happen  someday,  but  even 
Bob  and  Phyl  didn't  dare  hope  it  would 
be  so  soon.  He  was  still  19  and  Phyl  18 
when  they  said  "I  do." 

That  was  right  after  the  P.  L  Radio 
..-.eater  had  completed  it;  successful  run. 
3y  then,  between  Phyl  ar.d  Boh.  there  was 
a  nice  little  starting  out  stake  of  §600. 
Papa  Iseley  came  through  with  a  gorgeous 
red  convertible  Packard  for  a  wedding  gift 
and  with  the  wheel  in  his  hands.  Bob  had 
only  one  idea. 

"We've  got  to  drive  to  Ogden  so  the 
folks  can  meet  you."'  said  Bob.  So  that  was 
their  honeymoon. 

On  the  way  they  stopped  in  Salt  Lake  to 
ntee:  the  old  r  Street  gang,  and  show 
lovely  Phyl  off  to  the  Walker  clan.  And  in 
Ogden,  Horace  and  Zella  Walker  swelled 
lute  punter  titeins  when  they  introduced 
their  beautiful  new  daughter  around  town. 

Now  Bob  hinted.  "You  know.  Hollywood's 
not  far  away.  It  would  be  a  shame  not  to 
go  there,  long  as  we're  so  close." 

"Fve  never  seen  Hollywood."  said  Phyl. 
"Look,"  argued  Bob.  "I've  got  an  uncle 
wht  nas  a  drag  tt  P..K.O.  I'll  het  we  could 
get  tests.  It  would  be  easy  with  all  the 
experience  we've  had.  What  do  you  say?" 


Be    Lovely    to  Love 


You'll  never  worry  about  staying 
sweet  and  dainty  if  you  use  Fresh, 

Fresh,  new  cream  deodorant,  stops 
perspiration  worries  completely. 

Fresh  contains  the  most  effective 
perspiration-stopping  ingredient 
known  to  science. 
Fresh  stays  smooth. . .never  gritty 
or  sticky. . .doesn't  dry  out. 


101 


"How  much  money  have  we  left?"  asked 
Phyl. 

"About  four  hundred  bucks." 

Bob  had  forgotten  his  Hollywood  heart- 
break long  ago  when  he  came  up  full  of 
beans  and  the  bright  boy  actor  of  San 
Diego  Army  and  Navy;  but  after  all,  he 
was  just  a  raw  kid  then.  Now  it  would  be 
different.  They  had  influential  friends. 
Phyl's  father  had  Hollywood  connections. 
It  should  be  a  breeze  to  get  a  break.  Once 
they  got  a  wedge  in  they  always  came 
through.  There  were  lots  of  arguments 
you  could  toss  at  yourself  kicking  the 
idea  around  in  your  head,  like  that.  The 
red  car  was  just  built  for  Hollywood  Boule- 
vard. Four  hundred  bucks,  sunshine,  palms 
and  careers  waiting  to  be  plucked. 

"Aunt  Daisy"  ran  a  boarding  house  up 
on  La  Brea,-  just  North  of  Sunset  Boule- 
vard, in  the  heart  of  Hollywood.  She  was 
a  sweet,  motherly  old  lady  and  perennially 
young  in  heart.  All  her  boarders  for  years, 
it  seemed,  had  been  youngsters  like  the 
couple  who  drove  up,  busting  to  show 
Hollywood  a  thing  or  two.  She  had  a  room 
for  the  honeymooners  and  also  inexhaust- 
ible advice  and  encouragement.  The  room 
was  cheap  and  the  advice  absolutely  free. 

They  moved  into  Aunt  Daisy's  Holly- 
wood haven  and  before  they'd  unpacked 
their  bags  the  hunt  was  on.  Bob  and  Phyl 
both  toted  a  formidable  sheaf  of  letters 
of  recommendation  from  their  New  York 
dramatic  professors  and  the  Cherry  Lane. 

Bob  came  back  bursting  to  Aunt  Daisy's 
one  night  with  the  glad  news.  "We're 
getting  a  test  at  R.K.O."  They  knew  his 
uncle  there  and  they  had  smiled  sweetly. 

Aunt  Daisy  came  through  with  a  cele- 
bration feed  that  night.  She  always  had 
to  be  in  on  all  the  results  of  Bob  and 
Phyl's  day.  When  they'd  come  dragging 
in  from  their  studio  rounds,  no  matter  how 
late,  she'd  shoo  them  into  the  kitchen  and 


put  on  the  coffee  pot.  "Now,  dears,"  she'd 
say,  when  she  had  them  sitting  at  the 
kitchen  table.  "Tell  Aunt  Daisy  all  about 
it."  As  the  tale  unwound  she'd  nod  her 
head  wisely  and  give  advice. 

same  old  brush-off  .  .  . 

Sometimes  Bob  and  Phvl  took  her  ad- 
vice and  sometimes  they  didn't.  But  the 
results  were  about  the  same.  It  was  the  old 
brush,  the  freeze.  The  polite  boot,  or  the 
old  square-toed  kick,  not  subtle  but  con- 
vincing. At  R.K.O.  it  was  more  refined  and 
ladylike.  Bob  got  whizzed  through  his 
"relative"  test  there  so  fast  that  his  head 
was  dizzy.  "Ah — that's  fine — now,  speak 
your  lines — fine — perfect — perfect— cut  .  .  . 
A  great  personality,  Mr.  Walker — photo- 
graph like  a  million — never  heard  such  a 
recording  voice — goodbye — goodbye — we'll 
call  you — don't  you  call  us.  .  .  ." 

At  M.G.M.  the  treatment  was  more 
direct.  They  just  said  "No" — period — and 
they  said  it  right  away.  It  is  a  little  be- 
wildering to  Bob,  today,  to  recall  his  first 
contact  with  Leo  who  purrs  happily  at 
his  approach  today  (and  why  not — he's 
one  of  M.G.M.'s  biggest  bets!).  Back  then, 
Bob  couldn't  even  find  Culver  City  in 
the  first  place.  He  zig-zagged  the  red 
Packard  over  half  Southern  California 
before  he  could  locate  the  studio  he'd  read 
about.  And  when  he  got  there  at  last  the 
closest  he  got  to  an  interview  was  the 
girl  at  the  reception  desk  in  Casting.  His 
name?  Did  he  have  an  appointment?  No? 
Then,  she  was  sorry.  Goodbye.  Next? 

Bob  and  Phyl  got  their  biggest  chance 
at  Paramount.  They  worked  their  hearts 
out  to  get  in  there,  pulling  all  the  wires 
they  knew  and  finally  wangling  a  test 
from  that  young  mindci  studio,  then  in- 
terested in  building  up  young  stars.  They 
knocked  themselves  out  at  Aunt  Daisy's, 
running  up  her  light  bill  polishing  off 


scenes  from  Ibsen's  "Ghosts"  and  "Tovar- 
ich."  That,  they  figured,  with  typical  little 
theater  reasoning,  was  the  stuff  to  show. 

It  was  a  wrong  mistake.  If  Bob  and  Phyl 
had  been  less  highbrow  the-"  might  have 
had  a  chance.  Fra-k  Freeman,,  the  Para- 
mount boss,  came  into  the  testing  stage 
six  times  to  give  them  the  eagle  eye.  But 
all  the  artistic  acting  that  Bob  and  Phyl 
were  throwing  around  wasn't  what  he  had 
in  mind  for  the  Paramount  stock  company. 
A  couple  of  young,  appealing  kids,  such 
as  Bob  and  Phyl  undoubtedly  were,  might 
have  won  a  double  contract  in  a  walk,  by 
other  tactics.  As  it  was,  Paramount  teetered 
on  the  fence  for  weeks  about  Phyl,  who 
interested  them  most,  and  Bob  himself 
just  missed  snagging  a  part  in  "Henry 
Aldrich."  But  in  the  end  the  decision  was 
thumbs  down. 

Phyl  finally  landed — at  Republic — in 
"New  Frontier,"  a  western  with  John 
Wayne,  and  Bob  found  himself  actually 
before  a  camera  with  film  in  it  at  Walter 
Wanger's,  chasing  Helen  Parrish  with  some 
other  stock  kids  in  and  out  of  "Winter 
Carnival,"  one  of  the  saddest  film  efforts 
the  Lone  Star  Wanger  ever  produced.  But 
it  was  $75  a  week  for  Bob  while  it  lasted. 

Bob  wasn't  too  sensitive.  He  had  no 
illusions  about  his  early  Hollywood  art. 
He  was  interested  mainly  in  keeping  sol- 
vent. While  he  made  "Winter  Carnival"' 
he  packed  manuscripts  to  the  set,  read 
and  synopsized  them  for  a  story  agent, 
Dave  Bader,  who'd  given  him  a  $35-a-week 
reading  job.  He  spent  most  nights  that  way, 
too.  Both  he  and  Phyl  were  determined 
the  Iseleys  weren't  going  to  play  Santa 
Claus  any  more. 

Bob  and  Phyl  left  Aunt  Daisy's  for  a 
little  dream  cottage  they  found  in  Laurel 
Canyon  for  $35  a  month,  with  a  fireplace, 
cozy  furnitu.  and  everything.  It  was 
their  first  home  really,  but  even  at  $35 


102 


rniur  muKKib  are  scienmicaiiy 

proved  far  less  irritating  to 
the  smoker's  nose  and  throat. 

mii  for  PHiilP  MOBnlb 

America's  Finest  Cigarette 


it  was  an  extravagance  for  the  Robert 
Walkers.  Sometimes  Phyl  came  through 
with  a  dinner.  But  mostly  she  was  too 
busy  chasing  a  job.  They  dined  at  Thrifty 
Drug  Stores,  hamburger  stands  and  wher- 
ever they  could.  It  wasn't  all  love-in- 
garret,  Hollywood  style,  though.  They 
rolled  along  the  Pacific  Coast  in  the  soft 
moonlight  in  the  big  Packard,  just  as  if  the 
world  was  a  bowl  of  peaches  and  cream. 
Then  the  gilt  rubbed  off  and  the  hard, 
cold  brass  of  Hollywood  showed  under- 
neath. "I  didn't  come  out  here  to  read 
scripts,"  grumbled  Bob. 

"if  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  the  cow- 
girl of  the  Golden  West,  you're  crazy," 
rebelled  Phyl.  They  looked  at  each  other 
and  the  look  met  in  the  middle  and  spelled 
"New  York."  They  practically  dived  for 
their  bags  and  started  packing. 

By  the  time  they  were  packed  and 
cleared  out  of  the  bungalow,  Bob  and  Phyl 
had  sobered  up.  They  remembered — New 
York  is  expensive,  acting  is  ^independable. 
They  both  looked  at  the  shiny,  red  Pack- 
ard ouside.  It  had  been  their  bucker-upper 
all  through  Hollywood. 

goodbye,  car  .  .  . 

Phyl  spoke  first.    "We'd  better  sell  it." 

"It's  our  wedding  gift." 

She  bit  her  lip.    "We'd  better  sell  it." 

They  got  $1100  for  it.  That  got  them  to 
New  York,  paid  the  first  month's  rent  on  an 
apartment  in  Woodside,  Long  Island. 

It  was  fall.  The  city  wore  a  cocky,  bouncy 
air.  The  summer  visitors  were  gone  and 
the  New  Yorkers  were  back  home,  rarin' 
to  go.  "We  can't  miss,"  Bob  grinned,  op- 
timistically. "Meet  you  on  the  5: 15." 

But  they  could  miss.  In  fact,  it  was  very 
easy — despite  their  training,  despite  the 
people  they  knew.  They  missed  for  four 
long  weeks  and  then  one  day,  when  they 
met  for  lunch  at  Walgreen's  counter,  Phyl 
couldn't  eat.  She  didn't  feel  well,  she 
thought  she'd  see  a  doctor.  Bob  went  along. 
The  doctor  grinned.  "How'd  you  like  to  be 
a  father?"  he  asked  Bob. 

It  was  the  thrill  that  comes  once  in  a 
lifetime.  But  it  was  also  a  stunning  shock 
to  Bob.  Marriage  was  wonderful— responsi- 
bilities?— well,  he  hadn't  thought  about 
that,  certainly  right  then  he  hadn't.  Frank- 
ly, he  got  scared.  He  knew  he'd  have  to 
do  something  about  it.  Suddenly  the 
Broadway  acting  drama  seemed  wildly 
impractical.  After  he  hugged  Phyl  happily 
he  went  outside  and  had  a  cigarette. 

He'd  never  thought  of  radio  much  be- 
fore. He  knew  there  was  money  there, 
but  all  he  could  see  was  the  stage.  Now  he 
didn't  have  the  patience  to  take  the  brush- 
offs.  He  went  over  to  Radio  City  now — 
and  he  found  it  just  as  tough.  But  he 
landed  a  tip:  An  agent  named  Chamber- 
lain Brown  was  holding  auditions  every 
week  for  undiscovered  talent.  In  his  day 
Chamberlain  Brown  had  been  a  big  agent 
^n  Broadway;  he  still  had  the  best  con- 
nections and  he'd  talked  them  into  look- 
ing at  the  kids  he  auditioned.  It  was  a  good 
bet  and  what  could  a  guy  lose?  Bob  went 
over  that  week  and  Phyl  went  along  to 
help.  They  did  scenes  from  "The  Shining 
Hour"  and  "Our  Town."  A  man  came  up 
to  them  afterwards. 

"I'm  the  talent  representative  here  for 
Paramount,"  he  said.  "Gosh,  I  think  you 
kids  are  great!   How'd  you  like  a  test?" 

Bob  and  Phyl  laughed.  They  told  him 
about  all  the  tests  at  the  studios. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  New  York  man. 
"You  kids  are  still  great.  Let  me  call  them 
long  distance,  tell  them.  If  they  say  yes, 
will  you  make  another  test?" 

Sure  they  would.  The  man  called.  He 
told  his  story  to  the  Hollywood  powers. 
He  built  them  up  big.  "What's  their 
names?"  asked  Hollywood. 

"Robert  Walker  and  Phyllis  Walker." 

The  answer  came  back,  "No,  thanks!" 


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Bob  and  Phyl  hadn't  expected  anything 
different.  But  there  was  a  lady  agent  who 
was  in  solid  at  NBC,  Audrey  Wood.  She 
liked  them,  too.  Through  her,  Bob  Walker 
got  his  first  job  on  the  air,  one  line  in  a 
"Yesterday's '  Children"  show.  Five  words 
and  his  check  was  $25.  Five  bucks  a  word! 
To  Bob,  with  his  bank  account  gone  and 
his  boy,  Bobby,  on  the  way,  that  was 
sensational.  He  plunged  into  air  acting 
seriously,  forgetting  the  stage,  forgetting 
Broadway.  His  agent  friends,  Bill  Liebling 
and  Audrey  Wood,  told  him,  "Stick  around 
here  and  keep  at  it  a  few  months  and 
you'll  make  a  nice  living."  At  that  point 
Bob  was  ready  to  settle  for  just  that.  He 
was  only  twenty-one  but  he  had  to  be 
practical.  Life,  not  dreams,  was  his  ticket 
now  and  life  was  a  practical  business. 

In  a  few  months  he  was  busy  almost 
every  day,  in  morning  shows  like  "David 
Harum,"  "John's  Other  Wife,"  "Stella 
Dallas" — soap  operas  and  corny  tear-jerk- 
ers all,  but  the  biggest  bonanza  in  radio. 

But  long  before  the  big  checks  came  in, 
Bob  and  Phyl  started  tightening  their  belts 
for  the  Big  Event.  The  cozy  little  apart- 
ment in  Woodside  made  them  feel  like 
spendthrifts  when  they  checked  up  on 
what  it  cost  to  have  a  baby.  Their  Man- 
hattan friends  had  the  answer,  "Move  to 
the  Village — it's  cheap,  and  it's  handy." 

They  found  an  unfurnished  walkup  over 
on  West  Tenth,  way  past  the  jail,  practi- 
cally in  the  slums,  for  $18  a  month.  The 
kitchen  was  combined  with  the  living 
room.  The  lavatory  was  in  the  hall.  There 
was  no  heat.  It  was  hardly  the  Ritz  Towers. 

They  lugged  their  entire  house  furnish- 
ings in  from  Woodside — one  chair,  a  love 
seat,  a  table  and  two  lamps.  Bob  will  never 
forget  the  day  they  moved  in.  It  was  rain- 
ing a  gray,  sodden  downpour,  and  the 
Village  streets  looked  imcomparably  shab- 
by, dirty  and  old.  He  hoisted  their  stock 
of  worldly  goods  up  the  stairs.  He  sat 
them  down  and  when  Phyl  surveyed  the 
bleak  apartment  she  curled  up  in  the  love 
seat  and  buried  her  face.  Bob  could  have 
cried  too,  but  neither  did.  They  were  so 
forlorn,  weak  and  weary,  it  tickled  them. 

village  life  .  .  . 

Bob  and  his  wife  lived  the  Bohemian 
life  only  briefly.  At  bottom  they  were 
nice,  normal  western  kids  and  the  artistic 
village  simply  wasn't  their  dish.  They 
didn't  thrill  to  all  the  cults  and  move- 
ments and  all-night  parties  that  made  the 
ancient  brick  patch-up  places  rock  most 
nights.  They  didn't  drink;  they  had  no 
political  crusades.  They  didn't  paint  or 
sculpt,  and  unless  you  could  call  Bob's 
script  synopses  writing,  they  didn't  do  any- 
thing connected  with  the  arts,  except  long 
to  act.  Phyl  sent  home  for  "Polly,"  her  par- 
rot, and  "Tinker,"  the  inky  black  cocker, 
to  help  warm  up  their  loft.  But  as  Bobby's 
arrival  drew  nearer  and  nearer  they  came 
to  their  senses  and  longed  for  the  plain 
suburbia  which  was  more  their  speed.  The 
deadline  was  mighty  close  when  they  final- 
ly managed  to  move  into  a  summer  shack 
in  Long  Beach. 

That  nest  is  distinguished  in  Bob  Walk- 
er's memory  only  as  the  first  home  of  his 
adored  boy,  Bobby.  It  was,  frankly,  an- 
other mistake,  in  the  scrambling  attempt 
of  the  Walkers  to  find  a  place  they  could 
call  home.  They  moved  there  because  it 
seemed  to  do  nothing  but  rain  in  the 
Village  and  the  leaky  flat  was  damp.  So 
to  get  out  of  the  damp  before  Baby  Bobby 
came  they  went  to  Long  Beach.  What  was 
worse,  Bob  talked  the  landlord  into  an 
extra  two  months  free,  before  the  season 
opened,  so  they  moved  in  at  the  height  of 
the  clammy  seaside  spring.  Bob  picked 
up  an  old  flivver  for  $75  and  they  chugged 
out  that  day  with  their  sticks  of  furniture. 
A  couple  of  trips  did  it  and  together  Bob 
and  Phyl  set  about  unpacking. 


They  ware  only  half  way  through — on 
another  day  when  Phyl  thought  she'd  bet- 
ter stop.  It  was  around  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  when  she  whispered  to  Bob 
and  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  grabbed 
his  clothes.  Inwardly  he  cursed  his  dumb- 
ness for  all  the  jouncing  and  jolting  of 
their  racke-ty-packety  ride  in  the  flivver, 
for  the  hasty  unpacking  and  shifting 
around  they'd  done  to  get  settled.  Now  this 
was  it — and  there  was  no  phone  in  the 
house — and  it  was  raining  cats  and  dogs. 

He  dashed  through  the  storm  down  town 
whistling  and  yelling  for  cabs.  Luckily, 
the  one  prudent  thing  Bob  had  done  was  to 
tell  the  cab  office  he  might  need  one  that 
night  Luckily,  they  had  one  there.  In  a 
matter  of  minutes  the  Walkers  were  skid- 
ding down  the  pavement  to  Jamaica  in 
as  wild  a  ride  as  Bob  cares  to  remember. 
All  the  dreadful  tales  he'd  heard  about 
everything  connected  with  babies  flashed 
through  his  mind— and  it  was  all  his  fault. 
He  was  a  nervous  wreck  and  prepared  to 
be  more  so  when  they  closed  the  mater- 
nity ward  door  on  him  at  five  A.M.  But 
in  ten  minutes  the  nurse  popped  out,  smil- 
ing, "Congratulations, "  she  beamed,  "You're 
the  proud  father  of  a  fine  son!" 

Bob  just  gawked.  He  d  thought  he'd  be 
pacing  all  the  morning  and  maybe  into  the 
night  With  his  red  curls  matted  and  his 
clothes  soggy  and  wet,  he  looked  more  like 
the  kid  who'd  run  away  from  home  back 
in  Salt  Lake  City,  than  a  brand  new,  21- 
year  old  father.  He  muttered.  "Th-thanks," 
and  sank  weakly  down  on  the  bench.  Only 
then  did  he  realize  he'd  practically  had 
the  baby  with  Phyl,  through  all  that  day 
and  night  of  moving  and  getting  settled. 
The  hospital,  reached  in  the  nick  of  time, 
was  the  very  end  of  the  event.  From  that 
moment  on.  Bob  Walker  felt,  as  he  feels  to- 
day, that  he's  an  especially  privileged  par- 
ent. What's  more,  Bobby  brought  him 
bright  new  luck.  He  landed  jobs  in  two  new 
radio  shows  the  very  next  day. 

But  you  could  hardly  attribute  all  of 
Robert  Walker's  success  in  Radio  City  to 
Baby  Bob.  As  he  did  better  and  better — 
won  spots  on  night  shows,  too,  like  the 
Aldrich  Family — what  was  paying  off  was 
the  training,  natural  talent,  the  thorough 
hard  work,  the  urge  for  perfection  which 
has  always  marked  Robert  Walker's  bid 
for  fame.  He  still  owns  the  recording  ma- 
chine he  bought  for  Phyl  to  wax  his  pro- 
grams at  home.  They'd  replay  them  to- 
gether and  find  out  what  he'd  done  oh  the 
air  that  wasn't  as  good  as  it  could  be. 

Before  long  the  Walkers  were  edging 
right  along  toward  Easy  Street.  They 
moved  from  the  Long  Beach  shack  to  "a 
furnished  house  in  Garden  City,  where,  a 
year  after  Bobby,  Michael  boosted  their 
family  to  four, 
smooth  sailing  .  .  . 

Outside  of  occasional  snags,  Bob  and 
Phyllis  Walker  sailed  along,  as  smooth  as 
silk.  When  Bob  snagged  his  own  air  show, 
"Maudie's  Diary,"  and  got  billed  over  the 
air,  when  he  found  himself  dragging  down 
S300  and  $400  a  week  and  getting  his  name 
in  radio,  he  began  to  believe — against  his 
inner  voice — that  this  was  the  life.  He 
bought  a  swell  new  Buick  convertible  to 
race  back  and  forth  to  town  in.  He  moved 
the  family  to  wealthy  Sands  Point  Long 
Island,  to  a  dreamy  Colonial  house,  set  in 
four  green  acres.  He  joined  the  exclusive 
Sands  Point  Club,  played  tennis  with  Phyl 
and  his  friends  while  the  boys  splashed  in 
the  salt-water  pool.  They  took  in  the  Forest 
Hills  tennis  matches,  drove  around  Long 
Island  in  the  summer,  took  long  walks  by 
the  sea  and  thrilled  to  watch  their  boys 
get  a  healthy  outdoors  start.  They  even  got 
a  nurse  for  the  kids,  to  take  the  load  off 
Phyl. 

Because  Bob  was  the  working  bread- 
winner, ever  since  they  came  back  from 


Are  you  in  the  know? 


For  that  wee-waisted  look,  she'd  better  — 

D  Give  up  breathing 
□  Minimize  the  midriff 
n  Try  corset  laces 


The  "doll-waisted"  style  and  your  chubbv 
waistline  don't  seem  made  for  each  other? 
Better  minimize  that  midriff!  Stand  erect,  feet 
together,  arms  stretched  overhead.  Bend  torso 
right  and  left  as  far  as  possible  (feel  the  pull!) 
.  .  .  working  up  to  25  times  daily.  On  "certain"' 
days  you  can  look  trim,  even  in  your  snuggest 
outfit.  With  Kotex,  no  revealing  outlines  nag 
you  — for  Kotex  has  flat  tapered  ends  that  don't 
show.  And  to  help  you  stay  dainty,  there's  a 
deodorant  in  Kotex,  Gals  who  rate  appreciate 
this  ^rooming  aid! 


Does  a  square  shaped  hand  indicate  — 

□  An  inquiring  mind 
O  A"  impulsive  nature 

□  A  dynamic  personality 


lour  hand  can  reveal  your  traits  and  tern-' 
perament!  Have  you  a  square  shaped  hand? 
If  so,  palmists  say  you're  a  practical  soul; 
self  assured.  You  have  an  inquiring  mind  — 
which  is  good,  for  it  helps  you  make  wise 
decisions.  And  when  you  inquire  about  sani- 
tary protection,  and  learn  that  Kotex  has 
tasting  softness  (doesn't  just  "feel"  soft  at 
first  touch)  .  .  .  that  Kotex  is  made  to  stay 
soft  while  Hearing  .  .  .  it's  ten  to  one  you'll 
decide  on  Kotex.  Because  you  value  real 
comfort.  No  wonder  vou're  self-assured! 


If  the  lady  doesn't  laugh,  would  you 
consider  her  — 

□  A  pickle-pan 

□  Dracula's  mother 

□  Justified 


This  little  lap-lander  didn't  mean  to 
tumble.  But  to  the  lady  it's  the  last 
straw.  She's  tired  of  being  pushed 
around  by  boisterous  characters.  The 
lady's  justified.  Accidents  and  a  "who 
cares  ?"attitude  too  often  go  together. 
That's  worth  pondering..  .on"those" 
days,  as  well,  for  if  you  use  care  in 
choosing  a  sanitary  napkin,  you'll 
choose  Kotex  —  and  avoid  mishaps. 
Yes,  Kotex'  exclusive  safety  center 
gives  you  extra  protection  from 
problem-day  accidents! 


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Hollywood  and  found  Broadway  closed 
clam-tight  to  their  joint  assaults,  Bob 
achieved  the  prosperity  on  his  own,  while 
Phyl  took  care  of  the  home  and  family. 
That's  the  way  both  of  them  wanted  it, 
although  deep  inside  the  old  frustrated 
acting  spark  had  never  been  doused  in 
either  Bob  or  the  beautiful  girl  who  was 
to  become  Hollywood's  Jennifer  Jones. 
She  still  went  over  his  radio  scripts  with 
him,  criticised  his  shows,  and  for  fun 
sometimes  when  the  nights  were  rainy  and 
the  kids  put  to  bed,  they'd  build  a  fire  and 
go  through  one  of  the  old  plays  they  did 
together  at  the  Academy  and  the  Cherry 
Lane.  Hollywood — that  seldom  came  up — 
the  memories  weren't  too  pleasant — but 
Broadway  still  was  an  open  crush  with 
both  Walkers  and  they  admitted  it.  In  fact, 
their  greatest  pleasures  were  the  trips  in 
town  to  see  a  play.  Before  the  nurse  came 
they  worked  out  an  alternating  deal.  One 
night  Phyl  stayed  home  with  the  kids 
while  Bob  drove  in  town  to  catch  a  hit 
performance.  The  next  time  he  fed  the 
boys  and  put  them  to  bed  while  Phyl  had 
a  night  at  the  theater.  With  the  babies 
under  a  nurse's  care,  they  made  the  trip 
together.  And  when  they  did,  Bob  noticed 
the  rapt  look  that  Phyl  wore  for  days. 
She  was  born  to  act  herself,  as  he  was,  he 
knew,  and  he  wasn't  surprised  when,  with 
the  household  running  smoothly  at  last, 
she  started  driving  in  town  with  him  days, 
just,  as  she  said,  "to  look  around." 

phyllis  scores  one  .  .  . 

Nor  was  any  one  in  New  York  more 
tickled  than  Bob  when  Phyl  met  him  one 
afternoon  at  their  favorite  spot  on  51st 
Street,  bubbling  about  a  chance  to  test  for 
the  Chicago  company  of  "Claudia."  Doro- 
thy Maguire  had  made  that  one  a  big 
Broadway  hit.  The  words  "Chicago  Com- 
pany" gave  Bob's  heart  a  twinge  but  they 
were  two  of  a  kind  and  he  caught  the 
thrill  of  the  break.  It  was  second  nature. 
"Gosh,  Phyl,  that's  great,"  grinned  Bob. 
"Chicago — there's  lots  of  radio  there.  May- 
be I  could  get  a  spot  and  come  along." 

They  had  a  drink  to  celebrate. 

But  Phil  didn't  get  the  part.  Another 
Phyllis,  Phyllis  Thaxter,  was  author 
Rose  Franken's  choice.  For  both  Phyls, 
however,  that  test  was  a  one-way  ticket 
to  Hollywood — only  Phyl  Walker  got  there 
first.  Selnick's  alert  New  York  scout  saw 
her  and  phoned  his  boss.  At  that  time  Twen- 
tieth Century  was  combing  the  world  for 
the  one  and  only  Bernadette  for  the  great 
religious  picture,  "The  Song  of  Bernadette." 
So  when  Phyl  Walker  lost,  she  won.  But 
could  she  fly  out  to  Hollywood  and  make  a 
test  for  "Bernadette?"  "Wait  until  I  call  my 
husband,"  said  Phyl. 

It  was  hard  to  tell  it  over  the  phone. 
But  she  babbled  something  and  then  raced 
out  to  Sands  Point.  Bob  and  Phyl  stayed 
up  most  of  the  night  making  excited  plans. 
Phyl  would  go  to  Hollywood,  of  course. 
What  a  wonderful  unbelievable  chance! 
And  Bob — he'd  keep  on  with  "Maudie's 
Diary"  and  watch  over  the  nurse  and 
Bobby  and  Mike  in  Sands  Point.  It  was 
all  a  long,  impossible  gamble,  but  what  a 
swell  kick  to  be  thinking  and  hoping. 

So  Phyllis  Walker  flew  off  to  Hollywood, 
saying,  "I'll  call  you  the  minute  I  know!" 
And  it  seemed  like  Bob  would  have  no 
nails  left  at  all  by  the  time  he  heard  the 
operator  say  "Los  Angeles  calling."  Still, 
he  really  didn't  believe  it  could  happen  to 
Phyl — not — boom! — like  that.  Maybe  she'd 
get  a  stock  contract,  anyway. 

He  was  home  with  the  kids  when  the 
call  came.  It  was  short  and  sweet.  "Bob," 
came  the  familiar  voice,  high  with  excite- 
ment, "I've  got  it.  I'm  'Bernadette.' " 

Bob  had  a  hard  time  keeping  his  own 
voice  level.  All  the  old  plugging,  undis- 
covered actor  came  back  to  him  and  he 
was  as  tickled  as  if  it  had  happened  to 


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him.   "I'll  send  out   the  kids   with  the 
nurse,"  he  said,  "so  you  won't  be  lonely. 
And  maybe  later  I  can  come  out  myself." 
"Hurry,"  said  Phyl. 

It  was  Bob  who  broke  up  the  home  at 
Sands  Point,  stored  the  furniture,  packed 
off  the  boys  and  the  nurse,  made  the  in- 
ventories, cleaned  up  the  odds  and  ends. 
He  knew  he  couldn't  stick  in  New  York 
with  his  family  3,000  miles  away. 

Soft  radio  spot  or  not,  he  had  to  go  West, 
too.  He  talked  it  over  with  his  agent, 
Marcella  Knapp.  "There's  plenty  of  big 
time  radio  in  Hollywood."  She  wasn't  say- 
ing anything  Bob  didn't  already  know. 
The  glamor  end  of  radio  had  practically 
moved  to  the  Coast.  "You  won't  have  any 
trouble  getting  set  in  radio,  but  look," 
urged  Miss  Knapp,  "Hollywood  means  one 
big  thing — pictures.  Why  don't  you  take 
some  screen  tests  while  you're  there?" 

Bob  laughed,  "You  should  see  my  re- 
port cards,"  he  scoffed.  "Ask  Paramount, 
RKO,  M-G-M— any  of  'em.  It's  a  long  and 
sad  story.  For  radio — yes,  but  for  pictures 
— well,  no  studio  has  ever  chanted,  'We 
want  Walker!' " 

Marcella  Knapp  planted  one  on  the  but- 
ton. "Of  course,  they  were  crazy  about 
Phyl  from  the  start.  That's  why  she's 
doing  'Bernadette'  today,  I  suppose." 

She  had  him.  Bob  grinned.  "Okay,"  he 
said,  "if  they  start  waving  screen  tests  in 
my  face  I  won't"  run." 
look  who's  here!  .  .  . 

He  had  told  Phyl  he'd  be  showing  up  on 
a  certain  date  in  December,  when  his 
radio  contract  left  him  off  the  hook.  Hap- 
pily for  Bob  that  event  came  around  two 
weeks  early.  He  rushed  home  and  packed 
his  bags  and  grabbed  a  train.  He  was 
aboard  before  he  realized  he  hadn't  even 
called  Phyl.  He  started  to  write  a  telegram 
and  then  tore  it  up.  A  dad  doesn't  get  a 
chance  to  surprise  his  wife  and  kids  often. 

Bob  rolled  up  in  a  cab  to  the  apartment 
house  in  Beverly  Hills  and  rang  the  door- 
bell. Phyl  opened  the  door — and  almost 
fainted  with  surprise  into  his  arms. 

That  was  almost  Christmas.  They  scur- 
ried around  town  and  came  up  with  a 
house,  in  time  to  give  the  boys  a  real 
Christmas,  with  tree  and  toys  and  every- 
thing like  they  had  back  East.  They  didn't 
know  it  then,  but  that  was  to  be  the  last 
Christmas  they  would  spend  together  as 
Bob  and  Phyl  Walker.  The  day  after  Bob 
came  to  town  he  was  home  when  the  tele- 
phone rang  and  he  answered  it. 

"Hello,  is  Miss  Jones  there?" 

"Who?"  asked  Bob. 

"Jennifer  Jones." 

Bob  yelled,  "Phyl,  do  you  know  any 
'Jennifer  Jones'  around  here?" 

She  laughed.  "Sure  I  do — that's  me." 

Maybe  it's  best  to  leave  the  private  life 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bob  Walker  on  the  happy 
note  of  that  last  Christmas  of  1942.  Not  too 
long  afterwards,  when  Bob  was  making 
"See  Here,  Private  Hargrove"  and  Jennifer 
was  deep  in  "The  Song  of  Bernadette," 
they  decided  to  part.  No  one  knows  why 
and  few  even  guess.  Neither  Bob  nor  his 
Phyl  has  ever  explained,  nor  do  they  in- 
tend to.  It  is  none  of  our  business,  either. 
Their  family  still  flourishes,  normally, 
happily,  with  Bobby  and  Mike  growing 
into  healthy,  husky  boys,  dividing  their 
time  between  their  adoring  parents.  And 
one  thing  is  certain— it  wasn't  unbalanced 
success— the  trite  but  often  too  true  story 
behind  movietown  breakups.  Because  Jen- 
nifer Jones  and  Robert  Walker — going  their 
separate  ways — became  two  of  the  brightest 
young  stars  in  the  Hollywood  heavens. 
Bob's  Phyl  won  her  Academy  Oscar  with 
her  first  camera  part.  Her  Hollywood  career 
is  screen  history  that  bears  no  repeating 
here.  Neither  does  Bob's. 

He  took  that  test  almost  the  minute  he 
got  in  town  when  M-G-M  wanted  a  young 


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108 


sailor  type  for  "Bataan."  He  won  his  con- 
tract in  a  few  minutes.  "Private  Hargrove" 
made  him  a  star  in  his  second  picture. 
"Since  You  Went  Away,"  "The  Clock," 
"Her  Highness  and  the  Bellboy,"  "Sailor 
Takes  A  Wife" — for  Bob  they  have  marked 
a  steady  progression  toward  the  highest 
shelf  of  Hollywood  achievement.  He's 
played  in  nothing  but  hits,  he's  done  noth- 
ing but  stand-out  acting  jobs.  And  along 
the  way  he  has  stubbornly,  gradually  won 
a  victory  over  the  big  bugaboo  he  had  to 
lick  for  his  personal  satisfaction — the  tena- 
cious type-casting  yen  of  Hollywood  to 
keep  him  forever  a  bashful  boy,  a  per- 
petual clumsy  Private  Hargrove. 

Only  the  other  day  Bob,  now  twenty- 
seven,  reached  movie  maturity  at  last 
when  M-G-M  gave  in  and  handed  him  his 
first  thoroughly  grown-up  job,  one  that 
offers  the  greatest  acting  challenge  of  his 
life.  They  picked  him  to  play  the  late,  great 
popular  composer,  Jerome  Kern,  in  "Till 
The  Clouds  Roll  By,"  Hollywood's  musi- 
cal saga  of  that  melody  master's  life. 

Along  with  that  plum,  they  handed  Bob 
a  new  three-year  contract  which  matches 
his  star-standing  with  what  makes  the 
world  go  'round — money!  So  immediately, 
Bob  started  looking  around  Hollywood  for 
an  apartment  house  to  buy.  Because  the  kid 
from  Salt  Lake  is  still  a  Walker  and  like  a 
good  Mormon,  he's  always  thinking  of  his 
family.  Two  years  from  now  his  dad, 
Horace  Walker,  will  retire  from  his  job 
in  Ogden  and  Bob  thinks  it  would  be  swell 
to  have  the  folks  down  in  Hollywood.  He 
knows  they'd  go  crazy  just  sitting  around, 
so  he'd  like  to  hand  them  the  apartment 
house  to  manage.  And  that's  a  dream  that 
looks  like  it  might  soon  come  true. 

He  picked  another  dream  out  of  the  sky 
last  year,  when  he  traveled  back  to  New 
York  for  a  personal  appearance  at  the 
Capitol  Theater  on  Broadway.  Years  ago, 
when  he  first  hit  New  York,  Bob  and  his 
brother,  Walt,  used  to  sit  in  the  Capitol  on 
Sunday  afternoons  and  'way  back  then  he'd 
look  at  the  blazing  marquee  and  muse, 
"Wonder  how  I'd  look  up  there?"  He 
looked  swell  this  year  in  mile-high  letters, 
on  all  four  sides.  "ROBERT  WALKER  .  .  . 
IN  PERSON"  and  he  knows  it's  corny  but 
he  couldn't  help  hauling  out  of  bed  at 
dawn  and  hiking  over  from  the  Waldorf  to 
watch  the  workmen  hang  the  letters  up  as 
he  muttered,  "I  never  thought  it  would 
happen  to  me!" 

broadway  on  the  brain  .  .  . 

There's  still  his  dream  of  those  same 
words  announcing  a  starring  play  on 
Broadway,  and  that's  one  he'll  never  give  up 
until  it's  a  reality.  It  blends  inseparably  with 
one  great  ambition  in  life — an  ambition 
he's  clung  to  since  the  San  Diego  Army  and 
Navy  Academy  days — to  be  a  fine,  polished 
actor.  Sometimes  it's  hard  for  Hollywood 
to  understand  that  side  of  the  quiet  guy 
who  loses  his  personal  self  in  the  major  art 
of  his  life. 

Bob  made  his  most  poignant  film  scene  so 
far  in  "Since  You  Went  Away" — the  fare- 
well love  scene  which  he  played  tenderly 
with  Jennifer  Jones,  the  girl  who  only 
weeks  before  had  been  his  wife,  Phyl 
Walker.  Sensing  a  story,  a  reporter  col- 
lared him  on  the  Selznick  set. 

"How  can  you  stand,"  he  asked,  "to  make 
love  like  that  to  your  wife  when  you've 
just  separated?"  He  drew  a  puzzled  stare 
from   Bob  Walker. 

"Why,"  he  said  at  last.  "That's  got  noth- 
ing to  do  with  me  and  Phyl.  You  see,  it's 
acting." 

But  the  world  which  sees  his  pictures  takes 
a  more  personal  view  of  Robert  Walker,  as 
the  world  always  does  when  a  screen  actor 
becomes  a  star.  Acting  craft  or  not,  what 
comes  across  when  Bob  Walker  faces  a 
camera  is  something  people  like,  and  if 
personality,  as  the  sages  say,  is  the  sum 


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of  all  experience — then  Bob  Walker  has 
been  on  the  right  track  to  success  since  his 
runaway  Salt  Lake  City  days.  Because 
wherever  you  go,  you  don't  find  any  com- 
plaints. 

The  other  day,  before  Bob  was  set  for  his 
dream  part  in  "Till  The  Clouds  Roll  By," 
and  before  the  composer's  tragic  passing, 
Jerome  Kern  sat  in  the  office  of  Arthur 
Freed,  the  M-G-M  producer.  Kern's  con- 
sent was  necessary  before  Freed  could  cast 
the  starring  part. 

"There's  only  one  actor  I  can  see  doing  it, 
Jerry,"  stated  Freed.  "And  that's  Robert 
Walker." 

The  composer  smiled  and  reached  for  the 
telephone.  "Just  a  minute,"  he  said.  "Let 
me  call  my  wife."  He  dialed  that  number. 
"Hello,  Eva?  Listen — I'm  in  Arthur  Freed's 
office  and  he  suggests  Robert  Walker  to 
play  me  in  the  picture,  what  do  you  think?" 

Jerome  Kern  grinned  and  tilted  the  re- 
ceiver so  Arthur  Freed  could  hear.  "Well, 
Jerry,"  said  Mrs.  Kern,  "you  send  Robert 
Walker  home  to  me  and  you  can  stay  there 
and  play  the  part  yourself!" 


LANA  by  JAMES  M.  CAIN 

(Continued  from  page  52) 


the  "played  line,"  as  they  call  it  on  the 
stage.  I  don't  mean  she  acts  when  she 
talks  to  you.  J3ut  she  becomes  intense, 
and  makes  every  effort  to  make  you  feel 
what  she  is  saying  to  you.  Yet  her  face 
is  always  animated  with  a  real  sparkle; 
expressions  flit  across  it  with  the  rapidity 
of  shadows  and  light  on  water.  She  has 
never  acquired  a  broad  A,  and  there  is 
nothing  about  her  speech  that  suggests 
the  stage,  screen  or  radio. 

Yet  of  course  I  was  curious  as  to  why 
she  had  wanted  to  play  in  my  story.  When 
a  woman  goes  romantic  over  a  hobo,  then 
helps  him  kill  her  husband,  you  couldn't 
exactly  call  her  "sympathetic."  So  I  asked 
her  what  had  attracted  her  to  Cora.  "Her 
honesty,"  said  Lana. 

I  almost  choked  on  my  tea.  "Honesty! 
Are  you  kidding?" 

honest  cora  .  .  . 

"Look,"  said  Lana,  "Cora  didn't  pre- 
tend to  herself.  She  knew  she  was  a  punk, 
and  that  what  she  was  going  to  do  about 
it  was  wrong.  But  she  wanted  something 
out  of  life.  She  wanted  something  she 
could  never  get  if  she  went  along  in  the 
same  old  rut." 

"And  what  did  she  want?"  I  asked. 

"Respectability!" 

"I've  often  wondered  if  my  readers 
could  believe  that." 

"I  believe  it.  It's  what  made  Cora  so 
mam  an.  She'd  kill  a  man  so  she  could 
nave  a  little  piece  of  property  away  out 
in  the  hills,  a  lunchroom,  some  cabins, 
and  a  fining  station.  Then  she'd  be  some- 
thing. That's  what  she  said.  Well  that's 
so  silly  you  can't  help  feeling  sorry  for 
her.  But  a  lot  of  things  people  do  don't 
make  any  sense,  and  when  she  was  so 
honest  with  herself  about  it,  I  wanted  to 
play  her.  And  I  loved  the  chances  I  had 
to  show  her  when  she  was  human  just 
like  anybody  else.  There  she  was — just 
a  woman  in  love,  doing  things  for  a  man, 
feeling  the  way  other  people  feel,  even 
if  she  had  killed  somebody." 

Well,  there's  Cora  in  a  nutshell.  Lana 
understood  her  better  than  I  did.  And  I 
wrote  the  book!  The  hunch  I'd  had  about 
Lana  was  completely  justified.  She's  more 
than  a  glamour  girl.  She's  an  actress.  When 
she^  played  Cora,  she  was  Cora.  I  think 
she's  going  to  make  a  hit  of  that  "Postman" 
oook  yet! 


BRI&HT  IDEAS 

-from 

EDDIE  BRACKEN 

star  of  Paramount's 

"HOLD  THAT  BLONDE" 

has  his  bathroom  papered  with, 
music  scores!  That's  so  he'll  never 
run  out  of  inspiration  while  sing- 
ing in  the  shower. 


I 
I 


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TEEN  DREAM 

(Continued  from  page  56) 


in  the  hazy  way  of  nocturnal  happenings 
when  a  bearded  man  (the  beard  blows  back 
and  forth  like  fog)  tells  Dolly  that  her 
father  and  mother  have  gone  mad. 

By  this  time,  Dolly  is  trying  to  run  away, 
but  her  legs  have  the  power  of  soaked 
spaghetti  and  as  she  looks  back  over  her 
shoulder,  the  little  old  man  begins  to  laugh 
a  horrible,  shaking  laugh,  while  shouting, 
"And  you're  crazy,  too." 

Then  she  wakes  up. 

This  should  prove  conclusively  and  for 
all  time  that  dreams  are  a  lot  of  nonsense, 
because  Dolly  Loehr  is  Diana  Lynn  of 
Paramount,  and — together  with  her  urbane, 
charming  mother  and  father — the  Holly- 
wood family  Loehr  is  one  of  the  most  sensi- 
ble and  intelligent  in  America. 

Diana  is  now  nineteen,  but  like  her  con- 
temporaries who  are  seniors  in  high  school, 
or  who  are  going  to  business,  or  who  are 
in  their  early  university  years,  she  relies 
very  much  on  the  judgment  of  her  parents 
in  all  business  affairs,  and  they  take  a 
courteous  but  firm  hand  in  her  social  life. 

While  Diana  is  working  in  a  picture,  she 
has  to  be  in  bed  at  nine  every  night,  be- 
cause she  rolls  out  around  5:30  A.M. 

When  she's  between  pictures,  she  may 
remain  out  until  twelve-thirty  or  one,  but 
her  parents  always  know  where  she  is, 
with  whom,  and  at  approximately  what 
time  she'll  reach  home.  Frequently  her 
parents  are  still  reading  in  the  living  room 
when  she  arrives.  Sometimes  they  go  into 
the  kitchen  to  raid  the  icebox,  but  Diana 
usually  sticks  to  a  glass  of  fruit  juice  in- 
stead of  lacerating  a  chicken  bone. 

It  has  only  been  something  over  a  year 
since  she  shed  her  baby  fat,  and  she  doesn't 
want  to  get  it  back.  Just  before  Mona  Free- 
man was  married,  Mona  and  Diana  went  to 
Santa  Barbara  for  a  week's  rest. 

mona  eats,  diana  watches  .  .  . 

Each  morning  they  would  have  break- 
fast together,  to  wit:  Diana:  Scrambled 
eggs  with  tomatoes  and  coffee;  Mona: 
Cereal  with  cream,  a  heated  gooey  coffee- 
cake,  a  glass  of  milk,  a  dish  of  bananas 
with  cream. 

During  the  morning,  tenish  or  so,  Mona 
would  lift  her  head  from  the  suntanning 
sand  and  observe  to  her  roommate,  "I'm 
hungry.  Let's  go  get  a  malt." 

"For  you — yes.  For  me — no,"  replied  the 
Spartan  Miss  Lynn.  She  even  accom- 
panied Mona  to  the  fountain  and  sat  there 
stoically  sipping  water  while  Miss  Freeman 
drooled  over  a  double  chocolate  awful- 
awful  with  whipped  cream,  nuts,  and 
cherry  topping  .  .  .  and  stayed  thin! 

There  is  always  an  occasion  when 
Dolly  skips  all  thought  of  appetite  con- 
trol: That's  when  her  father  mixes  up  a 
batch  of  his  out-of-this-world  hot  cakes. 

An  old  time  friend  of  the  family  who 
is  always  called  "Aunty"  arrived  one  morn- 
ing last  spring  with  a  service  man  as  her 
guest.  "I've  been  promising  him  the  treat 
of  his  life."  she  announced.  "A  stack  of 
Loehr  cakes.  Now  don't  disappoint  me." 

The  breakfast  went  on  and  on.  Afterward, 
Dolly-Diana  said  ruefully,  "I  know  I've 
gained  three  pounds.  It  was  a  wonderful 
breakfast,  Dad — never  better.  But  I'll  never 
forgive  myself  for  eating  so  much — never." 

Several  months  passed.  Then,  one  after- 
noon, a  parcel  was  delivered  to  Diana. 
Shipped  from  Germany  by  the  service 
man  who  had  been  the  rollicking  guest  at 
Diana's  non-dieting  table,  was  a  magnifi- 
cent hand-made  black  lace  mantilla. 

Completely  awestruck,  Diana  managed  to 
say,  "I  forgive  myself." 

In  addition  to   being  a  fugitive  from 


Help  Nature  shed  beauty-concealing  "Top  Skin" 


s 


Quick,  easy  Twin  Treatment  speeds  up  removal  of  dry  outer  skin  flakes. 
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frosting,  Diana  has  another  difficulty:  she 
loses  things.  When  the  Loehrs  go  to  a 
movie,  it  is  standard  operating  procedure 
for  Mr.  Loehr  to  whisper,  "Everybody 
ready?  Dolly,  do  you  have  your  purse? 
Your  gloves?  Your  coat?  Your  hat?" 

In  one  theater,  there  is  an  usher  who 
knows  Diana  and  who  checks  her  space  the 
instant  she  has  left  the  theater.  One  time 
he  even  netted  Diana's  coat.  That  was  a 
terrific  play! 

One  night,  when  Diana  and  a  boy  friend 
started  to  a  party,  he  stopped  her  in  the 
hallway  and  looked  her  over  carefully. 
"I  want  to  know  right  now,"  he  said 
severely,  "what  you  are  wearing,  holding, 
or  carrying  that  isn't  fastened.  I  want  to 
get  acquainted  with  whatever  you're  going 
to  lose  so  that  I  won't  have  any  trouble 
reclaiming  it." 

At  present,  Diana's  chief  boy  friends  are 
Loren  Tindall  and  Henry  Willson.  About 
a  year  ago  she  went  through  a  phase  dur- 
ing which  she  had  a  new  beau  every  week. 
She  met  Army  men,  Navy  men  and  Ma- 
rines. She  liked  them  all,  introduced  them 
to  her  family,  and  told  her  mother  after- 
ward, "Mommy,  isn't  he  positively  the 
most  attractive  person  you've  ever  seen?" 

Said  Mrs.  Loehr  serenely,  "Yes,  indeed — 
this  week." 

This  was  followed  by  another  phase. 
One  of  the  Army  romances  that  had  en- 
dured for  much  more  than  a  week,  sud- 
denly went  to  pieces — as  a  few  million 
such  romances  did  from  coast  to  coast  and 
back  again.  Diana  was  working  in  "Our 
Hearts  Were  Growing  Up"  at  the  time, 
and  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  had  grown  up 
to  the  Rip  Van  Winkle  stage,  complete  with 
wrinkles. 

After  each  take,  she  escaped  to  her 
dressing  room  instead  of  mingling  with  the 
other  people  on  the  set.  She  didn't  want  to 
talk,  or  to  listen  to  someone  else  talking,  or 
to  play  gin  rummy,  or  to  tune  in  the  radio. 
She  wanted  to  brood. 

At  night  she  would  have  a  silent  din- 
ner— vaguely  aware  that  her  father  and 
mother  were  exchanging  glances  that  only 
great  politeness  kept  from  being  amused. 
Then,  excusing  herself,  she  would  drift  to 
her  room  and  return  to  her  brooding. 

Sometimes  she  read — particularly  if  the 
story  dealt  with  a  girl  to  whom  all  romance 
had  turned  to  dust.  One  night  she  was 
devouring  a  particularly  clever  story  when 
her  horrified  eye  caught  a  sentence:  "She 
was  suffering  from  a  bad  case  of  teen- 
itis,"  said  the  author. 

who,  me?  .  .  . 

Miss  Lynn  sat  up  smartly,  re-read  the 
story  to  that  point.  Have  you  ever  seen 
yourself  in  one  of  those  distortion  mirrors 
at  the  beach?  Well,  Dolly  felt  as  if  ...  in 
words  on  a  printed  page  .  .  .  she  had  seen 
a  distorted  image  of  herself. 

She  finished  the  story,  turned  off  the 
radio,  hopped  into  a  shower  and  into  bed. 
The  next  morning  she  came  downstairs, 
humming.  To  her  parents  she  said,  "Think 
I'll  call  somebody  and  make  a  deal  to  go 
to  the  beach.  Just  look  at  that  sunshine. 
What  a  day!  What  a  day!" 

Observed  her  father,  glancing  briefly 
from  his  newspaper  with  a  straight  face, 
"It  says  here  that  Languid  Lily  has  left 
town,  thank  God." 

Diana  isn't  on  a  clothing  budget,  because 
Mrs.  Loehr  has  great  confidence  in  Dolly's 
good  sense.  Sometimes,  of  course,  she 
goes  berserk.  While  wandering  around  with 
her- mother  one  day,  Dolly  spotted  a  stiff 
rayon  taffeta  frock,  short-formal  type, 
embroidered  with  spots  of  sequins.  "That's 
the  best  looking  thing  I've  seen  in  years," 
she  enthused.    "That's  for  me!" 

"You  know  how  you  are,"  warned  Mrs. 
Loehr.  "Your  imagination  is  taken  by 
something  pretty  dashing,  but  when  you 
get  it  home  and  try  it  on  before  going  to  a 


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Notice  the  new  youthful  bloom  on  your  cheek— a 
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party,  you  always  lose  your  courage  and 
wear  some  simple  little  afternoon  dress." 

"Not  this  time,"  chirped  Dolly.  "All  the 
fashion  books  say  that  we're  slipping  into 
the  elegant  season,  so  watch  me  slip." 

Several  days  later  she  received  an  in- 
vitation to  a  small  dinner  party.  "I  think 
you  could  wear  your  new  dress,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Loehr. 

After  thinking  it  over,  Dolly  decided 
that  it  was  a  fraction  too  formal.  Better 
wait  for  a  bigger  party.  Several  weeks 
passed,  then  invitations  to  a  really  posh 
affair  were  put  into  the  mail.  "Now  you're 
all  set  to  spring  that  sequin  affair,"  said  Mrs. 
Loehr,  folding  the  invitation. 

"I'm  a  cinch,"  agreed  Dolly.  Came  the 
night  of  the  affair.  She  descended  the 
stairs  in  a  girlish  blue  frock,  explaining, 
"I've  talked  to  some  of  the  other  girls  to 
find  out  what  they  were  going  to  wear, 
and  this  is  more  appropriate." 

To  date,  the  lavish  job  hasn't  been  worn 
outside  Diana's  bedroom. 

mad  hatter  .  .  . 

Another  pet  madness  of  Diana's  is  hats. 
The  wilder  they  are,  the  lovelier  they  seem. 
When  she  went  to  New  York  on  a  personal 
appearance  tour  this  fall,  she  had  only  one 
day  to  shop  with  a  friend. 

So  they  descended  upon  one  of  the  most 
imaginative  milliners  in  town,  and  Diana 
began  to  try  on  hats.  In  joyous  succession, 
she  selected  six,  one  a  little  more  fantastic 
than  the  other.  "At  least,"  Diana  said 
proudly,  "I  can  go  home  and  show  off  my 
headgear  when  everyone  asks  me  what  I 
did  in  New  York." 

For  the  first  luncheon  to  which  she  was 
invited  on  her  return,  Diana  got  gussied 
up  like  Easter  on  Fifth  Avenue;  she  was 
BUT  elegant.  Mad  hat,  slim,  slick  dress, 
gloves  the  gay  shade  of  the  hat,  and  mood 
strictly  from  Manhattan. 

Everyone  raved  over  her;  the  outfit  was 
a  huge  success.  But  early  in  the  afternoon, 
Diana  removed  the  hat  as  inconspicuously 
as  possible.  When  she  reached  home,  she 
was  carrying  it. 

Since  that  time  she  has  worn  a  second 
hat,  but  the  other  four  New  York  pur- 
chases remain  on  the  closet  shelf,  leering 
maliciously  at  the  unworn  sequin  dress. 

Shortly  before  Mona  Freeman  was  mar- 
ried, Diana  gave  a  shower  for  her.  In  dis- 
cussing it,  one  of  the  guests  said,  "I've  been 
trying  to  think  what  it  was  about  that  party 
that  struck  me  so  forcibly.  The  girls  all 
looked  like  high  school  or  college  students 
instead  of  professional  people. 

typical  teensters  .  .  . 

"When  we  arrived,  Mrs.  Loehr  and  Diana 
were  beside  Mona  in  a  receiving  line — 
the  first  I've  seen  in  lackadaisical  Holly- 
wood for  a  long  time.  When  gift  time  came, 
Mona  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  opened 
her  parcels  and  squealed  with  delight,  then 
passed  around  the  gifts  for  everyone  to  see. 
The  presents  were  charming,  but  not  em- 
barrassingly expensive. 

"For  refreshments,  we  had  ice  cream, 
chocolate  cake,  and  coffee.  I've  been  trying 
to  think  why  I  was  so  impressed,"  said  the 
guest. 

Her  friend,  who  had  also  attended  the 
party,  laughed.  "Well,  the  answer's  simple: 
There  were  no  gold-plated  goblets  among 
the  bride's  gifts,  and  there  was  no  cham- 
pagne served.  Everyone  was  natural,  sincere 
and  friendly.  Here's  the  secret:  that  party 
would  have  been  in  perfect  taste  in  Detroit, 
or  Dallas,  or  Denver." 

So  there  you  have  it:  Dolly-Diana  could 
belong  to  your  Girl's  Club  or  your  sorority, 
and  she'd  fit  in  perfectly.  There  she  is, 
worrying  about  weight,  fussing  about 
clothes,  forgetting  her  belongings,  mooning 
over  boy  friends,  amusing  her  parents, 
but  generally  having  a  smooth  time — a 
typical  teenster. 


HOBO  HAMLET 

(Continued  from  page  46} 


terrors  for  Dane,  ever  since  he  headed  his 
jaloppy  west  one  day  and  decided  to 
smack  the  movies  right  in  the  nose. 
Knocking  around  the  country  playing 
road  company  shows,  Dane  collected  a 
flock  of  rugged,  experiences  Hollywood 
could  never  match  in  a  million  years.,  and 
he  thanks  his  lucky  stars  today  for  that. 
For  one  thing,  because  it's  whetted  an 
edge  on  his  slashing  personality  that  paid 
off  on  the  screen  the  minute  he  got  a 
break,  and  tagged  him  pronto  as  the  most 
vital  package  of  male  star  material  to 
storm  the  studios  in  years.  For  another, 
"ce  cause  his  stric'ly-frorr.-hur-ger  it  o  up  in  g 
past  had  handed  Dane  Clark's  natural 
eager-beaver  ambition  a  keep-punching 
spirit  that  turned  a  raw  college  athlete 
into  a  finished  actor.  And  for  a  third, 
because  it  got  him  into  the  habit  of  seizing 
a  chance  by  the  neck,  like  a  bulldog,  and 
hanging  on  until  something  happened. 

Take  the  day.  a  couple  of  years  ago.  that 
Dane  latched  on  to  a  flock  of  refusals  and 
turned  them  into  a  ticket  to  fame. 

He'd  been  eased  out  of  Producer  Jerry 
Wald's  office  twice  that  day.  when  he  fol- 
lowed up  a  tip  that  there  was  an  acting 
job  open  with  Humphrey  Bogart  in  "Ac- 
tion in  the  North  Atlantic." 

"No,"  said  Jerry,  the  first  time  Dane 
breezed  in.  "I'm  looking  for  a  vouns  John 
Garfield." 

"Why  look  further?"  asked  Dane.  ''That's 
me." 

"Goodbye  now."  said  Mr.  Wald. 

The  second  time  it  was  more  painful. 
"Sorry,"  explained  Producer  Wald  "You 
see,  this  guy  has  to  act  right  along  with 
Bogart." 

"I  think  he  can  keep  up  with  me,"  said 
Dane  with  a  straight  face. 

"Are  you  kidding?"  barked  Mr.  Wald. 
closing  the  door. 

The  third  time  Dane  ducked  his  fresh 
face  in,  Jerry  Wald  was  patiently  grim. 

"Look,"  he  said.  "There's  no  use  of  all 
this.  I  might  as  well  tell  you  I've  already 
tested  twenty  experienced  actors  for  the 
part." 

"Then  why  not  make  it  twenty-one?" 
came  back  Dane.  "What  have  you  got 
to  lose?" 

That  struck  Mr.  Wald  as  logical — and 
besides,  his  defenses  were  crumbling  before 
Dane  Clark's  undismayed  peppering  per- 
sistence. He  waved  him  through  to  the  test 
stage — maybe  to  get  rid  of  the  guy,  and 
Warner's  got  themselves  a  brand  new  star. 

learning  to  be  a  tough  guy  .  .  . 

When  Dane's  friends  tell  him  to  take  it 
easy  and  relax,  for  a  change,  he  usually 
grins  and  relates  to  them  the  above  handy 
incident.  "Suppose  I'd  taken  'No'  for  the 
answer  the  first  trip,"  he  points  out.  "Where 
would  I  be  today?  In  a  furnished  room 
with  housekeeping  privileges,  that's  where 
— sitting  around  frying  eggs  and  latching 
on  to  the  extra  line!" 

He  doesn't  bother  to  explain  that  what's 
made  him  tough  inside  and  tuned  up  like  a 
dynamo  was  the  catch-as-catch-can  career 
up  and  down  the  land  scratching  a  living 
out  of  heartbreaks,  disappointments  and 
stranded  hopes,  and  bouncing  back  from 
dainty  haymakers  by  Lady  Luck. 

He  had  it  coming,  of  course,  because  no 
pea  was  ever  greener  than  Dane  Clark 
was  about  the  emoting  game  when  he 
walked  in  with  his  guard  down  back  in 
New  York  just  fresh  out  of  college.  Even 
today  Dane  will  put  you  straight  right  away. 
Tm  no  actor's  actor,"  hell  tell  you  right  off 
without  apologizing  a  bit.  "I'm  not  artistic. 
Fm  just  realistic."    Oddly  enough,  Dane 


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113 


"Yes,  this  happened 
to  me!" 

Mrs.  Laurene  Donaldson  loses  57 
pounds,  becomes  a  slender  beauty 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it  myself,"  says  Lau- 
rene Donaldson  of  Connersville,  Ind.,  when 
she  looks  at  these  pictures.  "It's  like  being 
a  new  person,  living  in  a  new  world. 

"For  several  years,  I  had  been  getting 
heavier.  Finally  I  faced  the  situation.  I 
weighed  186  and  had  to  wear  a  size  40  dress 
—at  the  ripe  old  age  of  26,  mind  you !  Al- 
most in  desperation.  I  enrolled  for  the 
DuBarry  Success  Course.  The  first  week  I 
began  to  look  and  feel  better.  I  went 
through  the  Course  again  and  again  and  in 
seven  months  lost  57  pounds.  Now  I  wear 
size  14,  find  more  styles  to  choose  from, 
and  for  less  money.  My  skin  and  hair  show 
great  improvement.  I  feel  so  buoyant  I 
want  to  sing  again— and  I  do,  all  day  long." 

HOW  ABOUT  YOU?  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
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skin,  a  flattering  hair-do— know  the  secrets  of 
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You  follow  at  home  the  same  methods  taught 
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Richard  Hudnut  Salon 

Dept. SB-59, 693  Fifth  Ave. 
New  York  22,  N,  Y. 
Please  send  the  new  booklet  telling 
all  about  the  DuBarry  Home  Success  Course 

Miss 

Mrs  


^5**'        '"too,  ^ 

Guaranteed  by 
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Street— 


City- 


Zone  No., 
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114    Accepted  fo?  tdvtrtising  in  publications  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


hung  up  one  of  his  best  bits  of  realism  on 
his  first  crack  at  acting — only  it  wasn't  on 
the  stage. 

That  was  when  Dane  was  drifting 
around  trying  to  find  himself  after  they'd 
dressed  him  up  in  a  cap  and  gown  at  St. 
John's  University,  where  he'd  taken  a  law 
course  after  Cornell.  Somehow,  after  all  the 
boning  he'd  done,  law  just  didn't  make  Dane 
vibrate  and  when  he'd  walked  off  the 
campus  for  keeps  he  made  a  few  feeble 
passes  at  a  legal  career  but  found  himself 
relying  for  his  cakes  and  coffee  on  another 
radically  different  type  of  endeavor.  He'd 
hired  himself  out  as  a  sparring  partner 
for  a  lot  of  leather  pushers  and  even  taken 
a  crack  at  the  prize  ring  himself.  He'd 
played  pro  baseball  and  football  and  he'd 
even  picked  up  a  few  bucks  modeling  for 
a  sculptor,  cashing  in  on  his  body  beautiful 
and  the  three  varsity  letters  he  won  at 
Cornell  and  St.  John's. 

his  first  great  role  .  .  . 

But  his  conscience  was  poking  him 
around  the  bed  at  night  and  maybe  that's 
why  he  tried  this  acting  effort  first.  It 
wasn't  anything  exactly  to  cover  the  front 
pages  of  the  Sunday  drama  sections — in 
fact,  as  Dane  remembers,  he  was  Third  As- 
sistant Bearer  of  Spears  and  Number  Ten 
in  the  Chorus  of  Off-Stage  Voices — just 
the  same,  he  thought  he  ought  to  take 
it  seriously.  But  it's  hard  to  take  eight 
dollars,  his  weekly  check,  very  seriously 
when  a  chance  arrives  to  pick  off  $75  for 
an  afternoon  of  fun.  That's  how  he  found 
out  about  realism  in  acting. 

Because  right  in  the  middle  of  his  first 
week  of  the  artistic  life,  up  popped  a 
chance  to  play  with  a  pro  team  against 
the  Brooklyn  Eagles  at  Ebbetts  Field  and 
there  was  $75  practically  in  his  pocket. 

Well,  the  only  thing  Dane  could  think 
of  to  do  was  see  if  he  really  had  any 
hidden  talent.  He  didn't  stop  to  consider 
that  he  was  picking  a  tough  audience  of 
professionals  for  his  dramatic  debut.  He 
just  walked  right  into  the  theater  before 
the  afternoon  show,  put  on  a  long  face, 
summoned  some  crocodile  tears  and  a 
quavering  voice,  and  when  everyone  gath- 
ered around,  sobbed  out  that  his  mother 
was  desperately  ill.  "Why  you  poor  boy, 
go  right  home!"  chorused  the  cast.  But 
Dane  mumbled  some  corny  crack,  between 
sobs,  that  the  show  must  go  on,  and  worked 
up  even  more  sympathy.  They  packed  him 
out  the  stage  door  and  Dane  hopped  a 
subway  right  out  to  the  field. 

Only  right  in  the  middle  of  the  scrim- 
mage he  tangled  with  a  tough  tackle  on 
the  Eagles  and  when  he  picked  himself  up 
his  lip  was  split,  his  nose  flattened  and  a 
black  eye  was  spreading  over  his  face  like 
an  eclipse  of  the  moon.  He  thought  that 
would  cook  him  for  sure  at  the  evening 
performance  when  he  showed  up  with 
the  telltale  scars  of  combat.  But  when 
they  asked  him  what  happened  he  spieled 
out  a  long  tale  about  rushing  out  for  the 
doctor  and  running  into  a  door.  Even  that 
got  over  and  worked  up  so  much  sympathy 
that  Dane  felt  ashamed  of  himself. 

Of  course,  they  weren't  tossing  breaks 
Dane's  way  right  and  left  in  those  early 
days.  For  a  long  time  he  was  plenty 
lucky  to  find  himself  billed  in  fine  print 
down  at  the  bottom  of  the  program  under 
"Ensemble."  Clark  wasn't  choosy,  and 
maybe,  too,  he  wasn't  good.  But  he  never 
lacked  enthusiasm.  He  landed  one  job 
heckling  from  the  audience  in  one  of  those 
audience  participation  plays  they're  al- 
ways trying  around  Broadway.  Dane's  big 
moment  was  to  rise  up  out  of  the  pit  at 
a  strategic  moment  and  yell,  "Shut  up, 
you  big  bum!"  Then  he  had  to  race  down 
the  aisle,  jump  up  on  the  stage  and 
wrestle  one  of  the  actors  around  the  stage. 
Not  exactly  the  sort  of  thing  to  cop  an 
Academy  Oscar  or  whatever  they  hand 


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HOW  PAZO  OINTMENT  WORKS 

1.  Soothes  inflamed  areas — relieves  pain 
and  itching.  2.  Lubricates  hardened, 
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soreness.  3.  Tends  to  reduce  swelling 
and  check  minor  bleeding.  4.  Provides 
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out  around  Broadway.  But  the  way  Dane 
figured,  whatever  was  worth  doing  at  all 
was  worth  doing  up  brown.  He  screamed 
so  loud  that  a  couple  of  old  dowagers  in 
front  of  him  fainted  away  and  almost  had 
heart  attacks  and  getting  into  the  aisle,  he 
got  so  tangled  up  with  another  row  of 
females  that  he  bowled  half  of  them  over. 
They  rose  and  stomped  out  indignantly  and 
the  house  manager  read  him  the  riot  act. 

Another  time  they  had  Dane  mixed  up 
in  one  of  those  gusty  dramas  about  prison- 
ers and  stool  pigeons  and  his  particular 
stage  job  was  to  uncover  a  jerk  who'd 
been  singing  to  the  cops  and  choke  the 
daylights  out  of  him.  Strictly  with  mo- 
tions, of  course.  But  to  Dane  choking  was 
choking  and  he  got  so  wrapped  up  in  his 
art  that  the  poor  Thesp  turned  as  purple 
as  the  Northern  Lights  and  two  other 
actors  had  to  run  over  and  louse  up  the 
performance  to  pry  Dane  away. 

That  event  in  his  all-out  saga  happened 
right  after  one  of  Dane's  artistic  enthusi- 
ams  busted  up  his  first  real  chance  to 
make  a  name  for  himself  in  the  arty  stage 
set  and  left  him  right  where  he'd  started 
from — only  maybe  a  little  farther  back. 

The  play  was  "Coriolanus"  and  Dane's  job 
was  playing  Junius  Brutus,  a  rabble  rous- 
ing Roman  who  spent  most  of  his  time  on 
the  stage  making  long  speeches  to  imaginary 
mobs.  The  play  was  one  of  those  modern, 
stylized  productions  making  its  debut  be- 
fore a  special  Sunday  audience  of  nobody 
but  highbrows.  All  the  drama  critics  were 
there  and  the  swallow-tailed  pooh-bahs  of 
Manhattan's  "theatah."  Not  only  was  it 
Dane's  first  crack  at  a  real  speaking  part, 
at  Shakespeare  and  at  the  center  of  the 
stage,  but  it  was  also  his  first  chance  to 
show  himself  off  to  the  People  Who  Count. 

But  that  prospect  only  made  Dane 
double  up  on  his  high  octane,  super 
charged  job  approach.  So  he  tore  his  heart 
out  in  every  rehearsal  speech,  screamed, 
thundered  and  raved  and  ranted  so  per- 
fectly tremendously  terrific  that  when  he 
woke  up  the  Sunday  morning  of  the  per- 
formance he  could  barely  open  his  mouth 
and  squeak.  He  went  on  stage  sounding 
like  a  bullfrog  with  tonsilitis  and  walked 
off  again  without  half  his  important  audi- 
ence hearing  what  he'd  croaked.  The 
critics  were  not  impressed  and  after  that 
debacle  Dane  Clark  decided  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was  get  out  of  town. 

ar+  for  art's  sake  .  .  . 

How  he  ever  let  himself  in  for  the  beat- 
ing he  took  with  "Sailor  Beware"  Dane 
will  never  know,  except  that  he  was  young 
and  foolish  and  trusting  and  as  always,  an 
eager  beaver  supreme.  But  right  after  his 
disastrous  tangle  with  art  and  Shakespeare 
he  went  for  the  phony  project  of  a  fast 
talking  promoter  hook,  line  and  sinker. 
We'll  call  the  wacky  impresario  Fred,  be- 
cause that's  not  his  name.  Fred  was  the 
owner,  business  manager,  director,  ad- 
vance agent,  press  agent  and  everything 
else  for  "Sailor  Beware."  He  was  also  the 
star  and  his  wife  was  the  leading  lady. 

Life  began  for  Dane  and  the  other  young 
hopeful  suckers  in  an  attic  over  a  delica- 
tessen, where  they  had  to  yell  at  rehearsals 
to  make  themselves  heard  above  the  El 
train  that  rattled  by  inches  away.  But  that 
made  it  all  the  better  because  at  last 
Dane  told  himself  he  was  in  the  real  thing. 
It  was  La  Boheme,  art  for  art's  sake,  the 
divine  fire,  and  a  couple  of  Muses  thrown 
in.  Like  the  rest  of  the  kids  who  fell  for 
Fred's  fast  talk,  he  was  fired  up  like  a 
furnace  at  the  very  suggestion  of  "the  road." 
There  was  nobody  in  the  audience  to  yell, 
"You'll  be  sorry,"  either — although  the 
funny  part  is  Dane's  not  sure  he  is  sorry. 

Anyway,  they  all  met  for  the  triumphal 
tour  one  gray  dawn  at  45th  Street  and 
Broadway  and  piled  their  luggage  into  a 
train  of  the  rattiest  automobiles  Dane  had 


ACT  I:  Back  Home  to  Mother  . . . 


Mary  expected  sympathy  from  her 
mother  when  she  left  Joe  after  that 
last  big  quarrel.  But  what  she  got  was 
better  —  good,  sensible  advice !  "  Of 
course  you  know  about  feminine  hy- 
giene," her  mother  told  her,  "But 


listen  to  me,  dear  .  .  .  now-and-then 
care  isn't  enough.  A  wife  shouldn't 
risk  her  marriage  happiness  by  being 
careless  even  once!"  She  advised 
Mary  to  use  Lysol  disinfectant  for 
douching — always. 


ACT  II:  Love  is  a  Wonderful  Thing! 


Joe  and  Mary,  together  again— and 
now  their  love  is  even  more  beautiful 
than  at  first!  Yes,  Mother  certainly 
knew  best.  Since  Mary  started  using 
Lysol  always  in  the  douche,  she  knows 


for  herself  how  thoroughly  this  proved 
germ -killer  cleanses.  Lysol  is  far  more 
dependable  than  salt,  soda  or  other 
homemade  solutions.  Really  does  the 
fob  .  .  .  easily  and  inexpensively,  too. 


Check  these  facts  with  your  Doctor 

Proper  feminine  hygiene 

care  is  important  to  the 
happiness  and  charm  of 
every  woman.  So,  douche 
thoroughly  with  correct 
Lysol  solution  . .  .  al  - 
ways !  Powerful  cleanser — 
Lysol's  great  spreading 
power  means  it  reaches 


deeply  into  folds  and 
crevices  to  search  out 
germs.  Proved  germ-killer 
— uniform  strength,  made 
under  continued  labora- 
tory control  .  .  .  far 
more  dependable  than 
homemade  solutions. 
Non-caustic  —  Lysol 
douching  solution  is  non- 
irritating,  not  harmful  to 
vaginal  tissues.  Follow 


Copyright.  1945,  by  Lehn  &  Fink  Products  Corp. 


easy  directions.  Cleanly 
odor  —  disappears  after 
use;  deodorizes.  More 
women  use  Lysolf  or 
feminine  hygiene  than 
any  other  method.  (For 
FREE  feminine  hygiene 
booklet,  write 
Lehn  &  Fink,  683 
Fifth  Ave.,  New 
York  22,  N.Y.) 


For  Feminine  Hygiene  use 


always! 


UJRGn  ER 


This  woman  knows  comfort, 
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FOR  10  IN  APPLICATORS 


116 


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ever  seen,  fugitives  from  a  junk  heap. 
Still  he  wasn't  dismayed  although  he'd 
been  rehearsing  for  weeks  and  weeks 
without  any  pay  except  promises  and  fine 
talk.  They  rattled  and  wheezed  down 
toward  Wheeling,  West  Virginia,  in  the 
chilly  fall  weather  and  almost  froze  in  the 
Alleghenies.  Half  the  cars  rattled  and 
died  en  route.  Of  course  there  wasn't  a 
red  cent  to  have  them  fixed  or  even  to 
keep  the  gas  tanks  full  and  if  the  Mighty 
Art  Players  themselves  hadn't  dug  down 
into  their  pocketbooks,  that  part  of  the 
Drama  Caravan  that  finally  made  it  to 
Wheeling  would  never  have  showed  up. 

As  it  was,  when  curtain  time  came  for 
their  gala  first  night  in  Wheeling,  two- 
thirds  of  the  cast  of  "Sailor  Beware"  were 
scattered  around  the  West  Virginia  moun- 
tains with  flat  tires,  and  among  them  was 
the  leading  man,  director,  producer,  etc.: 
Fred.  Somehow,  Dane  and  the  survivors 
scraped  together  a  ragged  performance, 
but,  naturally  the  audience  hooted  and  the 
theater  informed  them  pronto  that  the  en- 
gagement was  terminated.  Next  morning 
Fred  arrived.  Turned  out  he'd  spent  the 
night  undismayed  with  a  bottle. 

barnstorming  commands  .  .  . 

That  fiasco  should  have  been  the  tip-off 
of  coming  events,  but  Fred  had  a  mes- 
merizing way  about  him  that  Dane  ad- 
mires to  this  day.  When  the  going  got 
tough,  that's  when  Fred  really  got  in  the 
groove.  He  could  tell  the  most  awe- 
inspiring  fibs,  make  the  most  glowing 
promises  and  charm  the  arm  off  a  statue. 
Looking  back,  Dane  cherishes  the  experi- 
ence as  a  liberal  education  and  a  living 
lesson  in  how  to  live  off  hot  air.  When  the 
cast  grumbled,  Fred  raised  salaries  mag- 
nanimously. Dane  had  his  salary  hiked 
so  many  times  that,  on  promises  he  was 
making  Hollywood  wages,  although  in  cold 
cash  he  thinks  he  collected  all  of  ten  bucks. 
He  even  had  a  percentage  of  the  show, 
as  it  was,  which  Fred  liberally  bestowed 
one  time  when  he  put  up  a  squawk. 

They  found  out  in  Wheeling  that  the 
advance  bookings  were  as  phony  as  Fred. 
They  were  really  on  a  barnstorming  tour, 
set  to  live  off  the  land  like  Commandos. 
The  next  target  was  Toledo,  Ohio,  where 
"Sailor  Beware"  was  streamlined  down  to 
a  prologue  for  movie  theaters,  but  sounded 
good  to  a  gullible  theater  manager  hypno- 
tized by  Fred's  high  flown  telegrams.  Dane 
will  never  forget  his  entry  into  Toledo. 

He  started  out  again  over  the  moun- 
tains in  one  of  the  surviving  shaky  heaps 
with  another  dazed  member  of  the  cast. 
They  survived  snow,  rain,  sleet  and  empty 
stomachs  until,  75  miles  out  of  town,  the 
tissue  paper  tires  popped  and  rolled  them 
into  a  ditch.  Towing  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion with  plenty  of  no  money,  and  passing 
cars  whizzed  merrily  past  ignoring  their 
thumbs.  But  finally  Dane  flagged  down  a 
vegetable  truck,  and  capitalizing  on  what 
he'd  learned  from  Fred's  breezy  chatter, 
Dane  sold  the  driver  a  bill  of  goods  to 
haul  them  into  town.  He  rolled  at  last  into 
Toledo  mixed  up  with  a  load  of  cabbages 
and  tomatoes  and  smelling  just  as  ripe. 

But  strangely  enough,  the  show  actu- 
ally clicked  at  the  Toledo  movie  house  the 
first  night  and  that  called  for  a  party.  Fred 
and  his  wife  threw  a  big  whing-ding  (on 
the  cuff)  at  a  Toledo  hotel  and  the  walls 
echoed  with  optimism  and  get-rich  prom- 
ises. The  only  trouble  was — Fred  kept 
right  on  celebrating  the  next  day  and 
when  show  time  came  around  he  was 
out  like  a  light.  That  did  it.  The  manager 
kicked  them  all  out  on  the  street. 

That's  the  way  it  went,  while  Dane 
sopped  up  about  every  trick  any  trouping 
ham-and-egger  knows,  from  sheer  neces- 
sity. Somehow  the  show  dragged  around 
towns  in  Ohio,  Pennsylvania,  West  Vir- 
ginia and  points  all  over,  between  Fred's 


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binges.  When  the  jaloppies  expired,  Fred 
fast-talked  bus  companies  into  transpor- 
tation deals.  Dane  slept  in  flop  houses  and 
ate  whenever  Fred  could  charm  a  restau- 
rateur out  of  a  hamburger.  He  marveled 
at  the  way  Fred  could  charge  hotel  bills, 
bus  bills,  cafe  bills  and  all  other  bills  to 
the  theater  where  they  weren't  even  work- 
ing yet. 

Obviously  the  system  couldn't  last  for- 
ever. One  day  in  Cleveland  their  sins — 
and  the  cops — caught  up  with  "Sailor 
Beware."  One  of  Fred's  rubber  checks  had 
bounced  fast  enough  to  upset  his  calcula- 
tions and  the  hotel  grabbed  their  baggage. 
Dane  came  to  the  rescue  with  his  legal 
knowledge  and  got  the  troupe  out  of  jail 
and  their  suitcases  back,  but  for  him  that 
was  the  last  straw.  He'd  seen  plenty. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here,"  he  told  the  gang, 
sitting  on  their  suitcases  on  the  sidewalk. 

The  sixty-four  dollar  question  was 
"How?"  Dane  took  up  a  collection  with 
the  four  guys  who  had  the  same  idea  he 
had.  The  kitty  added  up  to  ninety  cents. 
"I'll  be  back,"  Dane  said.  He  walked  into 
the  hotel  lobby,  bought  nine  chances  on 
|  a  punchboard  and  won  a  gold  watch.  He 
took  it  to  a  hock  shop  and  collected  forty 
dollars.  He  bought  four  nine-dollar  coach 
tickets  to  New  York  with  a  few  cents  over 
for  candy  bars.  He  got  back  home  maybe 
broker,  sadder,  but  plenty  wiser. 

As  for  Fred,  what  happened  to  him  and 
"Sailor  Beware"  immediately  afterwards, 
Dane  doesn't  know.  But  the  last  time  he 
heard,  Fred  was  doing  most  of  his  fast 
talking  to  himself  and  a  few  keepers.  He 
was  in  an  insane  asylum. 

turning  scene  stealer  .  .  . 

After  "Sailor  Beware,"  Dane  Clark  was 
prepared  for  practically  anything,  but  that 
was  a  good  thing,  because  it  seemed  Fate 
kept  slipping  him  some  kind  of  a  Mickey 
Finn  every  time  he  tied  in  to  a  show. 
Back  on  Broadway,  he  broadened  his 
rugged  record  considerably  when  a  cast- 
ing tip  landed  him  in  the  office  of  a  new 
show  called  "Dead  End."  He  nabbed  an 
understudy  job  and  later  went  on  the 
road.  "Dead  End"  was  no  Sunday  school 
picnic,  to  begin  with.  And  for  Dane  it  was 
the  first  of  a  stretch  of  tough  guy  parts  that 
played  on  his  puncher  body,  strong  face 
and  Brooklyn  accent  which  still  hung  over 
even  after  a  couple  of  colleges.  He  didn't 
mind  being  "Babyface  Martin"  a  bit,  a  nice 
little  character  who  was  usually  rubbing 
somebody  out,  and  kicking  his  mother 
around  the  house.  By  playing  something 
he  could  really  get  his  teeth  into,  Dane 
found  out  that  riding  his  realistic  hobby 
horse  he  was  turning  into  a  guy  who  could 
steal  scenes  with  the  greatest  of  ease.  And 
he  wasn't  exactly  mad  when  he  got  com- 
pliments, no  matter  how  left-handed. 

In  fact,  Dane  thinks  that  about  the 
nicest  last-tag  he  ever  collected  got  tossed 
at  him  inadvertently  up  in  Providence, 
Rhode  Island,  home  of  Brown  University. 
Dane  had  snarled  through  his  "Babyface" 
at  the  local  theater  and  was  sharing  a 
room  with  another  cast  member  at  the 
best  hotel  in  town.  So  one  day  a  couple  of 
girls  from  the  Brown  school  paper  came  in 
to  interview  the  visiting  actors.  Dane  was 
in  the  room  getting  dressed,  but  he 
stopped,  put  on  his  robe  and  tried  to  be 
the  perfect  host.  But  the  girls  shied  away 
from  him  like  he  was  poison  ivy  and 
finally,  in  a  huff,  he  walked  out  of  the 
room.  Then  he  heard  them  whisper  to 
his  roommate. 

"How  can  you  live  with  that  awful 
person?" 

"Huh?"  gasped  Dane's  buddy.  "Why?" 

"Why,"  said  the  girls,  "he's  such  a  heel, 
such  a  mean,  contemptible  low-down 
louse.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  stand  it!" 

That  eavesdropping  made  Dane  sore  as 
an  owl  for  one  split  second.    Then  he 


See  Smoke  Smudge 
Erased 


by  longer  polishing  action 

•  Next  time  you  brush  your  teeth, 
notice  how  quickly  your  dentifrice 
foams  up  and  disperses.  Its  polishing 
action  gone. 

No  wonder  embarrassing  smoke 
smudge  and  other  surface  discolora- 
tions  cling  to  your  teeth. 

For  the  brilliant  smile  Nature  in- 
tended for  you,  change  to  Iodent  No. 
2,  amazing  modern-day  dentifrice 
made  by  a  Dentist.  It  contains  millions 
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brush.  It's  the  way  a  jeweler  polishes 
precious  jewelry. 

It's  America's  favorite  dentifrice 
"for  teeth  hard  to  bryten."  Let  your 
own  mirror  tell  you  why!  Tooth  Paste 
or  Powder. 

IODENT 

For  children  —  and  mil- 
lions u  ith  teeth  easy  to 
bryten— IODENT  No.  1 


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"  YOUR  FIGURE 

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WRITES  ANN  YAGER  of  ELLWOOD  CITY,  PA. 


BEFORE 

Ann  Yag«r's  shapeless  body 
caused  great  unhappiness  and 
misery.  Then  Ann  tried  the 
Bonomo  Home  Course  on  Figure 
Development  Now,  she's  a  new, 
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SEND  NO  MONEY 

You,  too,  may  gain  great  bene- 
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It  was  prepared  by  Mr.  Joe 
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and  guide  to  many  of  Holly- 
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and  mail  coupon  now.  If  you 
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AFTER 


JOE  BONOMO 

world  famous  beauty 
authority  and  pub- 
lisher of  "Beautify 
Tour  Figure,"  your 
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—  MAIL  COUPON  TODAY  — — 

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BONOMO  CULTURE  INSTITUTE,  Dept.  BI72 
1841  Broadway,  New  York  23,  N.  Y. 

Please  rush  your  complete  Home  Course  on  Figure  De- 
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realized  that  he  really  must  be  putting 
something  over  on  the  stage  to  work  up 
a  reaction  like  that.  So  he  walked  back 
in  the  room,  took  a  bow  and  thanked  the 
kids — to  their  immense  surprise. 

But  back  in  his  stage  days,  the  bitter 
pill  Dane  Clark  had  to  swallow  was  his 
very  obscurity,  which  persisted  through 
all  kinds  of  stage  jobs  and  road  company 
tours.  Somehow  Broadway  could  keep 
the  guy  busy  but  refused  to  put  him  up  in 
lights.  When  he  wasn't  an  understudy  to 
a  star  he  was  shot  out  in  the  sticks  with 
the  road  company.  Dane  understudied  in 
"Dead  End,"  "Of  Mice  and  Men,"  "Stage 
Door,"  "Golden  Boy,"  and  four  or  five 
more,  and  as  long  as  he  was  out  of  town 
he'd  get  his  chances  to  fill  in  the  show.  At 
least,  Dane  figures,  it  taught  him  patience 
and  it  made  him  a  quick  script  study, 
sometimes  too  quick  for  comfort. 

For  instance,  when  Dane  was  subbing 
for  Wallace  Ford  in  the  John  Steinbeck 
prize  play,  "Of  Mice  and  Men,"  he  knew 
the  part  of  George  so  well  he  could  almost 
say  it  backwards.  But  Wally  Ford  felt  just 
dandy  every  night  and  Dane  sat  in  the  wings 
biting  his  nails  for  weeks  and  weeks.  So 
who  should  up  and  come  down  with  the 
pip  one  night  but  Sam  Byrd,  whose  part 
was  "Curly,"  and  who  didn't  even  have 
an  understudy  to  his  name,  because  he 
was  considered  indestructible,  having 
played  for  five  years  in  "Tobacco  Road" 
without  missing  a  minute.  And  Dane  it 
was  who  stepped  into  the  spot,  grabbing 
the  next  scene  as  he  exited  from  the  one 
before  and  learning  it  before  his  cue  came 
to  go  on  again! 

For  an  up  and  at  'em,  high  pressure 
personality  like  Dane  Clark  playing  second 
fiddle,  if  and  when  he  got  the  chance,  was 
slow  torture,  and  it's  a  tribute  to  his  moxie 
that  he  stuck  to  that  sort  of  life  for  five 
long  years  before  deciding  to  make  Holly- 
wood yell  "Uncle"  and  break  the  jinx. 
Especially  since,  by  the  time  a  couple  of 
years  had  rolled  by,  Dane  had  dropped 
that  strictly-for-the-check  attitude  he  had 
for  acting  and  was  all  wrapped  up  in  it 
like  a  Christmas  gift.  That's  when  it  was 
especially  tough  to  watch  another  actor 
playing  a  scene  and  lousing  it  up. 

telling  'em  off  .  .  . 

In  one  show  of  which  Dane  was  very 
proud  to  be  even  an  understudy,  he  thought 
the  leading  man  was  kidding  and  gagging 
around  on  the  stage  and  being  too  cute. 
Dane  didn't  like  it.  So  he  walked  up  to  the 
star  and  told  him  off. 

"Listen,"  he  boiled,  "I  think  you're  a 
four-star  heel,  mugging  up  a  good  play 
like  this.  Here  I  am  telling  all  my  friends 
to  see  it  and  working  overtime  to  press- 
agent  your  hit  and  you're  playing  Little 
Lord  Fauntleroy  with  yourself.  You're 
just  a  big,  swell-headed  ham!" 

But  sometimes  Dane's  frank,  outspoken 
opinions  boomeranged.  One  of  the  bitterest 
disappointments  in  his  stage  career  was  get- 
ting fired  from  a  part  in  "Stage  Door"  on 
the  tryout  trip,  a  part  he'd  won  in  com- 
petition with  Broadway's  best  known 
actors.  But  once  he  had  the  job,  Dane 
couldn't  help  sticking  in  his  oar  and  the 
other  actors  got  sore.  Pretty  soon  they 
had  aced  him  out  and  the  producer  was 
explaining,  "It's  not  your  work — that's 
swell.    But  for  the  sake  of  harmony — " 

Yep,  Dane  Clark  learned  plenty  in  the 
five  years  he  batted  around  Broadway  and 
the  sleeper  jumps.  But  his  oddest  job  was 
cut  out  for  him  in  "Dead  End."  That's 
where  he  played  nursemaid  to  those  cocky, 
hell  raising  young  stars,  the  Dead  End  Kids. 
Dane  was  only  an  understudy  in  the 
original  cast  with  time  on  his  hands,  and 
that's  one  reason  why  they  saddled  him 
with  the  job  of  keeping  the  kids  from 
wrecking  the  play.  The  other  was — Dane 
was  the  only  one  in  the  company  husky 


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enough  to  keep  the  little  devils  in  line. 

They'd  had  reams  of  publicity  and  they 
were  eating  it  up.  All  the  write-ups  pic- 
tured the  kids  as  holy  terrors,  which  was 
true  as  far  as  it  went.  They  played  devas- 
tating pranks  all  over  the  stage,  razzed  the 
stars,  tore  up  the  scenery  and  generally 
messed  up  the  place.  Finally,  the  play  own- 
ers consulted  a  psychologist.  He  worked 
with  the  problem  kids  one  week  and  at  the 
end  they'd  driven  him  to  a  sanitarium! 
Then  they  called  in  Norman  Bel  Geddes, 
the  designer,  to  plan  them  a  playroom  at 
the  theater,  where  they  could  relax  and 
keep  out  of  mischief  between  acts.  Well, 
the  Dead  Enders  wrecked  that  expensive 
joint  in  one  day  flat.  Things  were  in  a 
state  of  crisis  and  even  Dane  was  getting 
tired  of  smacking  their  heads  together — 
when  he  had  a  bright  idea. ' 

fixing  the  dead  end  kids  .  .  . 

He  knew  the  Dead  End  rascals  were  sold 
on  their  own  publicity  and  considered 
themselves  about  as  tough  as  they  came. 
But  Dane  knew  where  some  kids  were  a 
whole  lot  tougher.  One  day  he  took  the 
brilliant  brats  to  a  movie  and  afterward 
led  them  into  a  smoky  little  pool  room 
down  on  Third  Avenue  where  some  real 
juvenile  delinquents  hung  out. 

As  Dane  expected,  his  own  little  dar- 
lings swaggered  right  in  and  took  over  the 
place,  spitting  on  the  tables  and  messing 
up  the  games.  But  not  for  very  long. 
There  was  a  shrill  whistle  and  the  gang 
of  real  Dead  End  kids  swarmed  in  like 
alley  cats.  When  the  curtain  went  up  that 
night  on  the  show,  the  Dead  End  Kids 
were  strangely  quiet  and  their  faces  looked 
like  they  had  been  kissing  electric  fans. 

Dane  originally  wanted  to  use  the  air 
waves  as  a  stepladder  out  of  the  Broadway 
understudy  bog  but  he  found  it  a  tight  little 
circle,  strictly  barred  against  newcomers. 
So  he  sat  down  and  wrote  himself  a  few 
radio  plays  and  when  the  stations  tried  to 
buy  them  he  said,  "I  go  with  the  deal — 
or  else."  And  that's  something  else  he's 
got  for  Hollywood.  He  can  knock  off  a 
radio  show  in  his  sleep,  almost,  because 
he's  mike-broken  from  away  back. 

In  short,  Dane  Clark's  a  right  handy  man 
to  have  around  Hollywood.  So  far  there's 
only  one  thing  that's  got  him  fooled. 

He  took  in  the  preview  of  his  second 
Warner  epic,  "Destination  Tokyo,"  and 
strolling  blithely  out  of  the  theater,  he 
almost  fell  over  to  find  himself  hemmed 
in  by  a  bunch  of  teen-age  cuties  bent  on 
touching  him,  snatching  his  autograph  and 
if  possible  a  lock  of  his  curly  hair. 

He  stood  like  a  man  in  a  daze.  He 
didn't  get  it. 

"Wh-what  do  you  want  my  autograph 
for?"  he  stammered. 

"Because  you're  cute!"  cried  a  silly  filly. 

"You're  a  swoon-goon!"  explained  an- 
other doll. 

"Hubba-hubba-hubba!"  raved  a  third. 

Dane  traveled  right  home  and  stared  at 
himself  in  his  mirror.  He  rubbed  his 
busted  nose  contemplatively  and  stroked 
the  angular  face  that  earned  him  all  his 
jobs  as  a  "tough  type"  in  the  drama  cir- 
cuit. He  considered  his  thirty-odd  years 
and  the  beatings  he'd  taken.  He  shook 
his  head  and  called  to  his  wife. 

"Darling,  did  you  know  I  was  cute?" 

"What?" 

"I'm  a  swoon-goon,"  explained  Dane. 
"Hubba-hubba." 

"You  should  have  come  right  home," 
said  Mrs.  Clark,  "instead  of  stopping  in 
all  the  bars  you  could  find.  Sober  up  and 
get  to  bed." 

Dane  climbed  the  stairs  wearing  a  quiz- 
zical grin.  He  thought  he'd  seen  and  done 
about  everything  and  knew  all  the  an- 
swers. But  obviously  he  didn't  know 
from  nothin'!  After  all  he'd  been  through, 
life  was  just  beginning  in  Hollywood. 


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ENTHUSIASM  about  Tampax  is  likely 
to  be  contagious.  A  surprised  and 
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friend  tells  a  friend,  and  on  goes  the 
word  about  Tampax  monthly  sanitary 
protection.  So  much  can  be  said,  such  as 
"you  feel  so  free"  —  "no  belts  and  out- 
side pads" — "no  odor" — "no  chafing" 
■ — "no  bulges  or  edge-lines" — "and  you 
can  wear  it  in  tub  or  shower." 

This  is  all  true — for  Tampax  is  worn 
internally,  discarding  outside  bulk  and 
supports.  Invented  and  perfected  by  a 
doctor,  Tampax  is  made  of  very  absorb- 
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stitched  and  compressed  into  dainty 
applicators.  When  in  place,  Tampax  has 
conforming  shape  and  you  are  unaware 
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Why  don't  you  try  Tampax?  It  is  sold 
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"BUTCH"  BEY 

{Continued  jrom  page  50) 


Accepted  for  Adrertising 
120    by  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


"My  dear,"  crooned  Selly,  getting  back 
into  form.  "Your  voice  sounds  ravishing 
— muted,  like  a  distant  lute.  How  about 
dinner  tonight?" 

"Dinner?"  gasped  Miss  Raines,  "It's  still 
dark — do  you  mean  breakfast?" 

"Breakfast — ha-ha,"  chuckled  Butch 
Bey.  "That  was  hours  ago.  I  thought 
maybe  we'd — " 

"Say,"  interrupted  Ella.  "Who  is  this 
anyway?" 

"But,  of  course,"  cried  Private  Selly, 
remembering  he  was  in  Hollywood  again, 
"it's  Turhan — Turhan  Bey." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  stated  Miss  Raines 
flatly.  "And  I  don't  like  gags.  Not  this 
early  in  the  morning.  Good  night!"  And 
she  slammed  down  the  receiver. 

That  brought  the  Bey  to  his  senses  at 
last.  He  was  in  Hollywood — not  in  a 
Camp  Roberts  barracks.  Time  was  when 
he'd  have  done  the  same  thing  him- 
self— only  worse — to  anyone  who  jingled 
his  boudoir  buzzer  a  minute  before  ten 
a.m.  He  waited  until  eleven  o'clock  be- 
fore he  tried  again — and  he  got  results. 
But  it  seemed  to  bugle-happy  Bey  like 
half  the  day  was  gone  by  then.  And  be- 
cause he's  really  a  philosophical  semi- 
Oriental  soul,  Private  Selly  Selahettin 
puffed  his  pipe  reflectively  and  grinned  to 
the  mirror:  "How  much  can  you  change?" 

A  lot  of  guys  have  been  asking  them- 
selves that  same  riddle,  of  course,  ever 
since  Uncle  Sam  founded  the  dear  old 
Gamma  Iota  Army  Fraternity  back  in 
1941.  Most  of  them  are  loyal  GI  alumni 
of  the  U.  S.  Armed  Forces  by  now,  be- 
cause commencement  started  V-J  Day,  and 
the  heroes  who  survived  the  greatest  battle 
in  history  are  now  back  in  drape  shapes 
and  reet  pleats — if  they  can  find  some. 
Turhan  Bey  got  pledged  a  little  late,  be- 
cause army  medics  blackballed  him  twice. 
But  there's  plenty  of  military  work  still 
to  be  done  all  over  this  One  World — and 
as  you  read  this,  Turhan  will  be  hard  at 
it  somewhere — in  Japan,  or  Germany, 
China  or  Italy,  Tarlac,  Tinian  or  Tim- 
buctoo,  wherever  orders  send  him.  He's 
in  the  army  now — and  for  some  time  to 
come  it's  goodbye  Hollywood. 

the  travelin'  turk  .  .  . 

That  furlough  was  Turhan"s  last  of- 
ficial "morale  builder  leave" — ten  days 
back  home  to  get  him  set  mentally  for 
the  long,  long  trail — which  was  a  laugh 
for  the  Bey,  because  he's  been  traveling 
around  all  his  life,  and  because  his  morale 
doesn't  need  any  props  at  this  point.  He's 
headed  for  a  new  adventure  and  he 
couldn't  be  more  thrilled  if  you  wired  him 
to  a  shock  machine.  It's  not  exactly  in 
the  style  he's  been  accustomed  to  travel — 
but  that's  what  makes  it  fun.  The  Holly- 
wood surprise  of  the  month — to  those 
who  tagged  Turhan  as  a  mere  snaky  divan 
artist  and  hand  kisser — is  this:  The  Turk  is 
a  trooper.  What's  more,  he  likes  it.  What's 
still  more,  Turhan  hasn't  changed  even 
as  much  as  he  thinks  he  has.  Basically,  he's 
had  the  stuff  from  the  start. 

It's  true  enough  that  all  his  young  life, 
before  he  hit  Hollywood,  Turhan  had 
things  pretty  much  on  the  plush  side.  He 
was  born  an  aristocrat,  cradled  in  the  lap 
of  Continental  luxury,  schooled  as  a 
gentleman,  and  maybe  spoiled  a  bit  by 
the  lovely  ladies  of  Europe's  capitals,  be- 
fore he  reached  the  age  of  reason.  But  all 
that  was  only  normal  in  his  set.  That's 
the  kind  of  raisin'  he  had. 

The  night  before  he  was  inducted  at 
Fort  MacArthur,  Turhan  came  home  early 
from  telling  Lana  Turner  goodbye.  He 


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walked  in  about  nine  o'clock,  in  fact,  be- 
cause he  wanted  to  wind  up  a  few  things 
and  hit  the  hay  by  ten  to  start  his  army 
career  daisy-fresh  the  next  day.  In  his 
room  he  found  three  suitcases,  all  packed. 
He  called  his  mother,  the  handsome,  young- 
ish European  lady  who's  as  much  his  pal 
as  his  parent. 

"What's  this?"  asked  Turhan. 

"Why,"  explained  Mrs.  Selahettin,  "the 
things  you'll  need  in  the  army,  of  course. 
Your  robe,  smoking  gown,  riding  clothes, 
dinner  jacket — " 

She  looked  a  little  puzzled  when  Tur- 
han whooped  and  explained  that  in  the 
army  he  was  joining  you  didn't  need  duds 
like  that.  Maybe  in  Europe,  but  for  a 
Yank  GI,  all  he  aimed  to  take  along  was 
a  razor  kit  and  toothbrush.  He  spent  his 
last  night  in  Hollywood  unpacking  the 
suitcases  and  putting  his  clothes  back  in 
the  closet. 

You  see.  Turhan  had  had  a  crack  at  the 
military  life  before.  He  was  a  cadet  in 
Turkey  when  he  was  a  growing  lad,  and 
there  it's  quite  a  dress-up  affair  all  the 
way.  Not  that  it's  panty-waist.  In  fact, 
the  way  they  bring  up  young  stags  over 
in  those  parts  is  on  the  Spartan  plan  and 
that's  why  Turhan  has  been  grossly  un- 
derrated as  a  gorgeous  guy  ever  since  he 
started  making  faces  on  Hollywood  sets 
and  let  his  sideburns  grow.  The  truth  is, 
that  before  half  the  U.S.A.  brand  of  Holly- 
wood actors  who  are  the  Bey's  contem- 
poraries could  spell  c-a-t,  Turhan  could 
ride  like  a  Cossack,  shoot  like  a  Dead- 
Eye  Dick  and  drill  like  a  West  Pointer. 
His  father,  in  short,  made  a  man  of  him 
early,  as  is  the  Turkish  custom.  Along  the 
way,  he  learned  the  correct  manners, 
dress  and  gallantries  of  Continental  court 
circles.  He  knew  the  right  people  and 
did  the  right  things. 

For  instance,  the  week  before  he  joined 
up  on  Uncle  Sam's  service  team,  Turhan 
and  his  handsome  mom  were  up  in  San 
Francisco  at  the  United  Nations  Con- 
ference. They  had  a  nostalgic  bit  of  the  old 
days,  doing  the  town  with  friends  in  the 
Turkish  diplomatic  delegation.  There  were 
formal  dinners,  receptions,  wining  and 
dining  with  all  the  fuss  and  ceremony. 
Naturally,  after  that  week,  it  was  easy 
:  for  Mrs.  Selahettin  to  slip  in  a  tux  and 
pearl  studs  for  her  boy's  career  in  the 
1  army.    She  just  forgot. 

!  american  by  adoption  .  .  . 

But  Turhan,  in  spite  of  his  background, 
became  Americanized  easily.  He  likes  democ- 
\  racy's  doings  and  has  always  managed  to 
:  carry  his  own  weight  in  Yankland.  He 
knows  it's  a  joke  for  the  Joe  Miller  book 
|  that  the  world  regards  him  as  a  kind  of 
1945  Valentino,  a  Menace  from  Venice,  a 
,  Turk  at  Work.     His   slantish   eyes  and 
,  accent  did  it — let's  face  it — -but  under  - 
■  neath  the  oily  villain  parts  and  torrid  love 
scenes  with  Maria  Montez  and  Katharine 
Hepburn,   Butch   Selahettin   himself  was 
always   a   right   guy   and   no  perfumed 
poodle  to  pick  on — as  was  painfully  dis- 
covered by  various  Hollywood  characters 
i  who  knocked  chips  off  his  shoulder. 

Steve  Crane,  for  instance,  picked  him- 
self off  the  floor  the  night  he  tried  it, 
I  you'll    remember,    at    Ann  Rutherford's 
party  a  year  ago  when  Turhan  was  squir- 
|  ing  Lana  around.    Steve  asked  for  it  and 
:  got  it,  and  the  impression  was  so  rudely 
|  awakening  that  he's  been  taking  boxing 
lessons  ever  since.    But  Turhan  already 
!  had  had  'em. 

All  of  which  is  beside  the  point,  except 
j  to  show  that  Turhan  Selahettin  entered  the 
j  army  with  no  complexes,  inhibitions,  or 
I  shrinking  violet  soft  spots.    He  was  as 
good  a  hunk  of  GI  material  as  the  next 
guy  and  he's  proved  it.    So  far  he's  been 
a  model  soldier.    And  he  says,  "It's  my 
ambition  to  make  as  good  a  record  as  it's 


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possible  to  make  in  the  army.  It's  the 
biggest  chance  I've  ever  had." 

Not  for  ambition  or  advancement.  The 
Bey,  despite  his  gold  spoon  raising,  is 
going  it  the  GI  way — and  by  choice,  be- 
cause he  had  an  opportunity  to  put  in  for 
O.C.S.  With  his  military  training  and 
continental  connections,  there  were  plenty 
of  specialized  jobs  he  could  be  trained 
to  handle  as  an  officer.  But  Turhan  had 
a  funny  angle  on  that:  "You  don't  know 
what's  really  going  on  in  the  army  if 
you're  an  officer.  You  don't  know  what 
the  army's  thinking  and  I  want  to  learn." 
And  that's  another  facet  of  Turhan  Bey's 
makeup  you'd  probably  never  suspect 
from  looking  at  his  slinky  pictures.  The 
guy  is  bright,  alert,  up  to  the  minute  in 
current  affairs,  and  you  can't  catch  him 
flat-footed  on  many  subjects.  He's  intelli- 
gent and  articulate.  He  reads  everything, 
stops,  looks  and  listens — and  he  thinks 
every  young  man  and  woman  had  better, 
too,  if  this  old  world's  to  be  saved.  But 
before  we  go  into  that  serious  side  of  the 
Terrible  Turk,  I'll  have  to  tell  the  story  on 
him  about  the  GI-vs. -O.C.S.  item  I  men- 
tioned a  few  lines  back. 

There  were  a  couple  of  army  majors 
Turhan  knew  in  civvie  life  and  they  both 
put  the  bee  on  him  to  go  out  for  officer's 
training.  This  was  several  days  after  he'd 
done  all  the  screening  tests  and  induction 
rigamarole  they  put  all  rookies  through 
down  at  Fort  MacArthur.  The  officer 
friends  weren't  taking  no  for  an  answer 
at  that  point  so  they  went  right  ahead 
starting  the  ball  rolling.  But  in  a  few 
hours  they  came  back  to  Turhan.  Their 
faces  were  long. 

"You  flunked  your  I.Q.  test,"  said  one 
dismally.  "You  can't  even  apply  for 
O.C.S.  if  you've  flunked  that!" 

"What's  an  I.Q.  test?"  Turhan  wanted  to 
know. 

"Briefly,"  explained  the  officer,  "it  tells 
whether  you're  a  moron  or  whether  you 
can  bend  your  brains  around  a  bit." 

"Which  means?"  grinned  Turhan. 

The  officer  sighed.  "Moron  is  a  horrid 
word.  But  your  test  is  one  of  the  lowest 
on  record.    How  did  it  ever  happen?" 

Turhan  couldn't  remember.  Except 
that  they'd  shot  all  kinds  of  tests  at  him 
at  MacArthur  and  some  of  them  he'd  just 
sort  of  done  with  a  once-over-lightly-and- 
no-hot-towel.  He  didn't  know  which  was 
important  and  which  wasn't  and  being  a 
foreign  guy,  his  English  wasn't  as  fast  as 
that  of  Yanks,  born  and  bred.  So  to  keep 
up,  he'd  skipped  here  and  there— and  one 
of  the  ones  he'd  given  the  go-by  to  was  the 
all-important  I.Q.  test. 

retake  please  .  .  . 

They  arranged  another  I.Q.  for  him  and 
Private  Turhan  passed  with  a  blue  ribbon 
mark,  when  he  paid  attention.  But  he 
still  wagged  "No"  to  the  chance  to  apply 
for  O.C.S. 

Turhan  joined  the  Army  last  June, 
right  after  he  finished  "Night  in  Para- 
dise." In  fact,  he  got  deferred  ten  days  to 
make  retakes  and  added  scenes  for  that 
one,  which  well  may  be  the  last  time  you'll 
see  the  Bey  on  the  screen.  Not  that  he  has 
any  plans  to  give  Hollywood  the  pitch,  but 
then  the  fortunes  of  a  soldier  are  precari- 
ous, even  in  peace  time,  and  two  years — 
which,  is  what  Turhan  figures  he'll  spend 
in  uniform — is  a  fairly  long  time  in  which 
plenty  can  happen. 

The  day  before  he  left,  Frank,  the 
Universal  studio  barber,  who's  been  trim- 
ming his  hair  in  that  long  sleek  sweep  and 
letting  the  sideburns  creep  down  below 
his  ears,  almost  wept  to  shear  off  his  own 
glamorous  tonsorial  handiwork,  including 
the  wispy  black  moustache.  But  when  he 
got  through,  the  transformation  was  enough 
to  fool  an  expert.  Turhan  got  such  a 
kraut  head-crop  that  on  the  street  car 


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ride  down  to  the  Fort  and  when  he  got 
there,  not  one  of  his  inductee  buddies 
recognized  him,  although  it  turned  out 
practically  all  of  them  had  seen  him  in 
the  Montez  extravaganza.  (Although 
they  all  admitted  the  attraction  was  sexy 
Montez  and  not  Bey!) 

The  funniest  thing  about  his  incognito, 
to  Turhan,  though,  was  the  reverse  side. 
He  came  back  to  Hollywood  on  his  first 
liberty  pass  from  Camp  Eoberts,  wearing 
the  GI  clothes  that  always  seem  to  be 
sizes  too  big  in  the  wrong  places,  and  this 
lawn  mower  hair-do.  He  went  to  a  party 
with  Lana  Turner  (they  were  still  love- 
happy  then)  expecting  to  get  the  same  kind 
of  good  natured  razz  he'd  drawn  when  he 
did  a  show  at  Camp  Roberts.  He'd  played 
"Don  Jose"  in  "The  Loves  of  Carmen" 
that  night,  in  costumes  and  everything, 
and  it  was  supposed  to  be  very  romantic. 
But  when  the  other  dogfaces  saw  the  silky 
Bey  looking  like  a  reaper  had  waltzed  over 
his  noggin,  they  rolled  in  the  aisles. 

part  of  the  act  .  .  . 

But  at  this  particular  Hollywood  party, 
Turhan  strolled  around  without  getting 
even  a  raised  eyebrow.  Finally  one  of  his 
actor  friends  inquired,  "You  doing  an  army 
picture  now?"  He  thought  Turhan  had  just 
rushed  over  from  the  studio  set! 

Others  he'd  meet  on  Hollywood  Boule- 
vard would  spot  his  uniform  and  say,  "Oh, 
are  you  still  in  the  army?"  "Still  in?  I  just 
got  in!"  Turhan  would  bark  back.  It  was 
all  very  confusing  to  the  Hollywood  folk 
and  still  is.  more  or  less.  Half  Turhan's 
friends  don't  know  but  what  he's  still  out 
at  Universal  creeping  up  on  Maria  Montez 
with  a  scimitar  or  something.  As  for  new 
GI  buddies,  they've  tactfully  refrained 
from  giving  him  the  Hollywood  treatment, 
too,  for  which  Butch  Bey  is  very  grate- 
ful. Because  he  went  into  the  army  to 
be  a  soldier,  not  a  celebrity,  and  that's 
exactly  what  he's  been  concentrating  on. 

Outside  of  that  "Carmen"  show  and 
another  stage  turn  in  "Hit  the  Deck"  at 
camp,  Turhan  has  been  strictly  in  the 
audience  at  post  theatricals.  He  sat  and 
cheered  when  Earl  Carroll's  cuties  and 
the  Ice  Follies  came  up  to  entertain  the 
boys,  just  as  if  he  hadn't  seen  them  both 
a  couple  of  dozen  times  in  Hollywood. 
He  only  did  the  two  camp  productions  be- 
cause they  asked  him  to,  and  it  was  no 
rest  cure,  going  through  his  long  daily 
training  drudgery  until  all  he  wanted  was 
to  make  with  the  shut-eye.  Instead, 
he  watched  his  buddies  sink  on  their 
cots  blissfully  while  he  changed  into  cos- 
tume and  started  a  full  night's  work 
for  Special  Service!  But  he  was  glad  he 
was  able  to  bring  the  boys  he  worked  with 
a  few  laughs — even  if  they  stemmed  from 
his  clipped  haircut. 

What  has  been  foremost  in  Private 
Selahettin's  ambitions,  however,  since  he 
donned  khaki,  is  to  add  up  to  what  the 
War  Department  calls  a  good  soldier.  On 
his  first  test  at  the  range  Turhan  cap- 
tured the  Expert  Medal  in  rifle,  machine 
gun  and  automatic  practice.  He's  officially 
an  infantry  rifleman,  but  by  now  he's 
handy  with  all  the  weapons  his  outfit  uses. 
He  hasn't  been  in  a  speck  of  disciplinary 
trouble  because  from  his  cadet  days  he 
already  knew  what  was  expected  in  the 
neatness  department.  Like  a  lot  of  GIs, 
he  learned  to  make  a  bed  tight  enough  to 
bounce  a  golf  ball  on,  and  to  keep  it  that 
way  by  cheating  a  little  and  sleeping  be- 
tween the  blankets  instead  of  mussing  up 
the  nice,  white  sheets. 

K.P.  was  sort  of  new  to  the  Bey,  be- 
cause he'd  never  run  into  the  kitchen 
mechanic  side  of  army  life  in  his  European 
cadet  days.  Did  he  like  it?  He  did  not! 
Until  he  went  on  the  detail,  he'd  never 
washed  or  wiped  a  dish  in  his  life,  much 
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Women  who  cannot  wear  revealing  gowns  because  of  psoriasis  lesions  might  find 
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garbage  or  slung  hash  at  tables.  And  as 
for  latrine  and  such  details — well,  what 
happened  to  Turhan  shouldn't  happen  to  a 
dog.  But  he  rallied  around  for  all  of 
those  minor  tragedies  of  a  rookie's  exist- 
ence and  kept  his  record  clean.  He  didn't 
even  get  gigged  once  for  A.W.O.L. — even 
though  all  the  time  he  was  at  camp  he 
kept  a  car  handy  and  when  he  could  snatch 
a  pass,  roared  South  with  eight  hours' 
driving  to  spend  four  seeing  somebody 
precious,  like  Lana  or  Ella,  or  one  of  his 
stable  of  cuties.  Because  that's  one  way 
in  which  the  army  didn't  change  Turhan. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  flying  junkets  that 
Turhan  came  as  close  to  spoiling  his  lily- 
white  report  card  as  he  ever  did.  The  Bey's 
weaknesses  have  always  been  women  and 
automobiles,  and  when  he  changed  over 
from  Torrid  Turhan  to  plain  Butch  Bey 
(he  got  his  nickname  from  a  leather- 
tough  sarge  who'd  spent  a  whole  year  in 
the  front  lines  in  Europe,  named  "Uncle 
Joe,"  so  he's  pretty  proud  of  that  "Butch" 
tag).  Well,  as  I  say,  going  into  uniform 
didn't  alter  Selly  Selahettin's  crushes. 
And  of  the  two — I  hate  to  disillusion  you 
gals — motor  cars  come  first. 

Turhan  has  a  flock  of  them,  he  hopes, 
still  scattered  around  Europe  in  storage, 
a  Mercedes  at  Vienna,  a  Lancia  in  Vienna, 
a  Fiat  in  Rome 

just  like  a  nazi  .  .  . 

He  came  up  next  with  a  little  BMW,  a 
pint-sized  German  car.  Turhan  found  it 
hidden  somewhere  around  Hollywood, 
worked  it  over,  and  took  it  on  its  maiden 
trip  back  to  the  camp.  In  no  time  at  all — 
like  a  true  Nazi — it  gave  him  the  double- 
cross,  expiring  just  short  of  Ventura  with  a 
sardonic  cough.  That  put  Turhan  in  a 
pretty  pickle  for  a  couple  of  reasons.  One, 
he  had  to  find  another  ride  or  ^vind  up 
A.W.O.L.,  and  two,  he  had  to  do  some- 
thing about  the  case  of  beer  he  was  bring- 
ing back  to  his  buddies. 

That  started  the  midnight  ride  of  the 
case  of  beer — (and  I  wish  I  could  rhyme 
that  with  Paul  Revere — but  what  can  you 
do  with  "Selahettin?") .  Anyway,  Tur- 
han knew  if  he  showed  up  without  the 
lager,  as  advertised,  his  name  was  mud. 
So  he  started  along  the  highway  lugging 
the  beer  and  twitching  his  thumb.  Try 
that  sometime  for  your  chilblains.  After 
a  couple  of  miles  he  got  a  ride.  It  lasted 
about  ten  miles  and  then — bam!— two 
tires  blew  out.  Turhan  started  the  lone- 
some journey  again.  A  truck  driver  picked 
him  up.  He  broke  down  on  a  hill.  More 
making  with  the  hoofs  lugging  beer.  That 
night  Turhan  had  six  separate  hitches 
and  he  wound  up  at  Camp  Roberts  riding 
in  a  farmer's  pickup  truck  mixed  in  with  a 
load  of  fertilizer,  but  he  was  on  time — 
and  he  had  his  beer.  He  and  his  buddies 
buried  that  treasure  not  too  far  from 
their  barracks  and  for  several  nights  the 
pleasant  tinkling  sounds  of  trench  shovels 
striking  glass  disturbed  the  midnight  calm. 

Of  course,  Turhan,  like  any  normal  guy, 
would  far  rather  flirt  than  fight.  I  said  his 
weakness  is  women— next  to  jalops — and 
that's  true  talk. 

He  met  a  couple  of  cuties  in  a  cafe  at 
Paso  Robles,  who  had  never  seen  Holly- 
wood. He  fell  for  their  typically  Ameri- 
can, un-Hollywood  charms  and  so  when 
his  next  forty-eight  hour  pass  came  up 
he  invited  them  down  to  see  all  the  won- 
ders of  Glamorland. 

"Oh  no,"  they  shied.  "We'd  be  embar- 
rassed going  around  Hollywood  with  a 
celebrity." 

khaki  disguise  .  .  . 

"Nuts,  my  dears,"  replied  the  Bey.  "No- 
body knows  me  in  Hollywood.  In  this 
GI  rig,  I  assure  you  I'm  just  one  of  the 
mob.-'  And  he  told  them  how  sometimes 


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even  his  own  movie  set  pals  passed  him 
by  these  days  without  a  tumble.  Finally 
Butch  Bey  talked  them  into  the  junket. 

Well,  they  did  pretty  well  along  Holly- 
wood Boulevard  and  the  Strip.  The 
screen  colony  let  Turhan  and  his  double 
dates  alone,  just  nodding  "hello"  and 
strutting  on  by.  Without  Lana  he  wasn't 
an  item  to  the  columnists  or  a  picture 
for  the  camera  boys.  Then  Turhan  took 
his  out  of  town  lovelies  down  to  the  spot 
where  every  visiting  elk  or  doe  always 
ends  up — Olvera  Street,  the  old  Mexican 
bazaar  you  don't  find  anywhere  else  but 
in  Los  Angeles. 

They  were  doing  fine  with  their  en- 
chiladas, jumping  beans  and  serapes,  until 
a  gang  of  strolling  dusky  Spanish  maids 
turned  their  dark  eyes  on  the  Bey.  He  was 
their  particular  film  favorite  in  the  Main 
Street  movies,  with  his  smooth  latin  love 
looks,  it  turned  out,  and  they  penetrated 
his  GI  disguise  in  a  wink. 

"Toor-hahn!"  they  screamed.  "Primo! 
Caballero!  Hombre!  Dulce!  Sweetie-pie!" 
And  in  a  flash  all  the  sparkling  senoritas  in 
the  Spanish  quarter  swarmed  him  like 
bees  around  honey.  They  snatched  his 
army  buttons,  ripped  off  his  tan  tie,  cov- 
ered him  with  seven  different  flavors  of 
latin  lipstick. 

But  those  episodes  and  escapades,  while 
bound  to  creep  up  now  and  then  on  a 
23-year-old  guy  who's  good  looking,  full 
of  beans  and  movie-glamour  to  boot,  didn't 
interfere  during  Turhan's  five  months' 
basic  training  stretch  with  the  job  at 
hand — which  was  learning  to  be  a  soldier 
the  U.  S.  Army  way. 

He  won  his  expert  marksman  medals, 
like  I  said,  for  automatic  rifle,  machine  gun 
and  M-One  shooting.  His  machine  gun  crew 
made  the  best  record  in  the  battalion,  even 
though  he  snapped  his  favorite  pipe  to 
smithereens  and  bunged  up  his  face  hitting 
the  dust  in  the  tests.  Butch  Bey  made  a 
whistle  clean  record  on  his  two-week 
bivouac,  too.  although  he  passed  out  cold 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  twelve  mile  hike 
with  full  pack.  But  when  he  came  to  he  stag- 
gered up  and  finished  it  on  foot  instead 
of  including  himself  out  like  some  guys 
with  stronger  tickers  than  his  (Turhan's 
heart's   on   the   athletic   side) . 

They  picked  him  to  lead  the  fifteen 
minute  discussions  on  world  events,  a  part 
of  the  new  way  Uncle  Sam  trains  his  boys. 
Every  day,  wherever  rookies  are,  in  dusty 
fields,  on  maneuvers,  in  barracks,  drill 
ground  or  class,  an  officer  calls  time  out 
and  sets  the  GIs  off  in  an  open  forum,  to 
speak  their  minds  on  what's  what  in  the 
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(Continued  from  page  48) 


"And  we've  been  so  darn  lucky.  To- 
gether through  the  whole  run  of  the  show." 

"And  how  long  can  it  be?  A  few  weeks 
— or  a  couple  of  months  maybe — " 

"And  what's  a  couple — DON!!  I  never 
washed  your  socks.  Shall  I  do  them  now 
or  d'you  think  I'd  better  pack  first?" 

"Wash  my  socks,"  he  grinned. 

Little  Phyllis  Avery  and  big  Don  Taylor 
— Pinky  to  you — were  married  in  Sep- 
tember of  '44  while  they  were  playing  in 
"Winged  Victory."  Madly  in  love  then, 
they're  even  more  in  love  now  and  more 
deeply  necessary  to  each  other — sign  of  a 
true  marriage.  This  was  their  first  real 
separation.  The  other  didn't  count,  be- 
cause its  end  was  in  sight  before  it  began. 

That  was  last  May,  after  the  show  closed 
and  Phyllis  had  her  appendix  out  and 
Don  was  transferred  to  the  AAF  Base 
Unit  in  Hollywood.  But  he  didn't  have 
to  go  till  the  operation  was  well  over,  and 
she'd  left  the  hospital. 

Nowadays  an  appendix  is  nothing.  "Like 
yanking  a  tooth,"  Phyllis  assured  Don. 

He  pretended  to  be  equally  nonchalant. 
"I  said  in  sickness  and  health,  but  did 
you  have  to  take  me  up  on  it  so  soon?" 

morale  division  .  .  . 

There  was  just  one  thing  she  insisted  on. 
He  had  to  be  sticking  around  when  it 
happened.  You  couldn't  have  kept  him 
away  with  block  busters,  but  Phyllis  was 
taking  no  chances.  At  7:30  a.m.,  all  groggy 
from  last  night's  shots,  she  called  him. 
"Get  up,  Don.  It's  time  for  you  to  come. 
They're  going  to  operate  any  minute  now." 

"An  appendix  is  nothing,"  Don'll  tell  you. 
"Except  they  lie  just  as  still — "  That  was 
the  bad  moment — that  throb  of  unreason- 
ing terror  when  they  wheeled  the  stretcher 
in  with  its  quiet  burden,  which  wasn't  his 
laughing  Phyllis  but  something  mute  and 
remote,  beyond  his  reach  .  .  . 

They  said  she'd  come  out  of  it  soon. 
But  it  felt  more  like  eons  before  the  lids 
fluttered  and  the  lips  moved.  He  bent 
over  to  catch  the  words — 

"If  he's  not  dead  by  the  time  I  come 
out,"  said  Phyllis,  the  gentle,  "I'm  going 
to  kill  him — " 

"Who?"  Don  asked  softly,  though  he 
wanted  to  shout  and  sing. 

"Yehudi,"  she  sighed.    And  fell  asleep. 

The  rest  was  a  lark.  Word  got  around 
that  the  pretty  little  appendectomy  in 
Room  So  and  So  was  Pinky's  wife.  Girl 
orderlies  popped  in  and  languished  at  his 
picture  on  the  dresser.  Probationers  way- 
laid him  for  his  autograph.  Phyllis  thought 
that  was  wonderful.  The  more  they  loved 
Don,  the  more  Don's  wife  loved  them. 
He  was  doing  a  lot  of  radio  work  at  the 
time,  but  he'd  come  in  every  noon  with 
posies  and  blue  elephants  and  lipsticks,  and 
she'd  sit  up  in  bed,  making  herself  new 
faces.  After  the  show  he'd  come  back, 
and  she  wouldn't  let  him  leave  till  mid- 
night. That  was  against  the  rules,  of 
course,  but  whoever  looked  in  pretended 
he  wasn't  there.  Sometimes  he'd  fall 
asleep  in  the  low  chair  and  wake  up  to 
find  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  in  wifely 
admiration. 

"It's  your  long  legs,"  she'd  explain. 
"They  look  so  cute,  sprawled  halfway 
across  the  room." 

Don  left  for  Hollywood  two  weeks  ahead 
of  Phyllis,  and  worked  a  miracle.  Within 
six  days  he'd  found  an  apartment.  Not 
just  any  apartment  either,  but  one  with 
a  fireplace,  an  upstairs  and  down,  and  a 
feeling  of  home.  Luck  had  something  to 
do  with  it.  So  did  the  Pinky-charm, 
which  he  turned  on  brazenly,  twisting  his 


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cap    and    looking    appealingly  forlorn. 

"My  wife's  just  out  of  the  hospital.  She 
needs  home  cooking.  We've  only  been 
married  nine  months.  We've  never  even 
opened  our  wedding  presents — " 

The  agent,  being  a  woman,  fell,  and  one 
Sunday  afternoon  Don  took  off  to  meet 
Phyllis's  plane.  Instead  of  a  wife,  he 
got  wires.  She  was  bumped  nineteen  times. 
He  waited  till  three  in  the  morning  and 
then  gave  up.  At  five,  Phyllis  phoned 
from  Mines  Field  where  her  plane  had 
landed. 

"I'm  coming  in  an  army  bus.  It  feels 
just  like  'Winged  Victory.'  One  girl  and 
a  hundred  guys." 

It  felt  even  more  like  "Winged  Victory" 
when  the  bus  drew  up  at  the  Roosevelt 
Hotel,  and  Phyllis  hopped  off  into  Don's 
welcoming  arms,  while  a  hundred  guys 
hubba-ed  like  mad.  .  . 

Don  had  told  the  truth  when  he  said  his 
wife  needed  home  cooking.  They  both 
needed  it.  Only  he'd  neglected  to  add 
that  his  wife  couldn't  cook. 

While  they'd  been  traipsing  cross  coun- 
try with  the  show,  it  hadn't  mattered. 
Everyone  ate  out.  Now  Phyllis  wasn't 
working,  and  Don's  army  check  was  small, 
and  the  kitchen  stove  kept  glaring,  "Why 
don't  you  use  me?" 

One  morning  she  said:  "We're  eating  in 
tonight — " 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"Look,  Don,  I'll  have  to  learn  some  time. 
Are  you  game — ?" 

"If  you  cook  it,  I'll  eat  it — "  He  kissed 
her  and  was  off  to  the  post.  When  he 
got  home  that  night,  smoke  poured  from 
the  kitchen.  He  went  in  to  find  his  wife 
surrounded  by  cookbooks  and  every  pot 
and  pan  the  establishment  boasted.  She 
looked  flustered  but  radiant. 

"Go  in  and  sit  down.  I'll  have  every- 
thing ready  in  a  minute." 

A  few  minutes  later  Phyllis  appeared, 
proudly  bearing  a  platter  of  eight  enor- 
mous baked  potatoes,  stuffed  with  tuna 
fish.  Her  pride  was  of  brief  duration. 
They  weren't  very  good.  Each  managed  to 
choke  down  one.  "What'll  we  do  with 
the  rest  of  'em?"  she  asked. 

"Look,  honey,  I  know  people  are  starv- 
ing in  Europe.  But  with  transportation 
the  way  it  is — let's  just  chuck  'em  out, 
huh?" 

it's  confidence  that  counts  .  .  . 

By  knocking  her  head  against  the  wall, 
Phyllis  finally  learned.  The  crisis  came  the 
night  she  tried  macaroni — Don's  favorite 
dish.  After  three  helpings,  he  laid  down 
his  fork  with  reverence.  "You're  in,  Mrs. 
T."  That  gave  her  confidence — which 
is  all  you  need,  says  Phyllis.  Before  long, 
they  were  throwing  parties  for  six — roast 
beef,  browned  potatoes  and  a  salad  you'd 
pay  a  buck-and-a-half  for  at  Chasen's. 

They've  lived  simply,  because  that's  how 
they  like  it.  A  good  thing  too,  since  they 
couldn't  afford  to  live  any  other  way.  Once 
they  went  to  the  Mocambo — to  celebrate 
their  first  anniversary.  Phyllis  gave  Don 
some  hand-made  socks,  and  a  Kelly  green 
album.  When  he  brings  it  out,  you  notice 
that  he's  pasted  up  two  pictures  of  Phyllis 
for  every  one  of  himself.  He  gave  her  a 
subscription  to  Vogue  magazine,  and  a 
cushion  for  the  car.  The  cushion  was  in 
self-defense.  She  kept  whipping  them  off 
the  couch,  till  the  poor  guy  didn't  know 
where  to  lay  his  head.  .  .  . 

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Evenings  they'd  go  to  a  movie,  or  friends 
would  drop  in — the  Barry  Sullivans,  boys 
from  the  post,  the  writing  Epstein  brothers 
— it  was  one  of  the  Epsteins  who  got  Don 
his  first  movie  break.  Or  they'd  be 
alone  and  sit  by  the  fire,  Phyllis  knitting, 
Don  working  on  whatever  he  happened  to 
be  working  on.  Like  her,  he's  discovered 
in  himself  a  home-making  talent.  The 
barstand  he  built,  the  tool  chest,  the 
book  shelves,  would  do  credit  to  a  pro- 
fessional cabinetmaker. 

Phyllis  tries  to  beat  Don  to  bed.  Other- 
wise, he  appropriates  all  the  pillows  and 
the  side  with  the  big  light,  so  he  can  read 
and  do  his  crossword  puzzles.  Sits  there 
smug  as  a  shah  and  deaf  to  protests.  "Big 
lights  for  big  people,  little  lights  for  little 
people,"  he  murmurs.  That's  his  favorite 
line.  His  wife's  smallness  enchants  him — 
he  likes  to  dwell  on  it.  "We'll  have  a 
Doberman  and  a  Peke — big  dogs  for  big 
people,  little  dogs  for  little  people — "  Or: 
"I'll  take  the  armchair  and  you  can  sit  at 
my  feet — big  chairs,  etc." 

Besides,  the  last  one  in  has  all  the  dirty 
work  to  do — opening  windows,  turning  out 
lights,  running  down  to  the  kitchen  for 
milk  and  cookies.  It  never  fails.  The 
minute  they  climb  into  bed,  they're  starved. 
So  they  generally  manage  to  hit  at  the 
same  second,  and  then  there's  a  battle  of 
wits  to  see  who  can  shame  whom  into 
getting  up.  .  .  . 

dream  house  .  .  . 

On  Sundays  they'd  go  looking  at  houses. 
Found  one  that  was  perfect,  except  it 
wasn't  for  sale.  Which  was  lucky,  be- 
cause they  had  no  money  to  buy  it  with. 
Just  the  same,  they'd  go  back  every  week, 
driving  by  slowly,  turning  at  the  end  of 
the  road,  and  driving  by  again.  Once, 
when  it  looked  as  if  no  one  were  home, 
they  got  up  nerve  enough  to  peer  over 
the  back  fence  to  make  sure  there  was 
ground  enough  in  the  rear.  A  small  brown- 
eyed  boy  lifted  his  head  from  a  sandpile 
to  smile  at  them — 

"That  settles  it,"  whispered  Don.  "We 
won't  buy  the  place  unless  he  goes  with 
it—" 

One  of  their  treasures  is  a  book,  bound 
by  Don  within  wooden  covers  in  the  shape 
of  a  shiny  red,  white-windowed  barn.  It's 
full  of  magazine  clippings — a  fireplace 
here,  a  stone  wall  there,  a  room  with  a 
lovely  corner,  an  article  on  how  to  build 
your  roof  out  of  plastics.  If  nothing  else, 
at  least  they've  got  lots  of  ideas  for  the 
house-to-be.  It'll  have  a  big  workroom  for 
Don.  There'll  be  a  fourposter  and  a  fire- 
place in  the  old  fashioned  bedroom,  and 
a  maple  tree  on  the  lawn — dropping  leaves 
in  autumn — no  matter  what  it  costs,  or  how 
far  they  have  to  haul  it.  The  house'll  be 
big  enough  for  kids  and  dogs,  but  not  so 
big  as  to  swamp  Mom  and  Pop  when  the 
kids  grow  up  and  take  off. 

Finally  and  most  important,  it's  got  to 
be  a  white  house  with  green  shutters  and 
a  lawn  in  front.  That's  the  only  kind  of 
house  that  spells  home  to  these  two. 

Pinky  grew  up  in  such  a  house,  and 
Phyllis  fell  in  love  with  it  shortly  after 
falling  in  love  with  him.  By  birth  and 
background,  Phyllis  could  have  been  a 
sophisticate.  Her  father's  a  well-known 
playwright.  She  was  born  in  New  York 
and  spent  much  of  her  girlhood  in  Paris. 
But  not  till  Don  took  her  to  Freeport,  Pa. 
— pop.  3000 — did  she  feel  that  she'd  come 
home. 

"Oh,  Don,  it's  so  wonderful.  You  walk 
up  the  stairs,  and  the  stairs  belong  to  the 
people,  and  the  people  belong  to  the  house, 
and  the  whole  place  smells  like  hot  biscuits 
and  polished  wood — " 

"Glory  be!"  yelled  Don.  "I'm  married 
to  a  small-town  girl — " 

They  went  up  to  Penn  State,  Don's  alma 
mater,    to   see    his   sister   Janet.  They 


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saved  all  their  fillings  for  the  dentist 
who'd  pulled  Don's  first  tooth,  and  it  was 
remarkable  how  many  porches  needed 
cleaning  when  Don  and  his  bride  walked 
down  the  street.  Kids  would  stop  in  on 
their  way  to  school  for  an  autograph. 
After  Don's  twentieth  trip  to  the  door,  his 
mother  decided  that  something  would  have 
to  be  done — 

"I've  got  it — "  She  went  off  and  came 
back  with  a  tablet,  and  had  him  sign  every 
page.  Then,  when  the  bell  rang,  she'd 
step  to  the  door  and  rip  off  a  sheet.  "Here 
you  are,  dear — " 

"Mother,  you'll  do  that  once  too  often," 
Don  warned  her.  "Sooner  or  later,  it's 
bound  to  be  the  milkman — " 

"Well,  it  won't  kill  the  milkman  to  have 
your  autograph — " 

"Now  children,"  Mrs.  Taylor  would  say, 
"the  day  is  yours.  You  don't  have  to  see  a 
soul.  If  anyone  calls,  I'll  simply  say  you're 
not  in — " 

No  sooner  were  the  words  out  when  the 
phone  would  ring,  and  Mother  would  come 
back,  looking  guilty.  "That  was  Mrs. 
Jones.  She  wants  to  drop  in  this  after- 
noon. I  coti!d?i't  fib  to  her.  She's  been  a 
friend  of  the  family  for  years." 

There  was  one  Taylor  habit  that  had 
Phyllis  scared  to  death  for  a  couple  of  days. 
They're  a  tribe  of  shouters.  They  shout 
around  corners,  up  and  down  stairs  and  all 
over  the  place.  About  anything  or  nothing. 
How  the  eggs  are  cooked.  Why  the  orange 
juice  isn't  on  the  table.  They  all  get  into 
it.  Everybody  has  a  pitch.  Then,  as  sud- 
denly as  it  started,  the  noise  subsides — 

The  first  time  it  happened,  Phyllis  sat 
and  trembled.  How  did  her  husband's 
folks  ever  get  along?  The  second  time,  she 
turned  pleading  eyes  to  Don,  which  his 
mother  caught — 

"The  child's  frightened,  and  no  wonder. 
All  this  yelling  around — " 

"Were  we  yelling?"  asked  Don  absently. 
"I  hadn't  noticed — " 

Dad  turned  to  his  new  daughter-in-law. 
"Pay  no  attention.  Phyllis.  We  might  as 
well  be  singing — " 

Dad's  also  the  one  who  turned  pale  when 
his  only  son  said,  "I'm  going  to  be  an 
actor — "  How  a  sensible  man  could  want 
to  be  anything  but  an  engineer,  he  couldn't 
quite  figure,  but  he  was  prepared  to  admit 
there  were  other  professions.  "I'm  reason- 
able," said  Dad.  "Anything  but  an  actor — " 

fond  fathers  .  .  . 

As  president  of  the  State  School  Board 
Association,  he  attended  periodic  meetings 
in  Harrisburg.  Before  getting  down  to 
business,  the  directors  would  exchange 
notes  on  the  subject  of  their  sons — 

"My  boy's  at  Penn  State,  taking 
economics.  .  ." 

"Mine's  at  the  University,  pre-med. 
What's  your  boy  doing,  Taylor?" 

"Oh,  he's  at  State  too — " 

"What's  he  taking  up?" 

Dad  would  cringe.  So  help  him  if  he'd 
say  dramatics!  "Well — liberal  arts — " 

When  Don  was  signed  by  M-G-M,  there 
were  news  items  in  the  Los  Angeles  press. 
He  sent  a  clipping  home.  Two  weeks 
later  his  mother  wrote:  "I  can't  find  that 
clipping  anywhere.  It's  gone.  Will  you 
please  send  another?" 

The  clipping,  they  discovered  later,  had 
been  swiped  by  Dad  and  tucked  away  in 
his  wallet  and  taken  to  Harrisburg.  When 
the  my-boy,  your-boy  stuff  started,  he 
flipped  it  out.  "Seems  my  kid's  just  signed 
a  Hollywood  contract,"  he  said  modestly. 

Finally,  Dad's  the  one  who  does  things 
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he  wrote,  "and  have  a  big  dinner  on  me — " 

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•  Name   • 

^  Address   ^ 

m  Citv  State   m 

130   *  •••••••••• 


Taylors.  Because  two  people  in  Freeport 
built  love  and  kindness  and  laughter 
into  theirs. 

Till  the  war  ended,  they  were  happy 
in  Hollywood.  But  with  V-J  Day,  Don 
started  champing  at  the  bit.  Like  all 
service  men  whose  usefulness  has  come 
to  an  end,  he  wanted  out,  he  wanted  to 
start  living  his  own  life.  The  biggest 
word  in  his  vocabulary  was  availability. 

At  M-G-M,  where  he's  still  under  con- 
tract, they'd  smack  their  lips.  "Boy,  what 
a  part  we've  got  for  you!  If  only  you 
were  out — " 

Meantime,  Phyllis  had  received  offers 
for  Broadway  shows,  and  had  turned  them 
down.  She  and  Don  couldn't  bear  the 
thought  of  separation.  Phyllis  loves  acting, 
but  Don  comes  first,  last  and  always. 
They've  talked  it  all  out.  When  Don  goes 
back  to  work,  she's  quitting — 

"I'll  miss  it,  but  it's  not  worth  the 
sacrifice  of  one  little  sliver  of  our  happi- 
ness. You  can't  put  your  whole  heart  into 
marriage  and  a  career.  You  can  have 
both,  but  not  the  way  we  want  it.  I'm 
putting  my  whole  heart  into  marriage." 

Then  why  is  Phyllis  doing  a  show  in 
New  York  while  Don  stays  in  Hollywood? 
For  three  reasons.  Because  he's  in  the 
army  and  can't  bring  home  the  bacon  yet. 
Because  Jean  Dalrymple's  a  persistent 
woman.  Because  Phyl  and  Don  are  reason- 
ing adults,  as  well  as  a  couple  of  kids  in 
love.  .  .  . 

pretty  please  .  .  . 

Jean  Dalrymple,  producer  of  "Uncle 
Jeffrey,"  wanted  Phyllis  for  the  lead. 
Twice  Phyllis  had  told  her  no.  One  day 
last  October  Miss  Dalrymple  called  again. 

"Won't  you  please  reconsider,  Phyllis? 
I've  got  such  a  strong  hunch  about  your 
doing  this  part.  We'll  make  it  worth  your 
while.  We'll  give  you  thus-and-such-and- 
this-and-the-other." 

"Well,  I  still  don't  know,  Jean.  Let  me 
talk  to  Don  and  I'll  wire  you  tonight — " 

They  talked  for  hours.  There  were  a 
dozen  arguments  pro  against  the  one  big 
CON.  Don  paced,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  a  light  in  his  eyes.  Phyllis 
made  a  discovery.  "You're  excited,  darling. 
For  the  first  time  in  months — " 

"Sure,  we've  got  something  to  talk 
about — instead  of  sitting  in  two  chairs, 
with  nothing  to  tell  each  other.  When 
you're  not  working,  you're  only  half  alive. 
This  way,  at  least  one  of  us  would  be 
perking.  And  you  know,  Phyl,  I'd  get 
something  out  of  it  too.  Even  stuck  out 
here,  I'd  be  right  in  the  midst  of  it  with 
you—" 

"You  could  send  me  refresher  courses 
by  mail.  And,  oh  Don,  we  play  Pittsburgh. 
I  could  go  to  Freeport — " 

"Maybe  I'll  be  discharged  by  Christmas. 
Imagine  Christmas  in  Freeport  together — " 

"But  suppose  you're  not.  I  don't  want 
to  spend  Christmas  away  from  you,  Don — " 

She  made  him  decide,  half  hoping  he'd 
say  no.  Finally  he  turned  to  her.  "Look, 
honey,  I'm  like  a  democracy  with  two 
parties.  One's  yelling  yes  and  the  other 
no.  But  I  guess  the  ayes  have  it.  I  guess 
we'd  be  awful  saps  if  you  didn't  go — " 

The  plane  soared  and  circled  and  melted 
away  into  the  distance.  Don  went  back  to 
the  car.  His  eyes  carefully  avoided  the 
white  walls  Phyllis  had  painted,  only  to 
come  smack  up  against  the  little  cushion 
on  the  seat  next  to  him — 

Then  a  thought  hit  him.  Suddenly  he 
was  out  from  behind  the  wheel,  sprinting 
for  Western  Union,  his  heart  at  least  ten 
degrees  lighter  as  he  wrote  his  message. 
They'd  said  no  wires,  but  this  one  was 
different.  It  wouldn't  cost  much.  And 
while  it  was  very  short,  it  still  didn't  sound 
mad. 

Phyllis  got  it  next  morning.  "HELLO, 
DARLING,"  was  all  it  said. 


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CO-ED  LETTER  BOX 

(Continued  from  page  26) 


VOGUE  PRODUCTS  J 


1151  Seward  Street 
Hollywood  38,  Calif. 


cards  right,  next  time  he'll  have  no  one  on 
his  mind  but  you. 

As  a  male  reader,  I  am  curious  to  know 
why  so  few  boys  give  parties.  Is  it  con- 
sidered sissy  or  something?  W.  T.  S.,  Oak 
Park,  HI. 

It  isn't  sissy  at  all.  It's  just  that  the  gals 
spoil  the  boys  to  death  and  it  simply 
doesn't  occur  to  said  boys  to  reciprocate. 
But  gosh,  how  they  love  a  lad  who  does! 
When  you  give  yours,  you  can  either  in- 
vite the  boys  you  want  and  have  them 
bring  their  own  dates,  or  you  can  designate 
what  girls  you'd  like  them  to  bring.  Don't 
forget  to  call  for  your  own  date  a  bit  in 
advance  of  party-time,  and  let  her  help 
you  launch  things.  She'd  love  to,  you 
know. 

How  can  I  cope  with  an  unromantic 
father?  Whenever  I  have  house-dates,  he 
sits  it  out  with  us  from  eight  to  eleven.  Not 
talking  or  anything,  just  there.  T.  G., 
Burlingame,  Calif. 

We'd  like  to  meet  the  gal  who  could  be 
alluring  with  The  Boss  right  on  the  spot. 
On  the  other  hand,  it's  your  dad's  living 
room,  and  he  doesn't  get  much  of  a  shot 
at  it,  does  he?  Some  smart  girls  we  know 
have  taken  to  the  kitchen.  They've  moved 
a  couple  of  chairs  out  there,  they've  hung 
a  dart  board  over  the  sink,  dragged  down 
a  radio  from  upstairs,  and  everybody's 
happy.  Think  of  the  accessibility  to  cokes 
and  cookies.  Think  of  that  sleek  waxable 
linoleum  floor  for  dancing.  The  idea  has 
its  points — mid  though  they  don't  include 
a  sofa  and  soft  lights,  is  that  bad,  con- 
sidering some  of  the  sad  numbers  you  oc- 
casionally entertain? 

I  have  been  dating  a  boy  who  has  just 
told  me  that  he's  married.  I'm  so  much 
in  love  with  him  that  I  can't  give  him  up, 
and  he  has  begged  me  not  to  stop  seeing 
him.  You  see,  his  wife  is  an  invalid  and 
he  hasn't  the  heart  to  divorce  her.  What 
do  you  think  about  a  situation  of  this 
kind?    H.  S.,  Paris,  Ky. 

It  is  tragic  for  everyone  but  the  husband, 
who  seems  to  be  doing  all  right.  You 
really  have  no  alternative  but  to  give  him 
up  if  you  care  anything  at  all  about  your 
future.  It  won't  be  easy,  but  it  will  be  in- 
finitely better  in  the  long  run  than  the 
living  death  you're  letting  yourself  in  for. 
Make  the  break  clean  and  fast,  and  then 
whatever  you  do,  don't  look  back.  The 
first  month  will  be  ghastly,  but  hang  on, 

and  you'll  be  okay. 

*    *  * 

Kids,  there  are  holidays  ahead,  and 
they  are  wonderful,  but  they  are  often 
dilemma-ridden,  too.  Blind  dates  that 
don't  jell  and  leave  you  wondering  what 
the  heck  you  did  wrong;  parties  to  plan  on 
an  all  but  invisible  allowance;  we  know 
how  it  is.  If  you'll  write  us  the  facts,  we'll 
send  you  our  Sunday-best  solution,  which 
really  is  a  very  good  solution  indeed.  Or 
so  you've  told  us,  all  you  very  nice  people. 
This  is  us:  Jean  Kinkead,  Modern  Screen, 
149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


HAPPINESS,  INC. 

(Continued  from  page  36) 


and  shove.  Yet  in  the  park,  though  heads 
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Once  settled,  they  were  largely  left  to 
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132 


The  "Dolly  Sisters"  schedule  had  been 
arranged  so  that  Betty  could  finish  in  time 
to  be  with  Harry  on  his  three-months  en- 
gagement in  Manhattan.  Ever  since  their 
marriage,  that's  the  one  thing  they've 
schemed  for — how  not  to  be  separated. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  they  even  found 
an  apartment  that  some  friend  of  a  friend 
wanted  to  sublet  for  the  summer.  These 
people  were  charmed  to  have  Betty  and 
Harry  take  over,  till  they  heard  about 
Punkin.  Punkin  almost  ruined  the  deal. 
The  lady's  brow  furrowed.  Frankly,  she 
didn't  like  the  idea  of  a  dog. 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  Punkin!"  Betty 
was  almost  insulted.  "Why,  he  wouldn't 
so  much  as  chew  a  tired  old  slipper — " 

So  one  day  they  all  went  out — Harry 
and  Betty  and  her  mother,  Vickie  and  the 
nurse — leaving  Punkin  locked  in  the  bed- 
room. Normally,  he'd  have  gone  straight 
to  sleep.  But  a  gale  was  blowing  that  day, 
especially  strong  around  the  umpteenth 
floor  where  they  lived.  As  they  recon- 
structed the  crime  later,  the  wind  must 
have  turned  the  Venetian  blind  into  a 
rattling  enemy,  and  Punkin  attacked.  When 
they  got  back,  he  lay  with  his  head  on 
his  paws,  weary  but  triumphant.  Half  the 
Venetian  blind  hung  in  shreds. 

"He  couldn't  have  done  it,"  wailed  Betty. 
"It  must  have  been  the  wind — " 

"Since  when,"  her  mother  inquired,  "do 
winds  leave  toothmarks?" 

Shopping  wasn't  easy.  Like  any  movie 
favorite  with  sense,  Betty  appreciates  fans. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  certain  ad- 
vantages in  being  able  to  go  about  one's 
business  unhampered.  So  she  works  out 
what  she  called  her  disguise — lowheeled 
shoes,  a  blouse  and  dirndl  skirt,  head 
wrapped  tight  in  a  scarf,  face  washed  clean 
of  makeup,  and  a  pair  of  dark  glasses.  Mrs. 
Grable  called  it  "getting  yourself  up  like 
a  fright — "    She  thought  it  was  silly — 

One  evening  "Diamond  Horseshoe"  was 
playing  at  a  neighboring  house.  Harry  was 
working.    Mrs.  Grable  hadn't  seen  it — 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  Betty  offered,  "if  you'll 
let  me  wear  my  disguise — " 

"Oh,  Betty,  you  don't  have  to  doll  up. 
But  can't  you  look  normal?" 

"No  disguise,  no  movie — " 

the  legs  have  it  .  .  . 

They  had  to  stand  in  line  for  tickets. 
People  looked  at  her  face,  then  at  her  legs. 

"Too  bad  you  can't  disguise  them,"  mur- 
mured her  mother. 

"I  can,"  Betty  murmured  back — and 
stood  pigeontoed. 

At  this  point  a  boy  detached  himself 
from  the  line.  "Please  can  I  have  your 
autograph,  Miss  Grable?" 

But  it  was  a  taxi-driver  who  helped  Mrs. 
Grable  win  her  point.  They'd  been  stand- 
ing at  the  curb,  waiting  for  a  cab,  when 
somebody  yelled,  "Betty  Grable!"  That  was 
all  it  needed.  The  crowd  gathered  so 
thick  that  the  cab  could  hardly  inch 
through — 

As  they  finally  pulled  away,  the  driver 
asked:  "Wottsa  sensation?  Anybody  hurt?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  was  me,"  said  Betty  meekly. 

During  the  war  GIs  wrote  to  Betty  from 
all  over  the  world.  No,  she  didn't  answer 
every  letter  herself.  That  would  have 
needed  six  of  her.  But  pinups  were 
posted  to  all  who  asked,  and  the  special 
letters  got  personal  replies.  What  touched 
her  most  deeply  were  the  toys  and  souve- 
nirs that  came  for  Vickie  from  Germany 
and  Italy  and  the  South  Pacific.  She  went 
out  and  bought  a  hope  chest  and  stored 
them  away,  knowing  that  Vickie  would 
treasure  them  all  her  life. 

While  Harry  was  playing  Atlantic  City, 
she  made  some  dates  of  her  own  at  Camps 
Kilmer  and  Halloran,  at  St.  Albans  and 
Mitchel  Field  Hospital.  At  Kilmer,  ten 
thousand  boys  waited  in  the  open-air  audi- 
torium, with  five  thousand  more  standing. 


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Betty  came  on  in  a  black  dress  and  big 
picture  hat  and  was  greeted  by  a  roar. 

"TAKE  OFF  YOUR  HAT,  BETTY—" 

She  stepped  to  the  mike.  "My  hair'll 
fly-" 

"LET  IT  FLY—" 

Off  came  the  hat.  First,  she  sang  tunes 
they'd  liked  in  pictures,  then  they  hollered 
requests.   In  between,  they'd  ask  her — 

"Why  didn't  Harry  come  along?" 

"He's  working — " 

"Where's  Vickie?" 

"Taking  a  nap — " 

"How  about  a  dance?" 

She  was  wearing  high  heels  and  the 
stage  was  rough,  but  they  wouldn't  let  her 
go  till  she'd  done  a  few  steps.  Then  they 
crowded  round  the  car  with  helmets  and 
belts  and  shirts  to  be  autographed. 

At  St.  Albans  a  guy  was  standing  at  the 
door  as  she  went  in. 

"Hello,"  said  Betty,  "how  are  you?" 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  growled,  frozenfaced. 

Okay,  she  thought,  if  that's  how  you 
feel  about  it,  and  moved  on.  It  was  so  hot 
that  one  boy  followed  her  from  bed  to  bed, 
wielding  a  fan.  But  she  got  her  biggest 
laugh  out  of  two  characters— one  in  a 
wheelchair,  the  other  on  crutches — who 
never  took  their  eyes  off  her  legs  and  never 
intended  her  to  overhear  their  comments. 

"Gee,  they're  classy  all  right,  but  what's 
so  different  about  'em? 

"Whajja  expect  her  to  have?"  glared 
the  other.    "Three  of  'em?" 

When  it  came  time  to  go,  the  first  guy 
blocked  her  way  in  the  hall.  "What  do 
you  do  this  for,  anyway?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  To  see  some  of  the 
boys  I've  written  to  maybe — " 

He  eyed  her  for  a  moment.  "Well,  I  guess 
you're  okay — " 

"Gee,  thanks,  mister.  So  you  finally 
came  around — " 

"Yeah,  and  you  know  why?  I  was  lookin' 
for  four  cameras  to  be  trailin'  you.  They 
never  showed  up — " 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  grinned  Betty, 
and  stuck  out  her  paw.  He  almost  pumped 
it  off. 

a  lady  called  sugar  .  .  . 

First  thing  the  James'  did  when  they 
got  back  was  to  buy  a  couple  of  horses. 
Betty's  always  loved  horses — longed  to  ride 
as  a  kid,  but  was  always  too  busy  dancing. 
Having  heard  of  a  pair  of  perfectly 
matched  pintos  for  sale,  they  bought  them 
on  the  spot.  The  gelding's  named  Billy, 
the  mare  was  named  Lady,  but  that's  too 
formal  for  Betty.    She  calls  her  Sugar. 

"Now  that  we've  got  the  horses,"  said 
Harry,  "we'll  have  to  find  that  ranch — " 

They'd  been  ranch-hunting  for  a  year. 
You're  more  likely  to  associate  them  with 
nightclubs,  and  that's  where  you're  wrong. 
Except  for  purposes  of  Harry's  profession, 
they've  never  been  to  a  nightclub  together. 
Once,  before  they  were  married,  the 
Palladium  ran  a  dance  contest  for  band- 
leaders. Harry  asked  Betty  to  be  his  part- 
ner. He  won  the  cup,  but  with  another  girl. 
At  the  last  minute,  Betty  got  cold  feet. 

One  day  a  boy  in  the  band  called  up. 
"Can  you  drive  out  to  the  valley  this 
afternoon?  I  think  I've  found  you  a  ranch." 
And  so  it  turned  out — 63  acres  near  Calaba- 
sas,  beyond  a  couple  of  miles  of  dirt  road, 
with  corrals  and  stalls  and  barns  and  a 
darling  white  farm  house.  Betty  was 
enchanted.  "The  horses'll  love  it,"  she 
squealed. 

Once  the  horses  were  moved  out,  Betty 
had  to  take  over,  because  Harry  was 
scheduled  to  leave  on  a  short  tour.  Also, 
she  had  to  work  fast.  Her  new  picture, 
"The  Shocking  Miss  Pilgrim,"  was  starting 
in  November.  She  shopped  for  brushes 
and  sponger  and  currycombs,  ordered  hay 
and  oats  and  grain. 

"Are  you  sure  they  don't  want  some- 
thing tastier?"  she  asked  the  caretaker. 


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608  So.  Dearborn  St.— Chicago  5,  111. 

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"That  sounds  like  a  bunch  of  shredded 
wheat  without  cream—" 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  can  get  them  car- 
rots for  dessert — " 

They've  got  to  buy  feed  now,  Farmer 
Grable  explains,  because  the  place  is  run 
down.  But  pretty  soon  they'll  be  raising 
their  own  crops.  Like  all  farmers,  they 
have  their  worries.  When  Harry  phoned 
one  night,  Betty  told  him  it  was  raining. 
He  seemed  upset. 

"What's  the  matter,  honey?" 

"I  think  you're  supposed  to  plant  hay 
before  the  rains  come — " 

Not  till  she'd  made  the  horses  com- 
fortable, did  Betty  turn  her  attention  to 
the  house.  It's  a  real  farmhouse,  with  a 
porch  all  around,  a  living  room,  three  bed- 
rooms, large  kitchen,  laundry  and  bath- 
room. For  the  bedrooms  she  got  bunk- 
beds,  so  they- can  sleep  a  lot  of  people.  But 
for  the  living  room,  where  they  eat,  she 
bought  good  old  pieces — a  big  maple  table 
with  benches  and  armchairs,  a  chest  for 
linens,  a  cobbler's  bench  coffee  table — 
stuff  they  can  use  when  they  build  their 
ranchhouse  and  go  out  there  to  live. 


oats  or  diamonds?  .  .  . 

Betty's  not  a  showy  spender.  Her  income 
tax  man  was  astonished  at  her  relatively 
small  expenditure  for  clothes. 

But  buying  for  a  place  that  you're  going 
to  keep  all  your  life — that's  different. 

Apropos  of  which,  Betty  and  Harry  have 
just  bought  another  horse.  A  little  brown 
horse  and  a  little  brown  saddle  for  Peter, 
Betty's  nine-year-old  nephew.  "When  the 
folks  come  out  Christmas  Day,  and  we 
go  to  the  corral  and  say,  'Peter,  here's  your 
horse,'  and  see  the  look  on  his  face — well, 
I  don't  know  which  of  us'll  be  getting  the 
Christmas  present — " 

There's  never  been  any  discussion  be- 
tween the  James'  about  Betty's  work  in 
relation  to  marriage.  She's  said  more  than 
once  for  publication  that,  if  it  ever  came 
to  a  choice,  the  career  would  go.  But  she 
and  Harry  don't  talk  about  it.  If  they 
did,  he'd  probably  say:  "Look,  honey,  it's 
up  to  you.  You've  worked  hard  to  reach 
this  spot,  and  I  have  no  right  to  ask  you 
to  drop  it.  I  know  Vickie  and  I  come  first, 
and  that's  all  that  matters.  The  rest  is 
your  business — " 

Betty's  too  clear-eyed  to  kid  herself. 
She  knows  she  can't  have  both  without 
making  compromises.  Her  vacations  and 
Harry's,  for  instance,  have  never  co- 
incided. He's  been  free  while  she  worked, 
and  the  other  way  around.  That's  bad,  she 
says.  And  it's  bad  to  be  away  from  Vickie 
all  day  when  she  works. 

Because  she's  so  alive  to  the  handicaps 
of  the  situation,  she  probably  gives  more 
thought  to  the  welfare  of  her  home  than 
plenty  of  women  who  have  nothing  else  to 
do.  There  was  a  time,  while  "The  Dolly 
Sisters"  was  shooting,  when  they  had  no 
cook.  Well,  Harry'd  rather  eat  bread  and 
cheese  at  the  kitchen  table  than  go  out  to 
a  meal.  And  that's  what  he  doubtless 
thought  he  was  going  to  eat. 

Mrs.  James  had  her  own  ideas.  Mrs. 
James  was  no  dope,  she'd  learn  how. 

"Nothing  to  it,"  said  the  kids  at  the 
studio.  "Just  broil  your  steak,  bake  your 
potatoes — " 

"Not  so  fast.  How  do  you  bake  a  potato?" 

They  drew  diagrams  and  she  bought  a 
cookbook.  Next  evening  she  dashed  home, 
popped  in  on  Vickie — Mrs.  Grable  was  tak- 
ing care  of  her  that  day — and  down  to 
the  kitchen.  Betty's  nothing  if  not 
thorough.  Things  may  turn  out  wrong, 
but  not  because  she  didn't  take  pains.  It 
said  in  the  book  exactly  what  temperature 
they  wanted.  She  twisted  the  dial,  then— 
to  make  doubly  sure — stuck  a  thermometer 
in.  It  said  in  the  book  that  the  steak 
had  to  be  three  inches  below  the  flame. 
134  So  she  knelt  on  the  floor,  tried  to  keep 


her  head  out  of  the  oven,  and  measured 
the  distance  between  flame  and  steak  with 
a  tapemeasure.  When  Mrs.  Grable  came 
in  to  say  goodnight,  she  found  Betty  deal- 
ing with  the  potatoes  like  a  heavyweight 
champ  defending  his  title. 

The  payoff?  It  was  a  swell  meal.  And 
she  went  right  on  cooking  till  they  got 
help.  Sure,  she  had  her  ups  and  downs. 
Like  the  time  she  stuck  a  roast  beef  in 
the  oven  and  it  came  out  veal.  Which  was 
very  strange,  because  she'd  distinctly 
asked  the  man  for  roast  beef. 

Betty  used  to  think  she'd  hate  being 
domestic.  Now  she's  sure  she'll  like  it. 
It's  part  of  being  Harry's  wife  and  Vickie's 
mother. 

Needless  to  say,  the  James  world  revolves 
round  the  blonde  head  of  Vickie  Elizabeth. 

Betty  took  to  mothering  as  if  Vickie  had 
been  her  fifth  instead  of  her  first.  No 
qualms,  no  awkwardness,  no  jitters.  Ac- 
cording to  Harry,  just  a  natural  talent. 
According  to  Betty,  "She's  got  her  father's 
disposition.  There  are  no  problems.  If 
I'm  a  good  mother,  it's  because  she's  such 
a  good  baby — " 

You  can't  spoil  her.  Not  that  they  try. 
For  the  most  part,  she's  kept  strictly  on 
schedule.  It  soon  became  apparent,  how- 
ever, that  if  you  relaxed  a  little,  Vickie 
wasn't  the  kind  to  take  advantage.  Her 
bedtime's  6:30.  But  when  Harry  works 
at  night,  they  bring  her  down  in  her  little 
robe  to  sit  with  him  while  he  has  his 
dinner.    She  loves  that,  but  doesn't  de- 


AW,  YOUR  FATHER'S 
MUSTACHE! 

That  WAS  Charles  Drake  in 
"Conflict!"  It  WASN'T.  Yes,  it 
was!  No,  it  wasn't!  Our  "Super 
Star  Information  Chart"  (see 
page  22)  settles  disputes  like 
this  one  in  a  jiffy. 


mand  it  as  a  right.  There's  no  fussing  next 
night,  if  they  don't  bring  her  down. 

Only  two  things  make  her  cry,  and  one 
of  them  she's  getting  over.  Until  recently, 
she'd  scream  blue  murder  when  her  ears 
and  nose  were  being  cleaned.  Now  that 
she's  growing  up,  she  just  whimpers.  And 
she  doesn't  like  Betty  to  leave  in  the 
morning.  She  adores  riding,  so  they're  not 
sure  whether  it's  Betty  or  the  car  that  she 
wants  most.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  she'd 
get  mad  and  yell.  But  all  she  does  is  hold 
out  her  arms,  and  the  lower  lip  trembles. 
That  kills  her  mother. 

Otherwise,  she's  a  consistently  happy 
baby.  On  the  whole,  she  prefers  people  to 
things,  but  she  can  also  amuse  herself. 
Give  her  a  bunch  of  magazines  and  she'll 
sit  for  an  hour,  turning  the  pages.  The 
tiniest  picture  of  Betty  brings  forth  an 
ecstatic  "Mama!"  and  her  daddy's  still 
easier  to  recognize.  She  knows  him  by  the 
horn. 

She  likes  playing  with  Punkin  more  than 
Punkin  likes  playing  with  her.  He  doesn't 
quite  trust  her.  She  pulls  his  topknot 
and  biffs  him  over  the  head.  When  she's 
through,  he  sneers  and  walks  away.  But 
he's  a  glutton  for  punishment.  Because 
all  she  has  to  do  is  call,  and  he  goes  trot- 
ting back. 

She's  a  tease,  too.  "Love  Mommy?"  asks 
Betty.  She  shakes  her  head.  "Love  daddy?" 
Another  solemn  wag.  "Love  Vickie?"  No, 
she  doesn't  love  Vickie  either.  "Love  your 
new  shoes?"  Harry  brought  her  a  pair  of 
green  sandals  she's  mad  about.  But  she 
tightens  her  lips  to  keep  the  smile  from 
showing,  and  her  head  goes  back  and  forth 
like    a    blonde    and    curly  pendulum. 

At  first  they  thought  maybe  no  meant 


yes,  till  Betty  trapped  her.  "Vick,  you  want 
to  go  for  a  ride?"  That  was  all,  brother. 
The  head  bobbed  a  vigorous  assent.  Where 
Vick  comes  from,  you  don't  kid  about  rides. 

Many  people  get  the  idea  that  movie 
stars  are  a  race  apart,  that  Hollywood  has 
nothing  in  common  with  Tuckahoe,  New 
York — and  they  shed  a  tear  over  the  poor 
little  rich  child  who  calls  Miss  Glamor- 
girl  mother,  and  gets  to  come  in  and 
curtsey  after  dinner.  This  may  be  true 
of  some,  but  it's  also  true  of  some  in 
Boston,  Mass.  Betty  and  Harry  are  the 
same  kind  of  parents  they'd  have  been  in 
Spodunk — crazy  about  their  youngster, 
spending  every  possible  minute  with  her, 
happiest  when  they're  all  together.  A  per- 
fect day  is  a  day  with  Vickie,  and  her 
favorite  game  is  the  same  as  your  own 
kid's.  They'll  spend  whole  afternoons  in 
the  living  room  with  Harry  hiding,  Vickie 
go-seeking,  Betty  pretending  to  help,  Pun- 
kin barking,  the  radio  blaring — and  the 
baby  shrieking  for  joy  when  Daddy  pops 
out  from  behind  a  chair.  .  . 

Betty  doesn't  take  her  happiness  for 
granted,  but  treasures  it  like  a  hard-won 
jewel.  More — far  more  than  she  ever 
craved  a  career — she's  always  longed  for 
what  every  woman  wants — love  and  home 
and  children.  When  she  said  "I  do,"  she 
made  herself  a  couple  of  promises,  and 
to  those  she's  stuck. 

She  doesn't  lug  her  job  home  with  her. 
There's  no  dinner- table  twaddle  about 
what  she  said  on  the  set  or  what  the 
director  did  or  how  she  fluffed  her  lines 
and  no  wonder — that  awful  script!  For  all 
Harry  hears  about  movies,  she  might  have 
been  selling  hot  dogs  the  livelong  day.  But 
sauce  for  the  goose  isn't  sauce  for  the 
gander.  Not  that  Harry  goes  in  for  shop- 
talk.  Only,  to  Betty,  music  isn't  shoptalk, 
it's  one  of  her  passions.  She  follows  every 
new  recording  that  comes  out,  so  it's  hardly 
surprising  that  she  can't  wait  to  hear  about 
Harry's.  That  doesn't  explain,  however, 
why  she  saw  more  rushes  of  "Kitten  on 
the  Keys"  than  she  did  of  "The  Dolly  Sis- 
ters." Nor  why  she  loves  Greg  Ratoff,  who 
raves  about  a  certain  bandleader  in  the 
picture. 

They  go  out  rarely.  More  often,  people 
drop  in  to  play  cards  and  listen  to  records. 
Most  of  their  friends  are  musicians,  or 
connected  with  music.  Among  the  few 
exceptions  are  the  John  Paynes.  Betty 
and  Gloria  talk  babies.  Gloria's  wearing 
Betty's  maternity  dresses,  and  the  new 
Payne  baby  will  be  using  Vickie's  sterilizer. 

harry  says  .  .  . 

More  than  anything  else,  it's  the  way 
Betty  talks  about  her  husband  that  makes 
you  realize  what  a  good  marriage  this  is. 

"I've  never  heard  him  say  a  cross  word 
to  anyone.  That's  not  just  a  wife  speak- 
ing, it's  the  literal  truth.  He  can't  stand 
friction.  If  anyone  starts  an  argument 
around  him.  he'll  walk  out — 

"I'm  a  different  proposition.  When  things 
and  people  would  irritate  me,  I'd  let  off 
steam.  You  could  always  count  on  Grable 
for  the  snappy  answer.  Well,  Harry  cured 
me.  Not  by  anything  he  said.  He's  the 
last  one  in  the  world  to  preach  or  lecture. 
But  I  knew  if  I  kept  it  up,  he'd  think  less 
of  me.  And  I  couldn't  bear  to  lose  his  good 
opinion.  So  I  learned  to  control  myself — 

"I'm  still  no  angel.  You  know  how  it 
is — some  days  you  don't  feel  as  good  as 
others,  you  get  a  little  depressed.  That 
used  to  upset  Harry.  Now  I  just  say,  'Look, 
honey,  I  don't  feel  so  good — '  He  says  okay, 
and  waits  for  me  to  feel  better — 

"But  it  happens  less  and  less  often,  and 
maybe  by  the  time  we're  eighty,  it  won't 
happen  at  all — "  Betty  jumped  up.  "Any- 
way, I'm  talking  too  much.  I  can  give  you 
my  recipe  for  happiness  in  three  words. 
Marry  Harry  James.  Only  I  saw  him  first, 
thank  God — " 


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CUPID:  Now  wait,  Sis!  Hold  it! 

GIRL:  For  what,  you  faithless  little  imp!  It's  about 
time  some  girl  taught  you  not  to  go  around  ignoring 
girls  just  because  they're  not  beautiful! 

CUPID:  So!  It's  that  way,  huh?  Well  now  you  listen, 
my  little  fugitive  from  spinsterhood! 
It's  about  time  you  stopped  looking  at  men  with 
all  the  charm  and  radiance  of  a  tired 
wash  cloth!  Smile  at  'em,  Sister!  Sparkle! 

GIRL:  With  my  dull,  dingy  teeth?  Hah!  Heaven  knows  I  brush 
'em  enough,  but  sparkle  . . .  hah!  They— 

CUPID:  Ever  see  'pink'  on  your  tooth  brush? 

GIRL:  Just  lately.  Why? 

CUPID:  Why?  Why  Great  Day  in  The  iMorning,  Pet,  don't 
you  know  that's  a  sign  to  see  your  dentist— 
and  right  away!  Because  he  may  find  today's  soft  foods  are 
robbing  your  gums  of  exercise.  And  he  may  suggest 
"the  helpful  stimulation  of  Ipana  and  massage." 


GIRL:  Fine,  fine,  fine.  Very  impressive.  But  weren't  we 
discussing  my  smile  a  while  back?  What  happened  to  it? 

CUPID:  Pet,  don't  you  know  that  a  sparkling  smile 
depends  largely  on  firm,  healthy  gums?  This  Ipana 
not  only  cleans  teeth.  It's  specially  designed,  with 
massage,  to  help  your  gums.  Massage  a  little  extra  Ipana 
on  your  gums  when  you  brush  your  teeth  and  you 
start  on  your  way  to  a  sparkling,  radiant  smile 
that'll  stagger  any  stag  line.  Now  get  going, 
Baby!  Ipana  and  massage! 


IPANA  AND  MASSAGE 


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.cot 


Published  In 
this  space 
every  month 


The  greatest 
star  of  the 
screen ! 


Guess  who's  back? 

*  ★     ★  ★ 
And  guess  who's  got  him? 

★  ★     ★  ★ 


GABLE'S 
B  ACK  ! 


and 

G  ARSON  'S 
GOT  HIM! 


★  ★ 

in  M-G-M's  exciting  love  story . . . 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

ADVENTURE. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Yes,  Adventure  adds  up  to  being  the 
most  exciting  and  thoroughly  enjoyable 
screen  Adventure  we've  been  on,  in 
many  a  season  of  movie-going. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Gable  is  a  tough,  swaggering,  romantic 
bos'n  who  has  made  love  and  trouble 
in  every  port  on  the  seven  seas. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 
Garson's  a  girl  whose  greatest  Adventure 
is  a  picnic  on  Sunday. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 
Then— WHAM !  They  meet ! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

It's  lightning  and  thunder... it's  sound 
and  fury... it's  wind  and  flame... it's 
heaven  and  some  of  the  other! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

It's  love  on  every  note  of  the  keyboard 
— laughing,  lilting  love;  roaring,  raging 
love.  It's  Gable  and  Garson  in  the 
screen's  most  exciting  Adventure! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Pardon  us,  while  we  doff  our  cap  to 
Joan  Blondell  and  Thomas  Mitchell, 
who  turn  in  such  stand-out  performances. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

And  a  low  bow  to  the  excellent  support- 
ing cast — to  Victor  Fleming  for  his  fine 
direction — to  Sam  Zimbalist  for  his 
super  production— to  Frederick  Hazlitt 
Brennan  and  Vincent  Lawrence  for  their 
screen  play  with  a  punch ! 

★  ★  ★  ★ 
They've  given  us  a  great  entertain- 
ment Adventure  that  marks  the  return 
of  our  favorite  swell  guy,  Clark  Gable 
— and  the  advent  of  Greer  Garson  in 
a  zestfully  different  role  ! 


"The  Beginning 
Or  The  End" 
will  be  the  most  im- 
portant picture  of  1946. 
It  is  the  story  of  the 
atomic  bomb ! 


STORIES 


♦COLOR 
PAGES 


FEATURES 
DEPTS. 


modern  screen 


*FOR  PETE'S  SAKE 

Often  dad  would  give  in,  but  it  was  Lady  Lawford  who  did 
the  "spare  the  rod,  spoil  the  child"ing."    And  all  for  Pete's  sake!  30 

*  DENNIS  MORGAN'S  LIFE  STORY,  part  1 

Cold,  rushing  rivers,  towering  pine  forests,  great  spaces.  That's 
where  young  Stan  grew  up — into  a  grand  singer,  a  great  man....  32 
*WATCH  JOHNNY  COY!  by  Hedda  Hopper 
Hedda  Hopper's  crystal  balling  for  April  turns  up  Johnny  Coy 
as  Star-of-the-month,  nets  him  his  Gruen  Wratch  Award   36 

*  BOGEY  GIRL 

"You're  careless,  Charlie,"  Humphrey  scolds  Lauren.    And  ten 

minutes  later,  he  locks  the  keys  in  the  car    38 

SENTIMENTAL  GENTLEMAN 

John  Hodiak's  the  old  fashioned  kind — he  loves  his  parents.  And 

he  doesn't  think  it's  something  to  be  ashamed  of    40 

*  FROM  MOTHER,  WITH  LOVE 

Dick  Haymes'  mother  gave  him  love,  yes.    But  he'll  be  forever 
grateful  for  her  sympathy,  for  her  push  that  rocketed  him  skyward  43 

*ON  A  NOTE  OF  TRIBUTE  by  Norman  Corwin 
A  famous  radio  writer  looks  past  Frankie,  the  singer,  and  doffs 
his  hat  to  Sinatra,  World  Citizen    44 

ALL  GOD'S  CHILLUN  .  .  . 

Sinatra  doesn't  have  to  knock  himself  out  touring  the  country  on 
tolerance  tours— but  don't  try  to  tell  him  that!   46 

"DIARY  OF  A  CHAMBERMAID" 

Celestine  (P.  Goddard)  never  doubted  her  beauty,  or  what  men 
ivould  do  to  own  it.  Until  she  came  face  to  face  with  Joseph — 
and  murder    50 

LOVER  MAN 

The  fan  roars  blasted  backstage.  "Bless  'em,"  smiled  Helmut 
Dantine.  "If  they  weren't  out  there — /  wouldn't  be  up  here."....  52 

*  PORTRAIT  OF  HURD  HATFIELD 

He  couldn't  pronounce  the  name  of  the  Russian  talent  scout 
who  spotted  him,  but  the  scout  pronounced  him  just  fine    54 

BILLY  THE  KID 

Life  in  Mars,  Pa.,  was  fun  for  Bill  Eythe,  with  a  gay  family,  a 

peculiar  dog,  and  school  plays  to  disgrace  himself  in    56 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons 

Pete  Lawford's  mom  entertains  his  fans,  Van  J's  golly'ing  over 
Garbo,  the  Alan  Ladds  are  home  on  the  range-ing    64 

Peter  Lawford  in  M-G-M's  "Two  Girls  From  Boston"    30 

Dennis  Morgan  in  Warner's  "The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  GirF'..  34 

Johnny  Coy  in  Paramount's  "Ladies'  Man"   37 

Lauren  Bacall  in  Warner's  "The  Big  Sleep"   38 

Dick  Haymes  in  20th-Fox's  "Do  You  Love  Me?"   42 

Frank  Sinatra  in  M-G-M's  "Till  The  Clouds  Roll  By"   44 

Hurd  Hatfield  in  M-G-M's  "Diary  of  a  Chambermaid"   55 

Joan  Caulfield  in  Paramount's  "Blue  Skies"    67 

Editorial  Page   29 

Movie  Reviews  by  Virginia  Wilson   6 

Co-Ed  by  Jean  Kinkead   8 

Information    Desk   10 

Super  Coupon   22 

Sweet  and  Hot  by  Leonard  Feather   24 

♦MODERN  SCREEN  Fashions   67 

Beauty — "Hints  For  Happy  Faces"   76 

Modern  Hostess — "Reviewing  the  Players"   98 

COVER:    Dennis  Morgan  in  Warners'  "The  Time,  The  Place,  and  The  Girl." 
Cover  and  color  portraits  of  Dennis  Morgan,  Johnny  Coy,  Dick  Haymes,  Frank 
Sinatra  and  Lauren  Bacall  by  Willinger. 

Albert  P.  Delacorte,  Executive  Editor     Bill  Weinberger,  Art  Editor 
Henry  P.  Malmgreen,  Editor  Miriam  Ghidalia,  Associate  Editor 

Sylvia  Wallace,  Hollywood  Editor  Beryl  Stoller,  Assistant  Editor 

Jane  Wiikie,  Hollywood  Ass't  Editor       Gus  Gale,  Staff  Photographer 
Otto  Storch,  Art  Director  Bob  Beerman,  Staff  Photographer 

Shirley  Frohlich,  Service  Dept.    Beverly  Linet,  Information  Desk 
Toussia  Pines,  Fashion  Editor 


/  (POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  149  Mad/son  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 
Vol.  32,  No.  4,  March,  1946.  Copyright,  1946,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves,  Dunellen,  N.  J. 
Chicago  Advertising  Office,  360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and 
Canada.  U.  S.  subscription  price,  $1.50  a  year.  Canadian  subscription,  $1.80  a  year.  Foreign  subscription, 
$2.70  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of 
March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  char- 
acters used  in  semi-fictional  matterare  fictitious.  If  the  name  of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purelya  coincidence. 
Trademark  No.  301778. 


in  M-G-M's  exciting  screen 


CLARK  GABLE  •  GREER  GARSON  m  Wctor  Fienhgs  production  of  'ADVENTURE''  with  Joan  Blondell  •  Thomas  Mitchell 

TOM  TULLY  •  JOHNQUAIEN  '  RICHARD  HAYDN  •  UNA  ROM  AY  •  HARRY  DAVENPORT  •  Screen  Ploy  by  FREDcMCK  HAZUTT  BRENNAN  and  VINCENT  LAWRENCE  •  Ari0pfo*»  by 
Author,  feOwcnd  VWSob  H  Wngbl  .  Based  on  a  More)  by  Oyde  Bribn  Dc «  •  D/RECTED  BY  WCTOK  FLEM/NG  ■  PSCDUCEl)  BY  SAM  ZIM3AUST  •  A  METftO-GOLDWYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


5 


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for  truly  subtle,  flattering  make-up  effects. 

You  see,  Albolene  is  a/Z-cleansing  . . . 
no  fillers  or  chemicals  . . .  and  none  of  the 
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the  amazing  difference  in  your  skin  tex- 
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Thrill  to  an  Albolene  Floating  Facial 
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MOVIE  REVIEWS 


■  If  Crosby,  Hope  and  Lamour  ever  run  out  of  roads,  I  will  build  them 
a  new  one  personally.  "The  Road  To  Utopia"  is  as  breezy  and  nonsensical 
and  utterly  delightful  as  its  predecessors.  It  has  a  talking  fish,  a  talking 
bear,  and  a  running  commentary  by  the  late  Robert  Benchley.  It  also  has 
a  very  screwy  plot,  which  may  look  silly  in  print,  but  looks  fine  on  the 
screen  with  Crosby  and  Hope  to  put  it  across. 

It  seems  there's  a  gold  mine  in  Alaska.  Yeah,  I  know,  there  are  lots  of 
gold  mines  in  Alaska,  but  this  one  is  special  because  it  belongs  to  the  father 
of  Sal  (Dorothy  Lamour).  He  is  murdered  by  a  pair  of  bearded  desperadoes 
named  Sperry  and  McGurk  who  escape  with  the  map  of  the  mine.  Sal,  a 
determined  type,  starts  for  Alaska  after  them.  Meanwhile,  a  couple  of 
confidence  men  are  also  on  their  way  to  Alaska.  Duke  (Bing  Crosby)  and 
Chester  (Bob  Hope)  are  specialists  in  gypping  suckers  out  of  their  hard 
earned  cash.  Duke  is  convinced  that  Alaska,  where  everyone  has  gold 
practically  coming  out  of  their  ears,  is  a  Utopia  for  crooks  like  them.  Chester 
isn't  so  sure.  He's  heard  that  they  shoot  first  up  there,  and  ask  for  your 
biography  afterward. 

As  usual,  Duke  gets  his  way.  Chester  is  going  to  win  one  argument,  how- 
ever. "I'm  going  to  put  all  our  dough  in  this  nice  safe,"  he  says  as  soon  as 
they  get  to  their  stateroom  on  the  boat.  Unfortunately,  the  "safe"  turns  out 
to  be  a  porthole,  and  there  goes  all  that  lovely  money!  So  the  boys  have 
to  work  for  their  passage,  and  in  the  course  of  their  labors,  they  find  the 
map  of  the  mine  which  Sperry  and  McGurk  have  (Continued  on  page  14) 


Duke  (Bing  Crosby)  and  Chester  (Bob  Hope)  yen  after  Alaskan  gold  mines — and  Dot  Lamour! 


1 


I 

i 

f 


i 


I 

I 


■ 


I 


"Turn  away! 

Turn  away!" 

"You  can't  stop 
loving  him!" 

"You  can't, 

You  can't!" 


DARRYL  F.  ZANUCK 

presents 


GENE  TIERNEY 

DrciqonwVck. 

^JF^         From  the  Novel  ^/  by  Anya  Seton 

with 

WALTER  HUSTON 
VINCENT  PRICE 


2CX 

CENTURY- FOX 
PICTURE 


To  have  and  to  hold  is  this  month's  text: 
How  to  snare  your  gent,  know  when  it's  puppy  love, 
make  him  forget  that  "let's  be  pals"  routine. 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 


My  mom  says  my  guy  is  "too  old"  for 
me.  I'm  sixteen,  he's  twenty-one.  What 
do  you  think?    K.  L,  M  urfreesboro,  Tenn. 

You'll  bash  our  teeth  in  for  this,  but 
we're  afraid  Mom's  right.  At  sixteen, 
you  really  should  be  picking  on  kids 
your  size,  although  a  few  years  hence, 
that  five-year  age  difference  zvon't  mean 
a  thing.  You  see,  at  twenty-one,  a  guy 
has  grown-up  ideas  about  smoking, 
drinking  and  woo,  zvhercas  your  con- 
temporaries are  still  fairly  unsophisti- 
cated. Granted,  there's  glamor  in  an 
"older  man,"  you'll  still  have  much  more 
fun  with  the  17  and  18-year-old  bracket. 
Not  only  that,  if  you  stick  to  the  bush 
leagues,  you  won't  be  a  faded  old  lady 
who's  seen  everything  when  you  turn 
twenty-one. 

I  haven't  a  prayer  of  getting  a  date 
for  the  Sophomore  Hop,  and  I  honestly 
wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  the  gals  in  my 
club  weren't  all  signed  up  already.  I  just 
can't  bear  their  scorn.  What  can  I  do 
to  shut  them  up?  H.  Z.,  State  College,  Po. 

Gee,  we  gals  can  be  mean  to  each 
other,  can't  we?  Here's  how  we'd  deal 
with  that  group  of  ghouls.  Cease  wail- 
ing and  whining  over  your  plight  in 
front  of  them,  and  go  to  work  on  some 
chap.  (See  "First  Love"  in  the  other 
column.)  If  it's  still  no  dice,  cook  up 
an  out-of-town  engagement,  and  then 
put  yourself  under  wraps  that  weekend. 
Come  the  Monday-after,  when  it's  all 
yah-ta-ta,  yah-ta-ta  about  who  wore 
what  to  the  dance,  be  interested,  but 
not  avid,  and  just  a  vnee  bit  superior  and 
mysterious  about  your  Saturday  night. 
By  the  following  Friday,  the  whole  busi- 
ness will  be  so  much  ancient  history,  and 
you'll  wonder  what  all  the  stew  was 
about  anyway. 

Our  dancing  school  has  evening  classes, 
and  of  course  (Continued  on  page  10) 


JEAN  KINKEAD 


■  Valentine  time  again,  and  we  can't  think  of  a  better 
excuse  for  dusting  off  our  favorite  topic — that  heart-shaking, 
heart-breaking  business  of  love.  There  are  so  many  angles 
to  the  darn  stuff — how  to  get  it,  how  to  hang  on  to  it,  how 
to  brush  it  off.  And  you  just  think  you  know  'em  all,  when — 
wham! — there's  another  one.  This  is  by  way  of  helping  over 
the  rough  spots.  It's  kind  of  a  guide  post,  so  if  you've  got  a 
guy,  or  want  one,  read  on. 

First  love:  It's  wonderful  when  you  get  it,  but  it's  so  darned 
elusive.  How  does  one  hook  that  very  first  guy?  Well,  let's 
see.  S'posing  there's  a  lad  in  Latin  who  is  absolutely  atomic. 
Blond  and  barrel-chested.  And  definitely  for  you,  only  he 
doesn't  know  it  yet.  How  can  you  get  him  looking  your 
way?  First  of  all,  be  sure  he's  not  already  staked.  If  he's 
going  steady  or  is  ma-ad  for  some  other  gal,  don't  waste 
your  wiles.  If  all's  clear,  begin  inquiring  around  about  him. 
What's  he  interested  in?  Where  does  he  hang  out  after 
school?  All  that  stuff.  (But  be  foxy  with  your  questions  or 
everyone  will  know  you  adore  him,  and  that  is  bad.)  Then, 
looking  ever  so  cute,  plant  yourself  where  he  can't  possibly 
miss  you.  Smile  at  him,  say  something  friendly  and  casual, 
and  then  move  on  to  someone  else.  Now  and  then  bring 
him  a  good  clipping  on  baseball  or  jazz  or  whatever  he's  all 
wrapped  up  in.  Give  him  a  scrumptious  brownie  you've 
made.  Take  his  side  in  a  red  hot  argument.  Don't  haunt 
him,  don't  be  self-conscious  with  (Continued  on  page  12) 


A  Million  Dollars  Worth  of  Fun 
in  the  New  Billion-Dollar 
Smart  Set  Playground! 

Paramount  sets  a  new  style  in  romancing, 
dancing,  singing  and  laughing  ...  in  the 
lavish  .  .  .  lovely  show  that  only  Mitchell 
Leisen  of  "Lady  In  The  Dark"  and 
"Frenchman's  Creek"  fame  could  give  you! 


Yes-there's  nothing  like  bright,  sparkling 
hair  to  make  a  girl  more  attractive  AND— 
to  bring  a  flood  of  Valentines  to  her  door. 

What',  the  secret 
of  such  glamor- 
ous hair  ?  It's  sim- 
ple—when you  use 
Nestle  Colorinse. 
For  Colorinse  fills 
your  hair -with 
glowing  high- 
lights-adds radi- 
ant  color  and 
gives  your  hair  a  softer,  silkier  sheen. 

Sea  how  gleaming 
hair  makes  your 
eyes  and  your 
whole  face 
brighter!  Start  to- 
day to  use  Nestle 
Colorinse  and  dis- 
cover for  yourself 
that  glamorous 
hair  is  on*  sure  way  to  a 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 

(Continued  from  page  8) 


man's  heart. 


j^^-^A  Ask  your  beautician  lor  on  Opalescent  Crime  Wove 
by  Nestle— origlnotors  of  permanent  waving. 

COLORINSE 


In  10?  end  25  i  size  J. 
At  beauty  counters 
everywhere. 


KEEP  HAIR  IN  PLACE  ALL  DAY  LONG 

Delicately    perfumed  Nestle 
Hairlac    keeps   all    styles   of  r  n,.  % 
hairdos  looking  well-groomed  /t  III  I 
throughout  the  day.  Also  adds /MfcbL  '/  / 
sheen  and  lustre  to  your  hair.JJ^jf/J/  j 
2Vi  ox.  bottle  250. 

%^HAIRLAC 


we  wear  long  dresses.  My  father  won't 
give  me  the  money  for  a  couple  of  formals 
because  he  thinks  it's  silly.  How  can  I 
convince  him  that  it's  vital?  J.  J.  B., 
Pensacola,  Fla. 

Why  not  be  very  adult  and  independent 
about  the  thing  and  get  the  dresses  jor 
yourself?  Earn  money  being  a  "sitter"  or 
working  part-time  at  a  local  store  or 
cooking  breakfast  and  supper  for  your 
family.  There  are  all  sorts  of  jobs  a  big 
girl  like  you  could  do.  Then  when  you've 
amassed  the  dough,  spend  it  wisely.  Get  a 
black  velvet  or  black  jersey  skirt  and  two 
knock-out  blouses,  one  white  and  off  the 
shoulder-ish,  one  in  a  blazing  color  like 
Kelly  green  or  brilliant  blue  or  hot  pink. 
The  works  shouldn't  set  you  back  more 
than  fifteen  dollars  if  you  shop  around. 
And  don't  think  your  pa  won't  be  proud! 

It's  almost  my  turn  to  have  the  kids  to 
my  house  for  Sunday  night  supper  again. 
How  can  I  change  the  potato  salad  and  hot 
dog  routine  without  running  it  into  Money? 

A.  R.,  Stowe,  Vt. 

Why  not  have  Heavenly  Hamburgers 
with  all  sorts  of  fixings  the  way  they  have 
them  in  the  deluxe  New  York  meat 
wagons?  Get  lots  of  freshly  ground  meat 
(Yi  pound  per  person),  make  it  into  pat- 
ties— two  each,  and  wrap  'em  in  wax  paper 
till  you're  ready  to  serve  them.  Then 
round  up  four  or  five  smallish  wooden 
salad  bowls,  and  fill  each  with  one  of  these 
items:  Onion  rings,  sliced  tomatoes  and 
cucumbers,  bread  and  butter  pickles,  sweet 
relish,  a  plate  of  sliced  American  cheese, 
and  any  other  accessory  you  can  think  of. 
Also  line  up  three  or  four  bottles  of  sauces. 
Have  buttered  rolls  in  the  oven,  and  let 
the  lads  do  the  cooking,  while  the  gals 
pour  pepsis,  dish  out  hot  casseroled  baked 
beans.  Fun,  different,  and  not  expensive. 

I'm  just  plain  fat,  and  still  my  family 
won't  let  me  go  on  a  real  diet.  Please  give 
me  a  few  reducing  hints  that  won't  an- 
tagonize them  or  starve  me.  I  love  to  eat. 

B.  K.,  Athens,  Ohio. 

If  you're  very,  very  fat,  say — twenty 

pounds  overweight — you  should  persuade 

your  family  to  let  you  see  a  doctor,  just  in 

case  it's  a  glandular  irregularity.  If  you're 

just  kind  of  tubby,  chances  are  all  you  need 

are  a  few  setting-up  exercises  and  a  couple 

of  very  important  don'ts.  Don't  eat  between 

meals,  unless  it's  just  a  glass  of  tomato 

juice  or  a  cup  of  tea  with  lemon.  Cut  out 

butter,  and  take  no  more  than  two  slices 

of  bread  a  day.  Try  to  limit  yourself  to 

just  one  gooey  dessert  a  week — fruit  the 

rest  of  the  time.  Dispense  with  seconds  in 

order  to  shrink  your  stomach.  Get  enough 

sleep,  but  not  too  much.  (Anything  over 

nine  hours  is  rubbing  it  in.) 

*    *  * 

Kiddies,  thanks  for  all  the  peachy  mail. 
We  eat  it  up,  you  know,  and  we're  awful 
glad  that  we're  really  and  truly  helping. 
The  quiz  biz  is  dur  meat,  so  keep  the 
questions  coming  and  we  promise  to  an- 
swer 'em  all.  Write  me,  Jean  Kinkead,  at 
Modern  Screen,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y. 


APRIL  ISSUE 

You've  got  a  date  with  Alan 
Ladd  on  March  12  if  you'll 
just  get  to  your  newsstand  fast 
enough  .  .  .  because  Laddie  deco- 
rates our  April  cover! 


INFORMATION  DESK 

(Questions  of  the  Month) 
by  Beverly  Linet 

Hear  ve: 

This  month,  'stead  of  answering  ques- 
tions, your  Info  Desk  is  going  to  play 
Columbus  and  do  some  discovering.  So 
lefs  forge  ahead  with  info  on  another 
batch  of  young  hopefuls,  who,  with 
your  help  and  encouragement  through 
tan  mail  and  votes  on  the  MODERN 
SCREEN  Poll,  can't  miss  their  goal 
of  stardom. 

Lefs  start  off  with  terrific  DANNY 
MORTON,  who  scored  so  as  "Bugs 
Kelly"  in  "Crime^  Inc."  He's  a  Brook- 
lyn boy,  and  Feb.  5,  1912  is  his  offi- 
cial birth  date.  He's  6  feet  tall,  weighs 
165  lbs.,  and  has  topaz  eyes  and  light 
brown  hair.  He  is  married  to  Marie 
Rhodes,  and  has  two  children.  He  can 
be  reached  at  Universal,  where  his 
latest  film  is  "Crimson  Canary." 

RORY  CALHOUN  is  the  one  that  in- 
trigued you  with  his  performance  of 
"Jim  Corbetf  in  "The  Great  John  L." 
His  real  name  is  Francis  McCowan,  and 
he  was  born  in  Los  Angeles  on  Aug.  8, 
1922.  He  has  black  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  is  6'  3"  tall,  and  weighs  185 
pounds.  He  was  discovered  by  Alan 
Ladd  and  Sue  Carol  while  horseback 
riding  one  day.  He  is  under  contract  to 
Selznick  Studios,  so  why  not  write  him 
there?  P.S. — Not  a  wife  in  sight! 

Although  he  just  danced  to  "Why  Do 
You  Want  to  Make  Eyes  at  Me  For?" 
with  Betty  Hutton  in  "Incendiary 
Blonde,"  your  attention  was  neverthe- 
less drawn  to  25-year-old,  New  Haven- 
born  JOHN  DEAUVILLE.  He's 
5'  11"  tall,  170  lbs.  and  has  brown 
eyes  and  hair.  Unmarried,  he  was  dis- 
covered for  films  while  dancing  with 
a  date  in  a  Los  Angeles  ballroom.  Will 
next  be  seen  with  Eddie  Bracken  in 
"Ladies'  Man,"  and  Paramount  Studios 
is  his  address. 

Everyone  calls  him  "Mr.  Johnson" 
'cause  the  resemblance  between  28- 
year-old  JAY  NORRIS  and  your 
favorite  Van,  is  soooo  striking.  Jay 
hails  from  Albany,  Ga.,  and  is  an  ex- 
Navy  man  with  a  Purple  Heart  to  his 
credit.  Is  6  feet  tall,  has  reddish-blonde 
hair  and  deep  green  eyes,  and  is  un- 
attached. His  latest  films  are  "Walk 
In  The  Sun,"  and  "Well  Groomed 
Bride,"  and  he's  currently  trying  his 
luck  on  Broadway  in  "Strange  Fruit." 
Write  to  him  at  The  Royale  Theater, 
Broadway  and  W.  45th  St.,  N.  Y.  C. 

And  remember  Durbin  in  "It's  a 
Date?"  Well,  surely  you  can't  forget 
her  leading  man,  charming  LOUIS 
HOWARD.  Louis  is  just  out  of  the 
Army  and  featured  in  "Up  Goes  Mai- 
sie"  and  "I  Have  Always  Loved  You." 
Is  6'  3V2",  195  lbs.,- and  has  green 
eyes  and  brown  hair.  Strictly  a  bache- 
lor! Write  to  him  at  M-G-M,  Culver 
City,  California. 

That  does  it  for  now  .  .  .  but  remember, 
I've  pul-enty  of  other  info  stored  up  on 
pul-enty  of  other  stars,  featured  play- 
ers, movies,  and  what  have  you.  All 
I  ask  is  that  self-addressed  (with  zone 
number)  envelope,  sent  to  Beverly 
Linet,  Information  Desk,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y.  Are  you  with  me? 

Lots  of  love — 

Bev. 


"Ufa* 


vihatfmDoi^sZssid. 

A  woman  isn't  meant  to  be  lonely, 
she's  meant  to  be  Joved. 
From  now  on  Fm  going" 
to  live  my  life 
my  way 


VuM^fl  fa  WARNERS! 

GEORGE  BRENT  ■  WARNER  ANDERSON  ■  IUCIIE  WATSON  •  JOHN  R1DGELY  ■  EVE  ARDEN  •  CURTIS  BERNHAFIDT  •  HENRY  BLANKE 

Screen  play  by  CATHERINE  TURNEY  from  the  novel  "Instruct  My  Sorrows"  by  Clare  Jaynes  •  Music  by  MAX  STEINER 


Looking  down  into  mirror,  apply 
mascara  clear  to  end  of  lashes. 
Hold  brush  there  till  lashes  "set" 
(About  30  seconds.)  Wipe  brush 
clean  with  half  Sitroux  Tissue. 
( SAVE  Sitroux!  * )  Go  over  lashes 
to  separate.  Apply  mascara  to  up- 
per lashes  only  for  "natural"  look. 


To  extend  eyebrows,  remove  al- 
most all  mascara  from  brush  with 
half  Sitroux  Tissue.  Brush  brows 
the  wrong  way  to  pick  up  tiny 
hairs.  Then  brush  back  into  place. 
If  necessary,  sketch  in  hair -like 
lines  with  eyebrow  pencil. 


bedtime,  use  eye -cream  gen- 
erously. Gently  work  out  toward 
temple  under  eye  —  back  toward 
nose  on  eyelid.  Remove  excess  with 
Sitroux.  Keep  Sitroux  handy  for 
facial  cleansings,  manicures,  dozens 
of  daily  "beauty"  aids! 


CO-ED 

{Continued  from  page  8) 


12 


tion  difficulties  .  .  .  but  we  a  j 
our  level  best  to  supply  you  vMh  i 

U  S»roux issues 
UWe  oil  others,  we  ore  making 

SITROUX 

TISSUES 


him,  and  don't  make  yourself  conspicuous 
in  front  of  him  via  giggling,  loud  talking, 
etc.  Very  gradually,  he'll  become  aware 
of  you.  You'll  see  it  happening.  He'll  come 
up  to  the  juke  box  when  you're  there,  ask 
you  what  you  want  to  play.  Some  day  he'll 
ask  you  to  dance.  And  then  one  wonderful 
Saturday  night,  he'll  take  you  out,  and 
you'll  look  wonderful,  be  wonderful —  and 
it  will  hit  him  the  way  it's  hit  you.  You'll 
be  in  love,  you  two. 

He  Loves  You  Like  a  Sister:  You've 
known  him  forever,  and  he's  always  called 
you  Goonface,  and  you've  always  called  him 
Driz.  For  years  he's  run  errands  for  your 
mom  and  thought  he  owned  your  dog,  and 
just  generally  been  all  tied  up  with  your 
life  in  a  completely  unromantic  way.  Now 
all  of  a  sudden  you  realize  he  looks  like 
Van  Johnson  and  that  all  the  gals  bum 
for  him.  And  gee,  how  you'd  love  to  change 
the  brother-and-sister  act  to  something 
cozier.  Well,  it  won't  happen  overnight,  but 
it  can  be  done.  Your  first  move  is  to 
eliminate  "Driz"  from  your  vocabulary  and 
start  calling  him  by  his  right  name,  or — 
better  still— Van!  (He'll  tell  you  to  lay 
off,  but  he'll  love  it.)  Next,  make  it  your 
business  to  look  cute  when  he's  around. 
No  more  of  that  curler  'n'  cold  cream  stuff 
when  he  comes  to  shovel  the  walk  for 
your  dad.  Begin  flattering  him  a  bit  (subtly, 
natch)  instead  of  panning  him  at  every 
turn.  "That's  a  wonderful  looking  sweater," 
or  "Gosh,  I  wish  I  could  skate  like  that." 


Tell  him  some  of  the  nice  things  you've 
heard  about  him.  Then  some  night,  when 
you've  got  your  relationship  going  on  a 
more  civilized  plane,  get  your  mom  to  in- 
vite him,  in  an  offhand  way,  to  stay  for 
dinner.  You'll  appear  looking  dishy  in  your 
best  sweater  and  skirt,  friendly  and  merry 
and  plying  him  with  steak.  After  dinner, 
you'll  dig  out  some  good  records  or  a  pack 
of  cards  or  an  old  year  book,  and  you'll 
both  have  a  wonderful  time.  And  what  do 
you  bet,  when  he's  going  home,  it'll  be 
"  'Night,  Swoonface."  Instead  of  you-know- 
what. 

It  Can't  Be  Puppy  Love :  There  are  stars 
at  high  noon,  and  the  world's  never  been 
so  beautiful.  You're  in  heaven  when  he's 
around,  and  when  he's  not,  you're  just  a 
big  blond  ache.  The  stuff  is  really  there, 
still  your  mom  beats  on  you  to  break  it 
up  and  play  the  field.  It's  only  puppy  love, 
she  says,  and  we  know  that's  unbearable 
to  hear.  In  the  first  place,  you  just  don't 
want  to  date  other  guys,  and  in  the  second, 
if  you  do  break  it  up,  maybe  no  one  else 
will  ever  ask  you  out.  How  to  appease 
your  mom,  hold  your  man,  and  do  right 
by  yourself  simultaneously  is  quite  a 
trick,  but  it  can  be  done.  First  you  must 
acknowledge,  be  it  ever  so  painful,  that 
your  mom  may  be  right.  Maybe  it  is  puppy 
love.  In  that  case,  you'll  make  it  last  twice 
as  long,  make  it  infinitely  more  wonder- 
ful, if  you'll  spread  it  a  little  thin.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  this  colossal  amour  of 


FREE  OFFER! 

You  can  assure  your  favorite  star  a  place  on  MODERN  SCREEN'S  Popularity 
Poll — and  maybe  win  a  free  gift  for  yourself,  besides.  For  it's  you  fans,  filling 
in  the  Questionnaire  below  and  mailing  it  in  to  us  no  later  than  February  20, 
who  are  judge  and  jury  when  it  comes  to  deciding  what  stars  should  be  featured 
in  MODERN  SCREEN.  And  speedy  does  it  this  time,  too.  Because  we've  got 
just  500  super  Dell  magazines  to  give  away  to  the  first  500  of  you  who  fill  in  the 
blank  spaces  herein  and  scoot  your  frank  views  M.S.-ward  via  the  trusty  postman. 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  March  issue?  Write  1,  2,  3 
at  the  right  of  your  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  choices. 

For  Pete's  Sake  (Lawford)  □      All  God's  Chillun  .  .  . 


Dennis  Morgan's  Life  Story  (part 

one)  D 

Watch  Johnny  Coy!  by 

Hedda  Hopper   □ 

Lover  Man  {Helmut  Dantine)  □ 

Sentimental  Gentleman 

(John  Hodiak)   □ 

From  Mother,  With  Love 

(Dick   Haymes)   □ 


(Frank  Sinatra)   □ 

"Diary  of  a  Chambermaid"  D 

Bogey  Girl  (Lauren  Bacall)  D 

Portrait  of  Hurd  Hatfield  □ 

Billy,  the  Kid  (William  Eythe)  □ 

Good  News  by  Louella  Parsons  □ 

Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them  1,  2,  3,  in 
order   of  preference   


My  name  is  

My  address  is  City  Zone ....  State .  . 

I  am  years  old. 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


So  much  love, 
yet  love's  a 
luxury ...  to 
be  indulged  at 
dawn  and  dusk. 
So  modern  . . . 
millions  are 
living  it  today! 


R  K  O 
RADIO 


MARK  STEVENS 
ROSEMARY  DeCAMP  •  HENRY  MORGAN 
WALLY  BROWN  •  ARLINE  JUDGE 

Produced  by  WILLIAM  PEREIRA    •    Directed  by  JOHN  BERRY 

Screen  Play  by  HUGO  BUTLER 


Hoy  Sings  we  answer  to 

A  GYPSY  LOVE  CALL  ! 


yours  is  deep  and  good  and  unending, 
dating  other  lads  won't  change  it,  but 
it  will  make  you  a  more  poised,  more  in- 
teresting, more  attractive  gal,  and — in  the 
long  run — a  much  more  satisfactory  wife. 
Either  way  then,  playing  the  field  ob- 
viously makes  sense.  The  thing  to  do  is  to 
have  a  nice  adult  talk  with  your  fella  and 
tell  him  that  he  is  It,  your  favorite  guy, 
but  that  you  feel  that  both  of  you  should 
shop  around  a  little  more.  The  junior  prom, 
church  on  Easter,  New  Year's  Eve — times 
like  those  belong  to  you  and  Him,  but  a 
stray  Friday  or  Saturday  night  here  and 
there  can  go  to  Tom,  Dick  or  the  other 
guy,  and  to  Mary  or  Janie  or  Bett.  It'll 
keep  you  both  on  your  toes,  keep  you  from 
getting  stodgy  and  old-married-ish  before 
your  time.  Not  only  that,  it'll  give  you 
more  and  more  opportunities  to  prove  to 
yourself  and  mom  that  your  very  young 
love  is  very  true  love. 

How  To  Brush  It  Off:  This  is  a  good 
stunt  to  know,  when  things  just  plain  have 
ceased  to  fizz  for  both  of  you  or  for  one 
of  you.  In  the  first  case,  where  the  two 
of  you  no  longer  give  much  of  a  hoot,  but 
just  can't  seem  to  break  the  thing  up, 
proceed  so:  In  a  blithe  and  ungooey  mood, 
tell  him  that  you  think  you've  both  hit  the 
end  of  the  line,  and  that  you  think  he's 
been  an  angel  and  a  gentleman  to  let  you 
do  the  breaking  off.  Tell  him  you  hope  he'll 
still  drop  around,  'cause  you  still  think  he's 
a  wonderful  gent,  but  that  you  feel  variety 
is  what  you  both  need.  Ask  him  if  he'll 
tell  the  lads  that  you  have  amicably  gone 
pfft,  so  that  you  won't  be  left  high,  dry  and 
guy-less,  and  promise  to  do  the  same  for 
him  with  the  gals.  Wind  up  the  evening 
merrily,  with  all  the  emphasis  on  what 
fun  it's  been,  rather  than  how  deadly  it 
became,  and  you'll  have  brushed  it  off 
beautifully  and  sensibly.  If  you  have  ceased 
to  care,  while  he  still  goes  for  you,  the 
procedure  is  very  much  the  same.  Pretend 
you  think  it's  mutual  in  order  to  save  his 
face.  Be  less  merry,  more  tender  about  it, 
and  play  up  the  "I  hope  you'll  still  come 
to  see  me,"  part.  He'll  be  crestfallen  of 
course,  but  he'll  still  have  his  pride,  and 
he'll  still  think  you're  terrific.  If  he's  the 
one  who's  cooled,  while  you're  still  a-flame, 
try  to  beat  him  to  the  draw  if  it  kills  you. 
However,  if  he  throws  you  over  before 
you  have  a  chance  to  resign,  keep  your 
chin  up  and  don't  tell  a  soul  what  it's  done 
to  your  heart.  Be  casual  when  you  see  the 
guy,  neither  cutting  him  nor  drooling  over 
him,  and  when  the  kids  start  quizzing  you 
about  what  happened,  grin  and  say  you 
ran  out  of  allure.  If  you  don't  brood  or 
get  bitter,  there'll  be  other  guys  pretty 
soon.  Wait  'n'  see! 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  6) 


hidden  in  their  cabin.  "Aha!  A  gold  mine. 
What  did  I  tell  you!  We're  rich!"  Duke 
says  blandly.  But  just  then  Sperry  and 
McGurk  show  up.  The  boys  dispose  of 
them  temporarily,  and  go  ashore  in  their 
clothes  and  false  beards.  They  walk  around 
scaring  the  hell  out  of  the  citizens  of  the 
Yukon,  who  think  they  are  Sperry  and 
McGurk.  By  this  time  Sal  has  arrived  and 
confided  her  troubles  to  Ace  Larsen 
(Douglas  Dumbrille),  who  promises  to 
help  her.  Don't  trust  him,  though.  In  fact, 
don't  trust  anybody! — Par. 

P.  S. 

"Road  to  Utopia"  is  the  fourth  in  a 
series  of  "Road"  shows  which  originated 
in  the  mind  of  the  late  director  Victor 
Shertzinger  when  he  lost  a  golf  match 
listening  to  the  quips  of  Bing  and  Bob. 


Are  you  in  the  know? 


This  sleeping  beauty's  off  the  beam,  because  — 

□  She's  a  curfew  keeper 

□  She  should  be  prom-troiiing 

□  She's  sf///  wearing  makeup 

Sleep  and  beauty  go  together— but  don't 
dream  of  wearing  makeup  to  bed  !  It  coars- 
ens your  skin— makes  mud-pies  of  your 
complexion.  It  invites  unsightly  "blossoms." 
So,  refresh  your  face  thoroughly  at  bedtime. 
Cleanliness  and  daintiness  go  together,  too. 
And  they're  never  more  important  than  at 
"certain"  times. ..that's  why  Kotex  contains 
a  deodorant.  Yes,  locked  inside  each  Kotex 
napkin,  the  deodorant  can't  shake  out.  See 
how  this  new  Kotex  "extra"  can  keep  you 
8weet-and-lovely ! 


In  calling  for  an  appointment,  how  should 
she  give  her  name  ? 

□  Miss  Dinah  Mite 

□  Miss  Mile 

How's  your  telephone  technique?  Whether 
you're  buzzing  the  dentist  or  beautician  — 
when  making  any  business  appointment 
give  your  full  name.  Thus,  the  gal  above 
should  be  Miss  Dinah  Mite.  Which  distin- 
guishes her  from  other  Miss  Mites;  prevents 
needless  puzzlement.  And  on  "problem  days" 
there's  no  need  for  guesswork— as  to  which 
napkin  really  protects  you.  Kotex  is  the 
name  to  remember.  For  you  get  plus  pro- 
tection from  that  exclusive  safety  center. 
Never  a  panicky  moment  with  Kotex! 


Do  you  choose  the  colors  of  your  clothes  — 

□  To  copy  your  go/  pat 

□  To  suit  your  color-type 

D  Because  they're  hi-fashion 

A  color  that's  Bacallish  for  one  chick  can  be 
her  gal  pal's  poison!  The  trick  is  to  find 
shades  to  suit  your  own  color-type.  Tuck 
materials  of  assorted  hues  under  your  chin. 
Whichever  befriends  your  skin-tone  and 
tresses— that's  for  you!  It's  a  poise-booster. 
So  too,  (on  "calendar"  days)  is  Kotex— the 
napkin  that  befriends  your  smoothest  date 
duds.  Because  Kotex  has  flat  tapered  ends 
that  don't  show  .  .  .  don't  cause  embar- 
rassing bulges.  You  can  scoff  at  revealing 
outlines  with  those  special  flat  pressed  ends! 


Should  a  gal  go  down  the  aisle  first? 

□  Yes 

□  No 

□  Not  always 

Usually,  the  swish  dish  should  be  first  to 
follow  the  usher.  But  a  gal  doesn't  always  pre- 
cede her  escort.  When  the  usher  is  not  at  the 
door,  her  tall-dark-and-Vansome  leads  the  way. 
Know  what's  what.  It  keeps  you  confident.  And 
to  stay  confident  on  "those"  days,  know  which 
napkin  gives  lasting  comfort:  Kotex,  of  course. 
Kotex  is  made  to  stay  soft  while  wearing  .  .  . 
doesn't  just  "feel"  soft  at  first  touch... so  you're 
carefree  because  you're  more  comfortable! 


A  DEODORANT  in  every 
Kotex*  napkin  at  no" extra  cost 


/Pfose  ivosnes?  c/joose  /COTEX 

a//  other  sati/Yary  nap/cms 


15 


Yes,  actually!  GLEAM  Shampoo's  exclu- 
sive and  revolutionary  formula  has  a  "cer- 
tain something"  which  gives  your  hair  new 
and  longer-lasting  loveliness.  First,  a  sham- 
poo with  GLEAM  reveals  in  their  full  glory 
all  the  natural,  gleaming  highlights  in  your 
hair.  Then,  for  extra  good  measure,  it  keeps 
you  hair  that  way  . . .  soft,  shining  and  easy- 
to-manage  .  .  .  from  one  shampoo  until  the 
next.  And  here  is  why: 
GLEAM  Shampoo's  quick -forming,  fast- 
acting  Cocoanut  Oil  Action  Lather  ever  so 
lightly,  ever  so  easily  just  floats  away  every 
trace  of  dust,  soot  and  dandruff  flake.  It's 
lively,  foaming  bubbles  rinse  away  quickly, 
completely  .  .  .  leaving  your  hair  sparkling- 
clean,  it's  natural  lustre  entirely  free  from 
the  slightest  trace  of  dulling  film. 
But  that's  only  half  the  thrilling  story.  Now 
for  the  better  half:  To  its  uniquely  rapid- 
cleansing  Cocoanut  Oil,  GLEAM  Shampoo 
adds  other  special  ingredients,  cleverly 
combined  to  keep  your  hair  in  top  condi- 
tion until  next  time  it  needs  shampooing. 
Try  GLEAM!  Simply  compare  its  long-last- 
ing results  with  other  shampoos  you  may 
have  used.  We're  sure  you,  too,  will  become 
a  regular  user  of  GLEAM  Shampoo... which 
keeps  your  hair  looking  so  much  lovelier, 
so  much  longer. 


10c    25c  45c 

at  all  drug  & 
5  and  10c  stores 


16 


COCOANUT  OIL 

SHAMPOO 


Shertzinger  figured  the  combination  would 
make  money  on  the  screen.  He  was  so  right 
that  when  Paramount  announced  "Road 
to  Morocco"  as  the  last  of  the  series,  the 
studio  was  swamped  with  protests  .  .  .  Fresh 
from  his  role  in  "Going  My  Way,"  Bing 
welcomed  "Road  to  Utopia"  as  a  relief 
from  worry  and  an  opportunity  to  get 
even  with  Hope.  .  .  .  Bob  enjoyed  working 
in  the  film,  too,  except  for  the  scene  where 
he  tangled  with  a  700-pound  Russian  bear. 
Bob  said  the  brute  had  obviously  heard 
his  broadcasts.  Although  Hope  escaped 
injury,  a  week  later  the  bear  bit  his  owner 
so  severely  that  a  hospital  trip  was  neces- 
sary .  .  .  Dottie  Lamour's  usual  costume 
weighed  45  pounds,  but  Paramount  couldn't 
resist  throwing  in  a  scene  in  which  Dottie 
wears  a  fur-lined  sarong. 

THEY  WERE  EXPENDABLE 

It's  pretty  swell  to  have  Bob  Montgomery 
back  in  pictures.  And  it's  a  pretty  swell 
picture  he  has  come  back  in.  Made  from 
the  William  L.  White  best  seller,  "They 
Were  Expendable,"  it  tells  the  story  of  the 
PT  boats.  Of,  specifically,  Motor  Torpedo 
Boat  Squadron  3,  stationed  at  Manila. 

The  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  squadron 
is  John  Brickley  (Robert  Montgomery), 
known  as  "Brick"  to  practically  everyone. 
Second  in  command  is  tall,  tough  Rusty 
Ryan  (John  Wayne).  When  the  picture — 
and  the  war — begins,  Rusty  is  a  little  bit 
sore  at  Brick  who  has  talked  him  into  this 
PT  boat  routine.  It  looks  as  if  the  PT  boats 
aren't  going  to  get  into  action  at  all.  Oh, 
sure,  when  the  Jap  planes  came  over  at 
the  beginning,  the  baby  boats  went  out  and 
manoeuvred  around  and  got  a  couple  of 
planes.  Rusty  got  some  shrapnel  in  the 
arm,  too.  But  all  that  was  nothing.  And 
ever  since,  the  boats  have  been  used  for 
messenger  service.  Messenger  service! 
That's  something  to  tell  your  children 
about.  "What  did  you  do  in  the  war,  dad- 
dy?" "I  was  a  messenger."  Great  stuff! 

But  before  long  there  is  a  bigger  job 
for  two  of  the  boats.  A  Jap  carrier  is  near- 
by. Maybe  a  PT  can  get  near  enough 
to  knock  it  out.  It's  a  mosquito  against  an 
elephant.  It's  David  against  Goliath.  But 
it  works.  One  of  the  PT  boats  doesn't 
come  back,  but  Brick's  boat  gets  the 
carrier  and  escapes.  Rusty  wasn't  along 
on  the  expedition  at  all,  because  the 
shrapnel  in  his  arm  sent  him  to  the  hos- 
pital. He  figures  he's  been  robbed,  and  he 
takes  it  out  on  the  hospital  staff  until  he 
meets  Sandy.  She's  a  nurse,  Lieutenant 
Davis  (Donna  Reed),  and  she  and  Rusty 
fall  deeply  in  love. 

The  PT  boats  are  assigned  the  job  of 
evacuating  General  MacArthur  and  his 
family  to  Mindanao.  They  make  it,  but 
when  they  get  there,  they  are  told  to  stay. 
They  are  now  under  Army  orders  instead 
of  Navy,  and  they  aren't  very  happy  about 
it.  Then  Brick  blackmails  some  torpedoes 
and  aviation  gas  out  of  a  former  class- 
mate at  Annapolis,  and  gets  an  okay  on  a 
trip  to  blow  up  a  Jap  cruiser.  He  knows 
that  the  PT  boats,  like  so  many  ships  and 
men  in  this  war,  are  "expendable." 

John  Wayne,  whose  acting  improves 
with  every  picture,  and  Bob  Montgomery 
are  both  tops  in  this  exciting  story.  And 
keep  your  eye  on  a  little  guy  named  Mar- 
shall Thompson— M-G-M. 

P.  S. 

Directed  by  Commander  John  Ford,  in 
between  real-life  Navy  action,  "They  Were 
Expendable"  comes  out  as  authentic  as  a 
movie  can  get.  Choosing  women  to  portray 
South  Pacific  natives,  Ford  was  sent  a  batch 
of  curvaceous  cuties.  He  exploded.  "Send 
over  some  grannies.  My  God,  sarongs 
where  we  were  were  as  hard  to  find  as  pea- 
shooters at  a  bubble  dancer's  convention. 
And  nobody  looked  like  Dorothy  Lamour!" 
As  a  result,  the  native  women  in  "They 


Were  Expendable"  are  about  as  exciting  as 
a  clock.  .  .  .  Every  foot  of  the  marine 
photography  and  dock  scenes  was  taken  on 
location  at  Key  Biscayne,  Florida  .  .  . 
On  the  day  Ford  sighted  a  brush  fire  on  an 
island  six  miles  off  the  coast,  he  set  up  the 
shots  for  the  battle  of  Cavite  and  filmed 
it  as  "Manila  burning  in  the  background" 
.  .  .  Bob  Montgomery's^  training  as  a  PT 
boat  skipper  during  his  early  months  in  the 
Navy  came  in  handy.  He  needed  no  direc- 
tion about  the  boats,  and  handled  them 
certainly  as  well  as  the  many  Navy  veter- 
ans hired  for  the  picture. 

THE  HOODLUM  SAINT 

So  you  think  you  know  your  saints. 
But  do  you  know  about  the  hoodlum  saint, 
who  watches  over  tramps  and  mugs  and 
bums?  His  name  is  St.  Dismas,  and  he  has 
quite  a  job  looking  out  for  characters  like 
the  Snarp  (James  Gleason),  Fishface  (Rags 
Ragland),  the  Eel  (Slim  Summerville) ,  and 
Three  Fingers  (Frank  McHugh). 

These  assorted  gyp  artists  are  all  pals  of 
Terry  McNeil  (William  Powell).  They 
helped  put  him  through  college,  and  they 
now  regard  him  as  the  greatest  man  in 
the  world.  Terry  is  just  back  from  World 
War  I,  a  major,  with  several  wound  stripes 
but  no  dough.  The  "characters"  have  no 
dough  now  either,  and  for  a  while  it  looks 
as  if  they  will  have  to  go  to  work — 
obviously  a  fate  worse  than  death.  Terry, 
who  was  a  newspaperman  before  the  war, 
crashes  a  society  wedding  in  the  hope  of 
meeting  Joe  Lorrison,  a  newspaper  owner. 
He  does  meet  Joe,  and  talks  himself  right 
into  a  job.  But  he  also  meets  Joe's  niece, 
Kay  (Esther  Williams),  and  falls  in  love. 

What  can  he  do  about  it?  The  job  doesn't 
pay  much,  and  Kay  is  rich.  Obviously, 
Terry  must  get  rich,  too,  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible. He  keeps  the  newspaper  job  just 
long  enough  to  make  some  connections, 
then  goes  off  to  Chicago.  He  has  decided  to 
go  to  work  for  a  man  named  Malbery,  who 
is  head  of  a  large  corporation.  Of  course 
the  "characters"  trail  along,  and  he  has  to 
spend  a  lot  of  time  getting  them  out  of 
trouble.  Terry  works  hard  at  his  new  job, 
trying  not  to  think  about  Kay,  and  before 
you  can  say  Metro- Goldwyn-Mayer,  he  is 
vice-president  of  the  company.  He  has  also 
acquired  an  ornamental  girl  friend  called 
Dusty  (Angela  Lansbury),  to  keep  him 
occupied  until  he  gets  back  to  Kay. 

Terry  gets  pretty  tired  of  yanking  his 
crackpot  pals  out  of  jams,  so  he  tells  them 
about  St.  Dismas,  the  patron  saint  of  hood- 
lums. "Next  time  you  get  in  trouble,  pray 
to  St.  Dismas  instead  of  coming  to  me," 
he  says  sternly.  Doubtfully  the  "characters" 
try  it — and  it  works.  No  one  could  be  more 
surprised  than  Terry.  But  Terry  is  in  for  a 
lot  of  surprises  before  the  end  of  the 
picture. 

William  Powell  is  at  his  smoothest  and 
"the  characters"  will  enchant  you.  It's  a 
top-flight  cast  all  around. — M-G-M. 

P.  S. 

The  St.  Dismas  Orphanage,  which  in- 
spired the  film,  was  several  hundred  dol- 
lars richer  after  the  picture  was  com- 
pleted. Bill  Powell  originated  the  idea  of 
keeping  a  slotted  box  on  the  set  and  started, 
it  off  with  a  neat  ten-dollar  bill.  Set  visi- 
tors were  invited  to  deposit  a  quarter,  and 
the  cast  and  crew  donated  their  own  bits 
of  coin  .  .  .  During  the  filming,  both  Esther 
and  Bill  had  birthdays.  Bill  received  one 
small  cup  cake  adorned  by  one  small  candle, 
whereas  Esther,  being  a  gal,  got  a  con- 
siderably larger  cake  inscribed  "To  a  Saint 
— from  the  Hoodlums"  .  .  .  Angela  Lansbury 
was  married  to  Riclxard  Cromwell  during 
the  picture's  shooting,  and  rushed  home 
every  day  to  watch  her  new  husband  re- 
finish  the  antique  furniture  they  had 
bought  together.  A  week  before  her  mar- 
riage, Angela   was   horrified   to  discover 


PAT'S  IN  MEXICO  CITY 
AND  RIGHT  IN 
THE  MIDDLE  OF 
THE  MOST  EXCITING 
ADVENTURE  OF 
HIS  THRILL-PACKED 


;  miiiihM.iii|i;iiiiiiiiiii7-7 


Alan  HALE  Edgar  BUCHANAN  Audrey  LONG 

„d  EDDIE  LeBARON  and  HIS  CONTINENTAL  ORCHESTRA 

^  Screenplay  by  Roy  Chanslor  •  Based  upon  the  Collier's  Magazine  serial  by  Robert  Carson 

tau  b,  PHIL  L.  RYAN  ,-*v  vm  *  EDWARD  H. 


OLSON 


18 


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the  biggest,  blackest,  hairiest  spider  she 
had  ever  seen  walking  nonchalantly  across 
her  bed.  Both  Angela  and  her  mother 
flailed  the  creature  with  jrying  pans  and 
fireplace  implements,  finally  called  a  squad 
car  to  the  rescue.  .  .  .  Angela  also  bumped 
into  trouble  when  one  of  her  twin  brothers, 
attempting  to  simulate  an  atomic  bomb, 
got  his  hair  singed  from  his  concoction 
of  kerosene  in  a  tin  can.  Angela  figures 
life  keeps  her  busy,  but  she  loves  it. 

MISS  SUSIE  SLAGLE 

You're  sick.  Maybe  you  have  a  stomach 
ache,  or  maybe  it's  something  really  serious. 
Either  way,  what  do  you  do?  You  send 
for  the  doctor.  But  do  you  ever  stop  to 
think  about  the  years  it  took  him  to  get 
to  be  a  doctor?  The  long,  tough  struggle, 
before  he  can  walk  in  and  look  at  your 
tongue  and  take  your  temperature  and  tell 
you  what's  the  matter  with  you?  You'll 
appreciate  it  more  after  you  see  "Miss 
Susie  Slagle."  There's  a  swell  cast — Ver- 
onica Lake,  Sonny  Tufts,  and  Joan  Caul- 
field,  with  Lillian  Gish  in  the  title  role. 

Miss  Susie  Slagle's  is  a  boarding  house 
where  the  luckier  students  from  the 
medical  school  live.  In  1910,  several  new 
ones  have  just  arrived.  One  is  Pug  Pren- 
tiss (Sonny  Tufts).  It  has  taken  Pug  a 
lot  of  years  to  get  this  far.  He  had  to  work 
on  a  farm  in  Vermont  to  get  the  money 
and  now  that  he's  here,  he  can't  quite  be- 
lieve it.  Then  there's  Bert  Riggs  (Pat 
Phelan)  who  has  come  all  the  way  from 
China.  Miss  Susie  greets  them  all  gra- 
ciously. A  second  year  student  named  Ben 
(Billy  De  Wolfe)  gives  them  the  dope  on 
the  various  classes  and  professors.  Work 
begins. 

Pug  has  ability  as  a  surgeon,  but  he  has 
a  big  psychological  handicap — the  fear  of 
seeing  death.  He  tries  to  forget  it,  and  for 
a  while  he  thinks  he  has  it  conquered.  His 
social  life  revolves  around  pretty  Greta 
Howe  (Joan  Caulfield).  The  first  time  she 
meets  Pug  she  decides  to  marry  him,  and 
she's  a  girl  who  gets  her  way. 

Bert  meets  a  girl,  too.  She's  a  student 
nurse,  Nan  (Veronica  Lake)  and  they  are 
soon  deeply  in  love.  Bert  hesitates  about' 
asking  her  to  marry  him.  He  must  go  back 
to  China  and  be  a  medical  missionary.  It's 
no  life  for  a  girl.  But  all  Nan  asks  is  to  be 
near  Bert,  in  China  or  anywhere  else.  It 
doesn't  seem  like  much,  does  it?  Still,  it's 
more  than  life  is  destined  to  give^her. 

Pug's  old  fear  returns  as  he  comes  closer 
to  being  a  surgeon.  If  it  weren't  for  Miss 
Susie,  his  medical  career  would  have  ended. 
They  all  owe  a  lot  to  Miss  Susie.  You'll 
see  what  I  mean  when  you  see  the  pic- 
ture.— Par. 

P.  S. 

Owned  by  the  studio  for  seven  years,  the 
script  was  not  tackled  sooner  because  of  its 
complexity  of  characters  and  stories.  It  was 
finally  written  in  finished  form  by  John 
Houseman,  co-founder  with  Orson  Welles 
of  the  Mercury  Theater.  It  was  directed  by 
John  Berry,  who  was  associated  with 
Houseman  in  the  Mercury  Theater,  and 
who  introduced  a  new  technique  in  Holly- 
wood of  a  full  week's  rehearsal  with  the 
entire  cast  before  actually  shooting  .  .  . 
Despite  the  fact  that  the  film  is  overflowing 
with  newcomers  to  the  screen,  the  cast  also 
includes  a  favorite  old-timer,  Lillian  Gish, 
who  plays  the  title  role.  It  is  her  first  im- 
portant role  since  she  left  films  for  the 
stage  in  1930,  and  makes  her  the  only 
screen  star  to  be  active  during  both  war 
periods.  .  .  .  The  studio  hired  Dr.  Benjamin 
Sacks,  noted  diagnostician,  as  technical  ad- 
viser. He  spent  six  months  on  research,  and 
under  his  supervision  sets  were  constructed 
to  produce  a  typical  medical  school  of 
thirty-five  years  ago.  Four  laboratories 
contained  more  than  5000  props  valued  at 
$10,000  in  medical  equipment,  all  of  which 


was  practical  with  running  water  and  gas 
heat,  to  allow  for  actual  experiments  .  .  . 
Walls  of  the  students'  bedrooms  and  bath- 
room at  the  boarding  house  were  adorned 
with  anatomical  drawings  by  studio  artists. 
Featured  was  "Little  Elize,"  a  feminine 
figure  of  questionable  reputation  drawn  on 
the  bathroom  ceiling.  Her  popularity  was 
enhanced  by  a  song  written  especially  for 
her,  sung  by  male  members  of  the  cast, 
which  paid  tribute  to  her  in  anatomical 
terms. 

BREAKFAST  IN 
HOLLYWOOD 

You've  probably  heard  the  "Breakfast  in 
Hollywood"  program,  with  Tom  Breneman 
officiating,  on  the  air.  If  you  haven't,  you 
should,  and  in  either  case  you'll  enjoy  the 
picture.  By  the  way,  our  own  Hedda 
Hopper  is  featured  in  it.  And  in  the 
cwaziest  hat! 

Hollywood  at  six  a.m.  is  a  busier  place 
than  you  might  think.  Pretty  little  extras 
in  everything  from  cowgirl  costumes  to 
evening  gowns  are  just  going  to  work.  A 
nice  old  lady,  Mrs.  Reed  (Beulah  Bondi) 
is  tying  her  -dog  up  in  the  yard,  prepara- 
tory to  starting  for  the  "Breakfast"  broad- 
cast. Miss  Spriggins  (Zasu  Pitts)  is 
going  there,  too.  She  has  on  a  hat  she 
has  bought  for  the  occasion.  When  the 
milkman  tells  her  it  looks  like  a  perma- 
nent waving  machine,  she  is  delighted.  It 
seems  they  give  a  prize  at  the  broadcast 
for  the  dizziest  hat.  Mrs.  Cartwright 
(Billie  Burke)  is  going,  too,  but  she 
doesn't  have  a  dizzy  hat  on.  She  dresses 
very  conservatively  and  doesn't  even  wear 
makeup.  She  thinks  her  husband  prefers 
her  this  way,  but  the  minute  she  gets  out 
of  the  house  this  morning  he  calls  up  a 
blonde  who  uses  lots  of  makeup. 

Tom  Breneman  is  on  his  way  to  the 
broadcast,  too.  After  all,  the  guy  has  to 
earn  a  living  some  way.  He  picks  up  a 
young  soldier  named  Ken  (Eddie  Ryan) 
and  gives  him  a  ticket  to  the  show.  Ken 
meets  a  pretty  girl  there.  Her  name  is  Dot 
(Bonita  Granville)  and  she's  from  his  home 
town,  Minneapolis.  They  have  something 
else  in  common,  for  they  both  know  Jimmy 
Glennon  of  the  Navy.  They  discuss  Minne- 
apolis and  Jimmy  during  the  broadcast,  in 
between  watching  celebrities  like  Hedda 
Hopper.  Of  course  Hedda  wins  the  prize 
for  the  screwiest  hat!  Later  on,  Dot  tells 
Ken  that  she's  engaged  to  Jimmy.  Ken 
happens  to  know  that  Jimmy  is  married, 
but  he  doesn't  know  whether  he  should 
tell  her  that. 

The  other  people  at  the  broadcast  have 
problems,  too.  You  get  quite  a  cross- 
section  of  Hollywood  in  the  course  of  the 
picture.  The  Hollywood  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  movies,  but  is  made  up  of 
people  like  you  and  me.  I  think  this 
"breakfast"  is  worth  your  money. — U.A. 

P.  S. 

Although  a  microphone  has  never  given 
Tom  Breneman  so  much  as  a  qualm,  he 
viewed  the  movie  cameras  with  a  great 
deal  of  suspicion.  After  he  saw  his  screen 
tests  he  told  his  wife,  "I'm  much  better 
looking  than  I  appear  on  the  screen,"  then 
laughed  and  added,  "I  guess  I'm  an  awful 
ham".  .  .  .  Breneman  was  impressed  by  the 
sets,  one  an  authentic  reproduction  of  his 
restaurant,  and  the  other  a  $5,000  office.  He 
doesn't  actually  have  an  office,  uses  a  top 
drawer  in  the  desk  of  somebody  else's  re- 
ceptionist. . . .  Because  the  film  specializes  in 
crazy  hats,  Hedda  Hopper  was  given  a  role 
in  the  picture  to  utilize  her  reputation  for 
whacky  headgear.  .  .  .  Andy  Russell  sings 
"Amour,"  "Magic  in  the  Moonlight"  and  a 
new  song,  "If  I  Had  a  Wishing  Ring."  Slight- 
ly chubby  at  the  time  the  film  started  shoot- 
ing, Andy  was  ordered  to  lose  fifteen 
pounds,  had  to  go  through  a  Sinatrizing 
process.  .  .  .The  film  was  a  windfall  for  the 


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town's  elderly  female  extras.  Because  of 
the  need  for  actresses  to  portray  Brene- 
man's  restaurant  audience,  more  than  200 
of  the  more  aged  extras  found  themselves 
with  three  weeks  of  solid  work. 

FROM  THIS  DAY 
FORWARD 

This  is  a  story  about  a  boy  and  girl  who 
fall  in  love  and  get  married.  It's  the  sort 
of  thing  that's  happening  every  day,  and 
that's  what  makes  it  real  and  beautiful. 
Joan  Fontaine  is  wistfully  lovely  as  the 
young  wife,  and  Marc  Stevens  will  charm 
you  with  his  portrayal  of  the  husband. 
They're  bewildered  and  a  little  frightened 
by  life,  but  they're  willing  to  take  a  chance. 

If  they  weren't,  Susan  (Joan  Fontaine) 
and  Peter  (Marc  Stevens)  wouldn't  get 
married.  Peter  is  only  making  twenty  dol- 
lars a  week,  and  even  in  1937  that  doesn't 
take  you  far.  But  Susan  has  a  job  too,  in 
a  bookstore,  and  between  them  they  can 
certainly  make  enough  to  get  along  on. 
Can't  they?  Can't  they?  Susan's  older 
sister,  Martha  (Rosemary  De  Camp)  tries 
to  discourage  them.  "Listen,  you've  got  a  job 
and  a  room  at  the  Y.W.,  and  while  it  may 
not  be  exciting,  you  could  be  worse  off. 
Leave  it  at  that  for  a  while."  Martha  is 
married  and  has  two  children  and  her 
husband's  out  of  a  job.  She  knows  what 
she's  talking  about. 

Susan  marries  Peter,  anyway.  They  don't 
have  a  honeymoon  because  they  can't 
leave  their  jobs,  but  they  have  a  one  room 
and  kitchenette  apartment  where  Susan 
fixes  breakfast.  They  have  a  big  armchair 
where  Peter  can  sit  and  hold  her  on  his 
lap  in  the  evening.  They  have  everything! 
Then  Peter  loses  his  job,  and  there  don't 
seem  to  be  any  others.  Susan  goes  on 
working  at  the  bookstore  while  he  stays 
home  and  does  the  housework,  which  he 
loathes.  One  evening  Susan  comes  home 
with  good  news.  The  owner  of  the  book- 
store has  written  a  book.  He  has  seen  some 
of  the  art  work  Peter  does  for  a  hobby  and 
he  wants  him  to  illustrate  the  book.  He 
has  sent  fifty  dollars  to  clinch  the  bargain. 
Peter  takes  off  his  apron,  turns  off  the  gas 
under  the  beans  (which  are  burned,  any- 
way), and  takes  his  wife  out  to  dinner.  He 
doesn't  know  the  mess  that  fifty  dollars  is 
going  to  get  him  into.  Oh,  Peter  and  Susan 
have  a  tough  time,  all  right.  But  are  they 
sorry  they  got  married?  See  the  picture 
and  you'll  know  the  answer. — RKO 

P.  S. 

Some  studio  in  Hollywood  once  took  a 
poll  on  the  subject  of  titles,  and  among  the 
facts  gleaned  was  the  information  that  peo- 
ple do  not  flock  to  see  a  movie  with  mar- 
riage mentioned  in  its  title.  The  industry 
has  never  been  able  to  understand  why, 
because  the  biggest  money  makers  among 
films  have  been  those  dealing  with  mar- 
riage. "From  This  Day  Forward"  was 
originally  titled  "All  Brides  Are  Beautiful," 
from  the  novel  of  the  same  name,  but  cour- 
age failed  in  the  Title  Department  and  they 
changed  it  to  a  monicker  that  smacked 
only  slightly  of  marriage  but  didn't  hit 
movie-goers  in  the  face  with  it.  .  .  .  Mark 
Stevens,  who  is  being  hailed  as  the  new- 
est sensation  on  the  screen,  has  his  first 
important  role  in  the  picture,  that  of 
male  lead  opposite  Joan  Fontaine.  Mark 
worked  in  the  film  with  tongxie  in  cheek, 
because  after  floundering  around  Holly- 
wood for  a  long  time  and  suffering  dropped 
options  from  several  studios,  including 
RKO,  he  decided  to  free  lance  and  was 
almost  immediately  called  back  by  RKO 
for  the  lead  in  the  picture.  .  .  .  Of  the 
definite  opinion  that  makeup  is  a  sissy 
business,  Mark  refused  to  have  any  applied 
to  his  face.  Then  he  saw  the  rushes  and 
realized  that  he  looked  slightly  embalmed. 
The  makeup  man  had  better  success  the 
following  morning. 


DEADLINE  AT  DAWN 

You're  a  sailor  on  furlough  in  New  York, 
and  a  girl  manoeuvers  you  into  a  crap 
game  with  her  brother.  The  game  turns 
out  to  be  crooked,  and  you've  been  drink- 
ing a  lot,  and  you  lose  your  temper.  You 
draw  a  blank  for  a  while,  and  the  next 
thing  you  know,  you're  walking  along  the 
street  with  a  portable  radio  in  one  hand 
and  a  wad  of  dough  in  the  other.  Neither 
of  which  belongs  to  you. 

It's  a  bit  worrying,  especially  when  you're 
young  and  serious  minded  like  Alex  (Bill 
Williams).  Has  he  stolen  the  money? 
Should  he  go  back  and  see  Edna  and  her 
brother,  Romano  (Joseph  Calleia),  and 
find  out  what  it's  all  about?  Or  should  he 
just  hop  the  next  bus  back  to  the  base  at 
Norfolk?  While  he's  trying  to  decide,  he 
wanders  in  to  a  dime-a-dance  joint  and 
meets  June  (Susan  Hayward).  She's  sorry 
for  this  bewildered  kid,  and  against  her 
better  judgment  finally  goes  with  him  to 
Edna's  place  to  return  the  money. 

But  Edna  is  dead.  She's  lying  there  on 
the  floor,  and  she  isn't  beautiful  any  more. 
Not  beautiful  at  all,  because  she's  been 
strangled.  Alex'  first  thought,  naturally,  is 
that  he  did  it  himself.  But  June  doesn't 
believe  that,  and  neither  does  he,  really. 
He  has  a  feeling  he  would  have  known  if 
he  had  done  a  Sling  like  that. 

By  morning  someone  will  have  notified 
the  police.  And  Romano  will  say  he  went 
away  and  left  Alex  with  his  sister  and  she 
was  alive  then.  Maybe  Alex  will  be  con- 
victed of  the  murder.  Unless,  that  is,  he 
and  June  can  find  the  murderer  themselves 
between  now  and  the  deadline  at  dawn. 
There  are  a  couple  of  clues.  A  lipstick, 
and  a  white  carnation.  The  lipstick  leads 
them  eventually  to  a  frightened  blonde, 
and  the  carnation  turns  out  to  be  the 
property  of  a  blind  piano  player  named 
Sleepy.  There  are  other  people,  too,  whom 
Edna  has  been  blackmailing.  Is  one  of  them 
the  murderer?  By  now  Alex  and  June 
aren't  sure  of  anything.  They've  found  a 
philosophical  taxi  driver  named  Gus  (Paul 
Lukas)  who  helps  them  in  their  search. 
But  can  they  find  the  murderer — by  dawn? 

This  is  an  unusual  picture,  with  an  un- 
usual characterization  by  Paul  Lukas. — 
RKO 

P.  S. 

Production  was  so  rushed  that  cast  and 
crew  often  worked  at  night.  Because  scenes 
were  laid  in  Manhattan,  on  a  supposedly 
torrid  evening,  stars  drank  ice  water  every 
few  minutes  to  cool  their  breath  and  keep 
it  from  vaporizing  in  front  of  cameras.  .  .  . 
Portraying  a  cripple,  Osa  Massen  was  afraid 
she  would  forget  to  limp,  finally  solved  the 
problem  by  wearing  a  pebble  in  her  shoe 
throughout  entire  production.  ...  In  one 
scene,  Bill  Williams  was  required  to  chew 
peanuts  as  he  talked  to  Susan  Hayward. 
During  rehearsals,  Susan  seemed  to  be- 
come more  and  more  nervous.  "What's  the 
matter?"  the  director  asked  her.  "It's  my 
silly  phobia,"  explained  Susan.  "I  can't 
stand  to  hear  anyone  chew  peanuts  or 
taffy."  "How  about  bananas?"  suggested 
director  Clurman.  It  turned  out  that  Susan 
has  a  great  affinity  for  bananas,  and  ate 
one  in  the  scene  along  with  Bill.  It  took 
a  bit  of  timing  to  synchronize  their  eating 
so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  dialogue. 
.  .  .  Strangest  sign  of  all  time  to  appear 
on  a  set  was  the  one  reading  "Keep  Off  the 
Shadows."  Shooting  Bill  and  Susan  on  a 
moonlit  New  York  street,  the  cameraman 
had  their  shadows  painted  on  the  sidewalk, 
was  terrified  that  somebody  would  walk 
on  the  fresh  paint  and  delay  production. 
...  A  photographer  before  she  became  an 
actress,  Osa  Massen  became  very  friendly 
with  Susan  Hayward,  and  while  working 
in  "Deadline  at  Dawn"  started  making  a 
weekly  photographic  record  of  Susan's 
twins.  .  .  .  Bill  Williams,  who  never  wears 
(Continued  on  page  26) 


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LEAVE  HER  TO  HEAVEN 

By  Ben  Ames  Williams 

THE  EIGHTH  DEADLY  SIX!  What 
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CAPTAIN  FROM  CASTILE 

By  Samuel  Shellabarger 

THET  COEXD  DOTE  "WITHOUT 
RESTRAINT  —  BUT  MARRIAGE 
WOULD  HAVE  BEEX  SCANDAL- 
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l^GREEN  DOLPHIN  STREET 

15*  By  Elizabeth  Goudge 


AND 
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SHORT  STORIES  OF 

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By  Charlotte  Bronte 

"WHAT    TERRIBLE  SECRET 
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■  Cold,  huh?  Well  if  the  weather's  got  you  feeling  slightly  on  ice, 
how  about  picking  up  a  fireplace  somewhere  and  winding  yourself 
around  some  nice  hot  music?  Strictly  the  life.  Only  hey,  wait  a 
minute.  You're  not  supposed  to  go  looking  for  that  fireplace  setup 
just  yet.  Not  until  I  give  you  The  Word  about  a  few  things  to  go  with 
it.  The  two  very  best  records  of  the  month,  for  instance.  One  sweet, 
one  hot,  and  both  worth  your  hard-earned  dough.  For  sweet,  I'll  give 
you  "Just  a-Sittin'  and  a-Rockin' "- — the  Stan  Kenton-June  Christy 
version  (with  "Artistry  Jumps,"  on  Capitol)  and  for  hot,  take  "Jivin' 
Joe  Jackson,"  coupled  with  "Queer  Street,"  by  Count 

  .._  .  Basie  on  Columbia.  So  that's  that.  Now  for  the  usual 

records  (don't  forget  the  complete  list  at  the  end  of 
the  article  for  easy  clipping  and  carrying)  arranged 
with  the  sweet  choices  first,  hot  next,  and  albums 
trailing  merrily. 


BEST  POPULAR 

As  Long  As  I  Live — Johnny  Johnston  (Capitol)  — 
This  is  the  song  from  "Saratoga  Trunk,"  and  not  the 
original  "As  Long  As  I  Live"  which  everybody  knows. 
It's  one  of  several  recent  songs  that  are  title  dupli- 
cations. For  instance,  there's  a  number  out  now  called 
"Blue,"  probably  the  thirty-nine  thousand  and  six- 
teenth with  that  label.  Popular  Mr.  Johnston  sings 
"One  More  Dream"  on  the  other  side  of  "As  Long  As 
I  Live,"  and  he's  aided  by  the  vocal  group  known  as 
The  Satisfiers.  From  the  cigarette  of  the  same  faculty. 


Come  To  Baby,  Do — Les  Brown  (Columbia),  King 
Cole  Trio  (Capitol) — This  is  the  first  time  I've  ever 

,        ,  .,         mentioned  a  number  three  months  in  a  row.  But  these 

trord    fc>l  Jo. 

two  new  versions  are  so  good  I  had  to  let  you  know. 

A  lot  of  successful  tunes  have  been  written  by  taking 
a  line  out  of  another  popular  tune,  and  building  a  new  song  around 
it.  "Come  to  Baby"  is  a  switch  on  that  line  out  of  "Embraceable 
You."  I  think  it  goes,  "Come  to  papa,  come  to  papa,  do — "  Anyhow, 
the  other  side  of  the  King  Cole  recording  is  "Frim  Fram."  And  in 
case  you  read  that  line  in  a  New  York  column  about  how  "those  in 
the  know  are  laughing  at  the  way  Trim  Fram'  got  past  the  radio 
censors,"  you  can  relax.  It's  a  lot  of  eyewash.  The  line  that's  causing 
all  the  commotion  goes:  I  want  some  frim  (Continued  on  page  78) 


Jerome  ^er  0&t 
\   W  Do  I/£     3xan;  MaJ 


or  3lan  Rue  ^  latest 
body  hloli:-.i  32. oO. 


bV  AL  U         and  his  Or- 

M  G^^fb  chorus  and 

Face  By  H^'  W.  bmaxt 
Set  Album 


Hear  the  top  RCA  Victor  artists  in  their  latest  hits— 
at  your  dealer's...  on  the  radio.  ..on  juke  boxes 

Eddy  Arnold  «  Bill  Boyd  •  Elton  Britt  •  Perry  Corrto  •  Johnny  Desmond 
Tommy  Dorsey  •  Duke  Ellington  •  The  Ginger  Snaps  »Al  Goodman  •  Erskine 
Hawkins  •  Lena  Home  «  Spike  Jones  »  Sammy  Kaye  •  Wayne  King  «  Freddy 
Martin  •  Vaughn  3fonroe  «  Roy  Rogers  •  David  Rose  •  Dinah  Shore 
Sons  of  the  Pioneers  •  Charlie  Spivak  *  Martha  Stewart  *r  Billy  Williams 

Listen  to  The  RCA  Victor  Show,  Stmdcys,  4:30  p.m..  Eastern  Tirrre,  NBC 
Rcdio  Corporation  of  America,  RCA  Victor  Division,  Camden,  N.  j. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  ARTISTS  ARE  OX 


Prices  are  suggested  list 
prices  exclusive  of  taxes 


^  RCA^CTOR  RECORDS 


25 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  20) 


a  hat  off-screen  and  is  continually  mis- 
placing the  Navy  cap  he  wears  in  the  film, 
collects  hats  as  a  hobby.  He  owns  every- 
thing from  a  cockney's  headgear  to  toppers 
worn  by  South  Pacific  natives. 

THE  SEVENTH  VEIL 

Don't  be  deceived  by  the  title.  This  Eng- 
lish picture  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  Salome.  The  only  strip  tease  in  it  is 
a  mental  one,  whereby  a  neurotic  patient's 
mind  is  finally  unveiled  to  a  psychiatrist. 
The  patient  is  lovely  Francesca  Cunning- 
ham (Ann  Todd),  who  has  been  one  of 
England's  really  great  concert  pianists.  She 
is  now  confined  to  a  mental  hospital,  with 
the  delusion  that  her  hands  are  injured  so 
she  can  no  longer  play. 

The  reasons  for  this  delusion  go  back  a 
long  way.  They  begin  with  Francesca  in 
boarding  school.  One  time  the  head  mis- 
tress caned  her  for  being  late  to  classes, 
and  her  fingers  swelled  so  that  she  failed 
in  an  examination  for  a  musical  scholarship. 
Afterward  she  leaves  school  and  goes  to 
live  with  her  Uncle  Nicholas  (James 
Mason),  who  is  not  her  uncle  at  all,  but  a 
distant  cousin.  He  is  an  intensely  domi- 
neering person,  but  attractive  in  a  curious 
way.  He's  a  cripple,  and  his  life  has  been 
unhappy.  When  he  discovers  Francesca's 
talent  for  the  piano,  he  sends  her  to  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Music.  He  has  decided 
to  make  her  a  concert  pianist,  and  when 
Nicholas  decides  something,  it's  as  good 
as  done. 

The  next  seven  years  are  extraordinary 
ones  for  the  shy  girl.  She  falls  in  love 
with  a  young  man,  Peter  (Hugh  McDer- 
mott) ,  an  American  bandleader  working  his 
way  through  the  Academy,  but  Nicholas 
promrtly  whisks  her  off  to  Paris  to  con- 
tinue her  studies.  Francesca  is  heart- 
broken, and  she  throws  herself  completely 
into  her  music,  which  is  what  Nicholas 
wants.  She  becomes  a  great  pianist,  and 
yet  she  is  always  under  Nicholas'  domi- 
nation, and  always  unhappy.  When  after 
many  years  they  return  to  London,  she 
looks  for  Peter,  but  it  is  too  late. 

Another  man  comes  into  her  life  then. 
He  is  Max  Leyden  (Albert  Lieven),  a 
famous  artist.  Nicholas  asks  him  to  paint 
Francesca's  picture,  and  that  leads  to  the 
series  of  events  which  land  her  in  the 
mental  hospital  .  .  .  and,  eventually,  get 
her  out  again. 

The  musical  score  of  "The  Seventh  Veil" 
is  beautifully  played  by  the  London  Sym- 
phony Orchestra.  Make  a  special  effort  to 
see  this,  it  is  a  truly  superb  picture — Univ. 

P.  S. 

London  audiences  and  critics  have  gone 
balmy  over  the  film,  maintaining  it  is  one 
of  the  few  that  pay  a  compliment  to  the 
intelligence  and  imagination  of  the  audi- 
ence .  .  .  Ann  Todd,  who  paints  in  oils  as  a 
hobby,  is  the  mother  of  two  children, 
David,  aged  9  and  Francesca,  5.  She  bor- 
rowed the  name  of  her  daughter  to  use 
as  her  character  name  in  the  film.  .  .  . 
Hugh  McDermott,  who  plays  Peter,  has 
portrayed  an  American  in  several  English 
stage  productions.  During  the  war,  his 
dressing  room  was  often  swamped  by  GIs 
who  thought  him  an  American.  He  hated 
to  tell  them  that  he  really  is  from  Edin- 
burgh. .  .  .  For  the  hypnotic  sequences,  an 
American  major  in  the  medical  corps  was 
employed  as  technical  director. 

BECAUSE  OF  HIM 

In  "Because  Of  Him"  Charles  Laughton 
plays  a  great  actor  who,  like  most  great 


actors,  is  also  a  bit  of  a  ham.  Type  casting 
they  call  that.  Deanna  Durbin  is  the  young 
girl  who  comes  to  New  York  to  get  on 
the  stage.  Franchot  Tone  plays  the  other 
reason  young  girls  come  to  New  York. 

Kim  Walker  (Deanna  Durbin)  has  been 
trying  for  some  time  to  get  an  autograph 
from  the  great  theater  idol,  John  Sheridan 
(Charles  Laughton).  But  it  can't  be  just 
any  old  autograph — she  wants  it  on  a 
special  piece  of  paper.  In  fact,  what  Kim 
is  up  to  is  to  get  Sheridan's  signature  to  a 
letter.  She  gets  it  the  night  he  leaves  on 
a  fishing  trip,  and  Sheridan  goes  off  peace- 
fully, not  knowing  he  has  just  signed  a 
glowing  testimonial  to  Kim's  ability  as  an 
actress. 

Armed  with  the  letter,  she  goes  next  day 
to  Sheridan's  manager,  Gilbert.  On  the 
way  to  his  office,  she  brushes  off  a  hand- 
some but  wolfish  young  man  who  tries  to 
pick  her  up.  It  is  definitely  disconcerting 
to  find  the  same  man  in  Gilbert's  office 
when  she  gets  there.  He  is  Paul  Taylor 
(Franchot  Tone)  the  author  of  Sheridan's 
next  play.  He  revenges  himself  for  the 
brush-off  by  insinuating  that  it  is  Kim's 
looks  rather  than  her  acting  ability  Sheri- 
dan has  been  interested  in.  But  Gilbert  is 
sure  that  the  great  man  intends  to  have 
Kim  play  opposite  him  in  the  new  play. 
He  gives  a  big  party  for  her  at  Sheridan's 
apartment,  and  not  only  announces  her  as 
the  new  leading  lady,  but  conveys  the  im- 
pression that  there  is  a  romance  between 
her  and  Sheridan. 

Kim  is  bewildered  by  the  way  the  situ- 
ation has  gotten  out  of  hand.  When  Sheri- 
dan returns  unexpectedly  in  the  middle 
of  the  party,  she  can't  think  of  anything 
to  do  except  faint,  Sheridan  takes  her  in 
the  other  room,  lectures  her  severely  on 
her  attempt  to  impose  on  him,  and  adds 
that  it  was  a  damned  bad  faint.  Kim  re- 
sents this  criticism  of  her  acting  ability  so 
much  that  later  she  stages  a  fake  suicide 
attempt.  This  leads  to  more  complications, 
while  Paul  simmers  quietly  in  the  back- 
ground. Eventually,  I  hasten  to  add,  love 
conquers  all. — Univ. 

P.  S. 

Directors  believe  that  one  of  Deanna 
Durbin's  best  "camera  angles"  is  her  walk- 
ing. They  gave  her  long  walking  scenes  in 
"His  Butler's  Sister"  and  "Can't  Help  Sing- 
ing." In  "Because  of  Him,"  Director  Rich- 
ard Wallace  strolled  her  arm  in  arm  with 
Charles  Laughton  down  320  feet  of  a  New 
York  Street.  Just  in  case  you  notice  in 
future  Durbin  pictures  that  she  is  going 
in  more  and  more  for  hiking,  you'll  know 
the  reason  why.  .  .  .  When  a  "Cyrano  de 
Bergerac"  nose  was  needed  for  Laugh- 
ton, property  men  went  into  a  twitch.  The 
size  of  the  famed  man's  nose  has  long  been 
a  subject  of  controversy  in  the  theater 
world.  Makeup  man  Jack  Pierce  finally 
settled  the  issue  by  making  a  rubber  snoot 
two  and  one-half  inches  long  at  the  base 
and  three-quarters  of  an  inch  wide,  curved 
to  fit  the  Laughton  features.  ...  It  seems 
Franchot  Tone's  offspring  always  arrive 
while  he  is  working  in  a  picture  with 
Deanna.  His  first  son  was  born  during  the 
shooting  of  "His  Butler's  Sister,"  the  sec- 
ond arrived  smack  in  the  middle  of  "Be- 
cause of  Him."  .  .  .  Required  to  portray 
waitresses  in  the  film,  Deanna  and  Helen 
Broderick  learned  the  tricks  of  the 
trade  from  a  studio  commissary  vet- 
eran with  eighteen  years  of  experience. 
,  .  .  The  famous  oyster  bar  in  Grand 
Central  Station  was  authentically  du- 
plicated as  a  set  for  the  film.  The  only  dif- 
ference was  that  the  snialler  oysters  of  the 
type  available  on  the  West  coast  were  used. 


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Address    

City.,,  


■1U 


One  look  at  Glendora  Donaldson's 
sparkling  beauty  and  you  know  she's  a  fa- 
mous model. 

And  her  cuddly  daughter,  Linda,  is 
giving  Glennie  plenty  of  competition.  Who 
could  choose  between  two 
such  perfect  complexions? 

"We  share  a  family 
beauty  secret,"  Glennie  says. 
"It's  Ivory  care!  I  learned 
about  pure,  mild  Ivory  in 
my  bathinette  and  it's  still 
my  beauty  soap  today!" 


Being  a  Navy  wife,  mother  and  famous 
model,  isn't  enough  for  Glennie's  many  talents 
— she  makes  her  own  clothes,  too!  This  tricky 
playsuit  is  her  own  idea. 

"Nice  clothes  aren't  all  that  count  in  model- 
ing," Glennie  says.  "A  fresh,  radiant  complexion 
is  the  most  important  asset  of  all — I  call  it  that 
Ivory  Look!" 


Glennie  is  also  an  artist  with  an 
eye  for  beauty.  "Real  beauty  starts 
with  a  lovely  complexion,"  she  says. 

"Models  can't  afford  to  be  care- 
less about  skin  care.  I'd  advise  any- 
one who  wants  to  look  her  loveliest 
to  remember  that." 


w 


ML 


IVORY 


-Ax* 


Change  to  regular,  gentle  cleansings  with 
pure,  mild  Ivory — Glennie's  beauty  soap — the 
soap  doctors  advise.  You  can  have  softer, 
smoother,  lovelier  skin — that  Ivory  Look! 


Don't  be  a  soap  waster — Ivory  contains  scarce  materials — make  it  last! 


^^^^  ^&*v 


n 


■  Some  time  when  you're  in  a  dreamy  mood,  treat  yourself  to 
a  good  look  at  Frankie  Boy.  And  tell  me  if  you  don't  get  a 
strange  feeling  that  maybe  the  guy  is  all  soul.  It  happens  to 
me  so  often,  I  just  thought  Fd  ask  around  to  make  sure  I'm 
not  losing  my  grip. 

I  remember  long,  long  ago,  the  first  time  I  heard  Frankie 
sing.  It  was  a  number  called  "I'll  Never  Smile  Again."  I  re- 
member thinking,  "He  isn't  just  singing  that  number."  And  a 
million  volts  of  lightning  ran  down  my  spine. 

Then  recently  George  Evans  asked  me  down  to  hear  Frank 
talk  at  a  high  school.  A  simple  talk.  Frank  was  telling  the 
kids  about  a  fight  he'd  had  back  in  his  Hoboken  days.  He 
and  his  dad  and  a  small  task  force  of  their  buddies  had  knocked 
out  a  meeting  of  hooded  Ku  Klux  Klansmen. 

Frank  told  the  kids  what  the  Klan  does  to  make  Americans 
hate  other  Americans.  Then  he  warned  them  that  the  enemy 
isn't  always  a  jerk  hiding  out  in  a  hood.  Sometimes,  the  enemy 
is  hiding  in  your  own  heart! 

It  was  a  simple  talk.   But  once  again  the  lightning  struck. 
Frankie  the  fighter.  130-odd  pounds  of  bone  and  guts  and 
soul  challenging  half  a  world  of  intolerance.  A  sweet 
guy  who  makes  a  million  dollars  a  year  .  .  .  talk- 
ing about  an  ideal.   Men  who  make  that  kind 
of  money  like  to  save  their  ideals  for  their  old  age. 

I  got  the  feeling  then  and  there  that  Frank  Sinatra 
was  the  bravest  man  Fd  ever  known.  Better  still,  I  discovered 
that  there  are  lots  of  folks  who  think  about  Frankie  the  way 
I  do.  And  so  for  this  issue,  the  great  radio  writer,  Norman 
Corwin,  has  written  him  a  ringing  tribute.  And  our  own 
Virginia  Wilson  has  written  the  finest  Sinatra  story  ever  printed 
in  any  magazine! 

A  word  of  warning.  As  you  read,  look  out  for  the 
lightning. 


"I  WOULDN'T  WALK  20  YARDS  TO  SEE  ANY  MAN— NOT  EVEN  PETE," 

CHUCKLED  LADY  LAWFORD.    GRINNED  THE  GIRL.  "YOU'RE  NOT 
15— AND  I'M  NOT  HIS  MOTHER!"     •    BY  IDA  ZEITLIN 

Pete  himself  christened  one  of  his  fan  clubs  "The  PL's" — was  so  thrilled  when  Mom  and  Dad  wrote  in  for  charter  membership. 


Still  impressed  with  husband  Sir.  Sidney's  excitement  at  his  excursion  into  the 
"theatuh"  (remember  him  in  "Kitty"?),  Lady  May  pooh-poohs  rumors  of  her  film 
debut.  "Two  actors  in  the  family  are  plenty,"  she  smile.s.  "I'd  sit  by  and  enjoy  them.' 


■  Three  times  in  six  months,  the  Law- 
fords  have  had  their  unlisted  phone 
number  changed.  It  doesn't  seem  to* 
help  much.  Two  days  after  the  last 
change,  a  treble  voice  on  the  wire 
inquired  for  Pete.  By  the  Pete,  Lad) 
Lawford  knows  them.  No  bobby- 
socker  would  be  caught  dead  calling 
him  Peter.  As  one  youngster  de- 
manded:  "Why  be  formal  at  our 

"Peter's  not  in,"  Lady  Lawford 
said.  "Would  you  like  to  leave  a 
message? 

"No  thanks,  he  wouldn't  know  me 
from  Adam.  I'm  just  an  ardent 
fan — " 

"Well,  I'm  Peter's  mother  and  I 
wonder  if  you'd  tell  me  something. 
How  did  you  ever  manage  to  get  this 
number?" 

"From  the  black  market  at  school. 
You  can  (Continued  on  page  109 1 


As  a  rule,  Pete  can't  be  bothered  with  primping — can't  sit  still  that 
long.  Even  has  to  steal  time  from  his  athletics  and  socializing 
to  gorge  on  scripts — any  scripts — "so  I  can  get  the  feel  of  them." 


Along  with  slang  and  jive,  Pete's  picked  up  our  passion  for  camera'ing. 
Was  dubbed  "hero"  recently  when  he  invited  Nora  Flynn  to  his  table, 
got  her  out  of  range  of  some  gents  fiddling  with  a  gun — that  went  off! 


31 


■  The  Swedish  housewife,  red-faced,  shook  her  fists 
and  advanced  on  the  husky  kid  rubbing  his  ripped 
knee  pants  and  ruefully  fingering  the  bent  spoke  of 
his  bike  wheel. 

"Now  you've  done  it!"  she  shrieked.  "You've 
gone  and  killed  my  husband,  Nels!" 

The  boy  gulped  miserably.  A  few  seconds  before 
he'd  come  kiting  down  the  street  lickety  split,  the 
wind  biting  his  pink  cheeks,  his  pale  blue  eyes 
glistening.  He  hadn't  seen  the  man  who  stepped  off 
the  sidewalk  and  the  man  hadn't  seen  him.  They'd 
connected  with  a  belly  busting  bump  that  sent  him 
flying  over  the  handle-bars  and  the  man  skidding, 
head  over  heels.  He  lay  in  a  very  undignified  posi- 
tion by  the  curb,  gasping  for  air  like  a  stranded 
catfish,  and  he  was  one  of  Prentice,  Wisconsin's, 
leading  merchants. 

"I'm  sorry,"  blurted  the  kid,  "I  didn't  mean—" 

"You're  sorry,"  mocked  the  boiling  woman.  "You 
didn't  mean!  You  did  too  mean.  You're  always  up 
to  something.  Stanley  Morner — you're  the  worst  boy 
in  this  town!" 

"Tuffy"  Morner  scraped  his  toe  in  the  gravel  and 
sighed.    His  folks  would  hear  about  this,  as  they 


During  his  Prentice,  Wisconsin,  high  school  days,  he  started 
playing  basketball,  combing  his  hbir,  letting  his  nails  grow — 
and  dating. 'Met  Lillian  as  a  senior,  married  her  8  years  later. 


"And  unto  the  fourth  generation.  .  .  ."  Four-year-old  Dennis 
(at  that  time,  "Stanley,")  with  great-grandmother,  Mrs.  Rob- 
bins,  Mrs.  F.  Morner,  his  mother,  and  grandmother  Van  Dusen. 


Already  expert  at  skiing  and  hunting,  Dennis  fast  became  "The 
Compleat  Angler;"  at  I  I  had  already  caught  a  28-lb.  fish. 
Here    he's    "proud   fisherman'ing"   with    his    pal,    Ben  Wing. 


At  36,  Dennis  is  starring  in  "The  Time,  The  Place  and  The 
Girl."  At  3,  sister  Dorothy  was  the  only  female  he'd  grin  at. 
Morners  had  another  son,  Kenneth,  who  died  at  Dennis'  birth. 


D.  started  his  rat-tat-tat  style  of  speech  during  this  "cowboys  and 
Indians"  phase.  His  horse,  "Strawberry,"  just  died,  after  having 
thrown,  in  3  years,  the  boss,  son  Stanley  and  pal  Johnny  Mitchell. 


First  time  his  music  teacher  heard  him  sing,  she  wept.  Later 
started  sneaking  in  voice  lessons  with  his  piano  practice.  At 
23  he  was  announcing  for  Milwaukee  radio  station  WLMJ. 


dennis 
morgan 


"Tuffy,"  they  called  him,,  and  he 

lived  up  to  it,  even  bicycling  right  over  the 
town's    leading    merchant!      (Life   Story,    Part  I) 

By  Kirtley  Baskette 


33 


had  heard  about  so  many  other  things.  It  wasn't  true 
that  he  had  killed  Nels,  of  course.  Nels  disproved  that 
the  minute  he  got  his  wind  back  by  joining  in  bawling 
him  out  with  a  vigor  that  showed  he  was  little  the  worse 
for  the  crash.  It  wasn't  true  either,  Tuffy  reasoned 
honestly,  that  he  was  the  worst  kid  in  town.  Things  just 
seemed  to  happen  when  he  felt  particularly  full  of  beans, 
which  was  practically  all  of  the  time. 

Always  up  to  something,  that  was  "Tuff"  Morner. 
The  first  kid,  if  he  could  run  fast  enough,  to  smash  the 
glass  and  blow  the  siren  when  somebody  yelled  "Fire!" 
First  to  grab  the  handles  of  the  hose  trailer  and  help 
the  shouting,  sweating  men  haul  it  the  night  the  bank 
burned  down.  A  busy  kid,  "Tuffy."  Youngest  trombone 
player  in  the  city  band,  the  boy  tenor  star  of  practically 


every  get-together  and  bang-up  event  in  Southern  Price 
county.  The  smallest  hunter  to  get  his  deer  and  haul 
a  giant  muskellunge  out  of  the  Jump.  The  busiest  and 
best  young  actor  in  town,  too,  and  so  advanced  about  it 
that  they  had  to  co-star  the  principal's  wife  with  him  in 
the  school  graduation  play  to  make  it  look  even. 

Maybe  a  good  part  of  the  reason  that  "Tuffy"  Morner, 
whose  folks  called  him  Stanley,  grew  up  to  become 
Dennis  Morgan,  Hollywood's  golden-voiced  star  and 
Prentice's  pride,  is  because  he  kept  "up  to  something"  all 
along  the  way.  Through  athletics,  acting,  debate,  music 
and  culture  in  high  school  and  in  college.  And  after- 
wards, refusing  to  settle  for  a  steady,  secure  business 
life,  through  Chautauqua,  radio,  night  clubs,  concerts, 
opera — through  the  build-ups  (Continued  on  page  89  i 


dermis 
morgan 


Co-star  Martha  Viclcers  finally  caught  D.'s  bug  for  the 
outdoors.  He  once  crept  into  sis  Dot's  room,  made  her 
jump  from  porch  roof  into  snow — while  she  had  measles! 


Jim  promises  to  inherit  Dad's  hatred  of  dress-up,  is  old  enough  to  giggle  at  the 
old  story  of  how  young  Dennis,  forced  into  a  Palm  Beach  suit,  once  walked  a 
block  to  a   berry  bush,  squatted  in  it  until  the  suit  was  suitably  stained. 


Kodaehrome  by  Willinger 


HE'S  HEDDA  HOPPER'S  CHOICE  FOR  THE   "STAR  OF  THE  MONTH," 
IS  JOHNNY  COY— THE  LAD  WITH  THE  DANCING  FEET,  THE  LIGHT  HEART  .  .  . 

AND  A  BUSMAN'S  HOLIDAY-HABIT  OF  PERFORMING  AT  PARTIES! 


JOHNNY  COY! 


Johnny,  soon  in  "Ladies'  Man,"  looks  Coy  as  Hedda  Hopper  awards 
him  his  splendid  Gruen  Watch.  John,  who  "discovered"  Lucille  Bremer, 
has    fan    clubs    aalore,    although    he's    only    appeared    in    3  pics. 


EDDA  HOPPER 


■  Fred  Astaire  said.  "Excuse  me  a  minute. 
Hedda,"  and  stepped  across  the  stage  to  where 
a  wiry  young  man  stood  watching  the  dance 
rehearsal  with  worshipping  eyes — for  all  the 
world  like  a  red  hot  fan. 

I  was  studio  set-hopping  that  day  and  I'd 
headed  straight  for  Fred's  "Blue  Skies"  set  at 
Paramount.  For  one,  because  there's  nothing 
that  perks  me  up  like  a  look  at  flying  feet — espe- 
cially Fred  Astaire's  flying  feet — and  for  two. 
because  I  knew  this  was  Astaire's  swan  dance, 
the  last  toe  symphony  that  great  dancing  star 
would  tap  out  for  the  movies  before  he  retired. 

That's  how  I  happened  to  see  and  hear  what 
I  did. 

Fred  smiled  and  stuck  out  his  hand.  "You're 
Johnny  Coy,  the  dancer,  aren't  you?" 

The  young  guy  bobbed  his  rumpled  head  and 
gave  a  grin  that  lit  up  the  set  like  a  row  of 
arcs.  "Yes  sir,  Mister  Astaire,"  he  said,  just 
as  if  he  were  talking  to  the  President  of  the 
United  States. 

"I've  seen  your  pictures  and  I  like  your 
work,"  Fred  told  him,  "and  from  my  experi- 
ence, let  me  say  you're  going  to  be  around 
Hollywood  for  a  long,  long  time!" 

I  moved  in  like  Gang  Busters  then,  eaves- 
dropping all  over  the  place.  This  I  wouldn't 
want  to  miss,  for  a  lot  of  reasons. 

"Gee,  thanks,"  I  heard  Johnny  Coy  stammer. 
"I  never  dreamed  this  would  ever  happen  to 
me.  Mister  Astaire,  you've  been  my  idol  ever 
since  I  was  a  kid!" 

"Thank  you,"  smiled  Fred.  "Look — would 
you  like  to  see  my  routine?" 

"Would  I!" 

He  took  the  time  right  there,  did  Fred,  to 
run  through  his  whole  (Continued  on  page  100) 


36 


'HI,  CHARLIE,"  SAYS  HUMPHREY  TO 


Kodachrome  by  Willinger  >■ 


LAUREN.   OR  "BUTCH."    OR  "SLIM."    BUT  THE  LOOK 
IN  HIS  EYES  SAYS,  "HELLO,  DARLING." 


■  The  most  exclamatory  news  about 
Betty  and  Humphrey  Bogart  is  that 
they  have  bought  "The  Santana,"  a 
53-foot  yawl  with  an  illustrious  past 
and  a  promising  future.  The  Bogarts 
are  selling  their  35-foot  cabin  cruiser, 
which  was  satisfactory  for  jaunting  to 
Catalina,  but  which  couldn't  compete 
with  "'The  Santana"  in,  say,  the  soon- 
to-be-revived  annual  race  to  Honolulu. 

"The  Santana's"  previous  roster  of 
ownership  includes,  most  recently,  Dick 
and  June  Powell,  and  before  that, 
George  Brent.  When  he  bought  the 
boat,  Bogey  announced  laconically  that 
he  would  probably  find  some  of  Ann 
Sheridan's  bobby  pins  in  the  cabin. 

Incidentally,  the  cabin  was  originally 
one  huge  room,  but  under  the  Brent 
ownership  this  was  subdivided  into 
two  compartments.  The  Bogarts,  scan- 
ning the  construction  blueprints,  have 
decided  to  knock  out  the  new  parti- 
tions and  return  the  boat  to  its  initial 
plan. 

Working  up  to  the  ownership  of  a 
craft  of  "The  Santana"  class  is  a  proj- 
ect that  has  kept  the  Bogarts  busy 
practically  since  their  marriage  last 
May.  Bogart  (Continued  on  page  86) 


The  Bogarts  really  kbved  this  old  boat. 
Now  they've  bought  "The  Santana,"  and 
L.  gave  H.  a  navigation  instrument  set. 


Lauren  (with  Humphrey  in  "The  Big  Sleep")  almost  fainted  in 
death  scene  of  "Confidential  Agent."  Gagster  Peter  Lorre  put 
a  wet  sponge  inside  his  shirt.    She  touched  .  .  .  and  shrieked! 


f 


/ 


"HI"  HODIAK'S  THE  GUY 


WHO  WORSHIPS  HIS  MOM,  ONCE 


SPENT  A  FULL  DAY  ON  THE 


SET  APOLOGIZING  TO 


DUMMIES    AND   COLLECTS  ETCH- 


INGS— FOR  HIS  WALLS. 


Nancy  Guild  (with  Hi  in  "Somewhere  in  the  Night")  loved  that 
pre-induction  gag  the  "Harvey  Girls"  cast  and  crew  pulled.  They 
nailed  up  his  dressing  room — and  Hi  upped  and  got  classified  4F! 


By 

NANCY 
WINSLOW 
SQUIRE 


A  Now  that  his  folks  are  settled  on  the  ranch 
he  bought  them  in  Tarzana,  John's  huge  appe- 
tite keeps  Mom  Anna  Hodiak  bustling  for  sure. 


Portrait  of  three  stags  and  a  heart:  Johnny's  still  dating  Anne  Baxter  even 
though  Mom  B.  said  uh-uh.  So  now  the  kids  claim  it's  just  friendship  .  .  .  Peter 
Lawford  and  .  Bob  Walker  are  the  town's  newest  Damon  and  Pythias  team. 


40 


OMj 


■  Several  years  ago,  when  John  Hodiak  was  serving 
apprenticeship  as  an  actor  for  a  Detroit  radio  station,  he 
and  three  fellow  actors  decided  to  catch  the  night  boat 
to  Cleveland  for  a  weekend  of  relaxation.  They  made 
reservations  for  two  cabins  and  boarded  the  excursion 
vessel  promising  each  other  that  they  were  going  to  turn 
in  early,  that  they  were  going  to  catch  up  on  some  much 
needed  rest — that  they  were  going  to  take  it  easy. 


During  the  early  evening  they  investigated  the  boat, 
dined  well,  and  listened  to  the  music.  John  noticed  a 
wan-looking  girl  trying  to  keep  an  eye  on  two  jack-in- 
the-box  youngsters  of  two  and  four  years,  and  on  one 
occasion  John  captured  the  smaller  baby  just  as  that 
individual  was  grinning  down  into  Lake  Erie  and  con- 
templating a  high  dive. 

When  he  returned  the     {Continued  on  page  115) 


The  Hoymes'  heir,  Skipper,  3,  promises  to  turn  out  as  hand- 
some as  was — and  is — his  Dad  (above,  at  I  0  years  old ) .  Pop's 
nixing  all  film  offers — wants  kid  to  have  "normal"  childhood. 


"He's  got  it!"  cried 


Mrs.  Haymes,  when  Dick  was  16. 


And  now,  years  later, 


the  rest  of  us  are  catching  on. 


By  CYNTHIA  MILLER 


■  The  lights  dimmed,  and  a  blue  spot  cen- 
tered on  a  blond,  match-thin  boy  of  sixteen. 
He  held  a  guitar  that  was  almost  as  big  as  he 
was,  and  he  had  a  carefree  grin  almost  as  big 
as  the  guitar.  He  played  a  couple  of  bars  and 
then  began  to  sing  "Robins  and  Roses"  in  a 
voice  that  somehow  seemed  to  walk  right  into 
your  heart. 

At  a  ringside  table,  a  pretty,  blonde  woman 
grasped  the  arm  of  the  boy  beside  her.  "He's 
got  it!"  she  whispered.  "Oh,  Bob,  he's  really 
got  it!" 

"Got  what,  mother?"  Bob's  voice  was  gruff. 
He  was  eleven  years  old,  and  he  couldn't  see 
what  all  the  shooting  was  about.  Sure,  Dick 
could  sing.  Heck,  they'd  always  known  that, 
hadn't  they?  Of  course  this  was  the  first  time 
he'd  sung  in  public,  with  a  mike  and  all  that 
stuff,  but  this  was  just  an  amateur  show  in 
Jersey.    You'd  think,  {Continued  on  page  105) 


from  mother  with  love . . 


Kodachrome  by  Willinger 


The  Haymes'  are  "sick  and  tired"  of  all  those  divorce  rumors:  Last  one  started 
when  Dick  came  home  first  from  weekend  while  Joanne  stayed  behind — to  nurse 
the  baby's  cold!     She's  coaching  with  H.  Hawks  for  career  as  "new  Bacall." 

43 


On  a  note 

of 

tribute 


■r 

Two  talents  with  one  thouqht:  Norman  Corwin,  Frank. 


BY  NORMAN  CORWIN 


■  The  editors  of  MODERN  SCREEN  have  asked 
me  to  say  a  few  words  of  introduction  to  Virginia 
Wilson's  splendid  Sinatra  story  (starting  page  46, 
Ed.)  .  It  kind  of  gives  me  a  laugh  that  they  should 
come  to  me — of  all  people.  You  see,  I  used  to  growl 
and  even  bark  at  the  mention  of  Frank  Sinatra. 
I  was  one  of  the  millions  of  my  sex  who  hated 
Frank  in  a  mild  and  tolerant  way  because  his  fame 
seemed  to  be  limitless  and  out  of  control.  Our 
feeling  was  purely  sour  grapes  and  had  nothing 
to  do  with  his  singing  or  with  him.  We  hated 
Frank  without  ever  having  heard  or  met  him,  simply 
because  women  were  making  such  a  fuss  over  him. 

Now  it  takes  a  good  deal  to  turn  millions  of  re- 
sentful anti-crooners  into  a  bunch  of  worshippers. 
Yet  Frank  did  just  that.  He  won  me  over,  as  he 
did  millions  of  others,  by  having  the  courage  to 
be  an  honest  citizen.  You  may  not  think  that  takes 
much  courage.  It's  something  you  do  every  time 
you  vote  and  pay  taxes.  But  it's  different  with  an 
artist  whose  fortune  happens  to  be  his  voice — his 
appeal  to  the  public.  Let  me  tell  you  a  story  to 
illustrate  what  I  mean. 

In  1944,  during  the  presidential  campaign,  I 
produced  a  big  all-network  Election  Eve  broad- 
cast for  our  late  President,  Franklin  D.  Roosevelt. 


which  some  of  you  may  have  heard.  Now  a  famous 
comedian  had  agreed  to  be  on  the  broadcast. 
In  doing  so  he  would  have  had  to  come  out  publicly 
for  the  man  in  whom  he  believed.  But  at  the  last 
minute  he  got  cold  feet.  His  advisers  urged  him 
not  to  take  a  stand.  They  told  him,  in  effect,  "Think 
of  the  people  in  your  audience  who  have  already 
made  up  their  minds  to  vote  the  other  way.  They 
may  resent  you.  Maybe  your  own  radio  programs 
will  lose  audience.  Maybe  your  pictures  and  per- 
sonal appearances  will  do  bad  business.  You  may 
lose  half  your  income."  He  was  influenced  by  these 
advisers  and  he  never  appeared.  His  loss  was  a 
great  blow  to  the  program.  Of  course,  he  was  ill- 
advised,  because  the  American  people  are  far  too 
sportsmanlike  ever  to  penalize  any  artist,  actor, 
athlete  or  public  figure  for  his  politics.  But  he 
was  the  perfect  example  of  a  man  afraid  to  be  a 
citizen  above  being  a  performer — afraid  to  come 
out  at  a  critical  moment  for  what  he  believed. 

Frank  Sinatra  is  an  equally  perfect  example  of 
the  opposite.  In  the  same  political  campaign  Frank 
fought  tooth  and  nail  for  the  candidate .  of  his 
choice.  He  electioneered  for  Franklin  D.  Roosevelt 
all  over  the  country.  He  made  speeches  and  sang, 
and  never  worried  for  a  (Continued  on  page  63) 


Please  turn  to  following  page  45 


■  It  was  the  same,  and  yet  it  was  dif- 
ferent, too.  There  was  the  huge  audi- 
torium packed  with  applauding  kids,  and 
there  was  the  lighted  stage,  and  there  was 
Frank.  He  stood  there,  one  tanned  hand 
touching  the  mike,  just  as  he'd  stood 
a  thousand  times  in  the  last  four  years. 
But.  now  inside  him  was  that  new,  driv- 
ing urge.  The  urge  that  had  brought 
him  here  to  Gary,  not  to  sing,  but  to 
talk.  He  had  to  make  these  kids  under- 
stand. It  was  so  damned  important,  not 
just  to  him,  Frank  Sinatra,  but  to  the 


kids  themselves,  to  the  whole  world. 
His  mind  flashed  back  suddenly  to  a 
scene  in  Hoboken  many  years  before  .  .  . 

The  gang  had  been  to  the  movies. 
They  were  straggling  along  home,  sniff- 
ing the  sweet  spring  night,  when  the 
thin,  little  guy  on  the  end  said  "Hey, 
fellows,  what's  that  big  light  burning 
over  on  the  rocks?  It  looks  like  a  cross, 
almost." 

The  rest  of  them  turned  to  look. 

"Gosh,  it  is  a  cross,"  Fats  said  ner- 
vously. 


"The  Klan  must  be  out.  We'd  better 
get  on  home.  Come  on,  Frank.  Quit 
staring  and  hustle." 

"What's  the  Klan,  Fats?  And  why  all 
the  rush?" 

"Heck,  don't  you  know  anything? 
The  Klan's  a  lot  of  guys  who  dress  up 
in  sheets  and  stuff,  and  if  you're  a  Negro 
or  a  Catholic  or  a  Jew,  they're  liable  to 
beat  you  up." 

"What  are  the  sheets  for?"  Frank  was 
still  puzzled. 

"So  nobodv'll  know  who  thev  are. 


by  Virginia  Wilson 


46 


His  last  show  at  N.  Y.'s  Paramount,  Frank's  "kids"  presented  him  with  a  rose 
heart,  a  gold  key  because  "you've  our  hearts,  here's  the  key,"  a  shower  of 
confetti — and  so  much  emotion  in  their  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  they  got  him  crying. 


you  big  dope.'" 

Frank  thought  about  that  for  a  min- 
ute. A  group  of  men  who  hid  behind 
sheets  and  beat  up  other  men  or  boys, 
because  they  looked  or  believed  a  dif- 
ferent way.  He  decided  he  didn't  care 
for  the  idea. 

"How  many  of  'em  are  there?" 

"Oh.  not  so  many,  I  guess.  Too 
many  for  us  to  do  anything  about, 
though.  I  hear  they're  carrying  guns 
lately,  too." 

"Yeah?"   Frank  thrust  his  stubborn 


9A 


It  was  a  bitter-sweet  moment  when  Frank  Sinatra  met, 
for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  an  old  Hoboken  boy- 
hood pal,  Sgt.  George  Cordes,  a  sightless  war  veteran. 


i 


After  the  show  was  over,  Frankie,  with  Danny  Kaye  along  for  the 
laughs,  hosted  the  Para,  ushers  and  stage  hands  at  Toots  Shor's.  Said 
it  was  the  least  he  could  do  as  thanks  "after  what  they'd  been  through." 


As  soon  as  he  finished  a  Command  Performance  with  Harry  James,  F. 
dashed  off  to  N.  Y.,  left  "The  Horn"  frantically  trying  to  contact  him  to 
arrange  a  match — Harry's  baseball  team  wants  to  challenge  Frankie's  nine. 


i 


The  Swooner  Softball  I  earn  was  organized  to  give 
F.  and  his  pals  a  workout — so  now  they  practice  5 
hours  each  Sat.  and  have  played  2  pro  games.  Only 
thing,  song  pluggers  who  ump  .won't  call  Frank  out! 


Louis  Watts  led  the  welcoming  -festivities  for  Frank  at  Froebel  High, 
helped  prepare  signs  and  songs  for  his  arrival  with  Alma  Smith, 
Eurra  Whitaker,  Mattie  Hicks,  Dot  Williams  and  Mattie  Dunleavy. 


chin  out.  "Well,  I'll  bet  they're  not  so  tough,  if  they're 
such  cowards  they  hide  behind  sheets.  And  if  each  of 
us  had  our  pop  with  us,  there'd  be  twice  as  many  of 
us,  wouldn't  there?" 

The  logic  was  unanswerable.  The  gang  didn't  need  a 
diagram  drawn  for  them.  "Let's  meet  on  this  corner  in 
half  an  hour,"  Pete  suggested,  and  they  disappeared  into 
the  darkness. 

Not  much  later,  a  small  but  determined  group  climbed 
an  isolated  section  of  the  Palisades.  Frank's  father  had 


been  easy  to  convince,  and  most  of  the  other  boys  had 
come  back  similarly  accompanied.  The  Klan  had  gotten 
away  with  everything  short  of  murder  lately,  and  it  was 
whispered  that  murder  would  be  next.  Maybe  a  lesson 
now  would  help  some. 

Frank  climbed  quickly,  staring  through  the  gathering 
black.  "There  they  are,"  he  whispered  suddenly.  "Hey, 
pop,  see  'em  over  there  by  the  grove?" 

In  an  open  space  beside  the  maple  grove,  the  remains 
of  the  cross  still  gave  out  an  (Continued  on  page  119) 


diary  ota  chambermaid 


CELESTINE'S  BEAUTY  ALWAYS  TEMPTED  THE  WRONG 
KIND  OF  MAN.   SHE  HATED  THEM— THEN  NEARLY  PAID  WITH  HER  LIFE 
FOR  LOVING  ONE   •  BY  MARIS  MAC  CULLERS 


STORY  The  man  in  the  carriage  watched  the  train 
from  Paris  puff  into  the  small  country  station  like  a 
tired  poodle.  As  it  came  to  a  stop  he  got  out  of  the 
carriage  and  walked,  bustling,  down  the  platform  to 
the  third  class  coaches.  Two  girls  stepped  out,  hold- 
ing their  worn  luggage  tightly  in  their  arms,  staring 
curiously  all  about  them.     {Continued  on  page  80) 

PRODUCTION  Because  the  film  includes  a  generous 
dose  of  characters  who  are  "light"  in  the  head,  there 
were  bound  to  be  wacky  goings-on  on  the  set.  Burgess 
Meredith,  who  co-produces  as  well  as  acts,  portrays 
a  gay  old  bird  who  impresses  the  ladies  (he  thinks) 
by  consuming  beetles  and  rose  petals.  Meredith  was 
spared  the  beetle  episode.  (Continued  on  page  104) 


3.  Mme.  Lanlaire  (Judith  Anderson),  a  vicious  tyrant  whose  only  weak- 
ness is  for  her  dying  son,  Georges,  plots  to  make  Celestine  desirable  in  his 
eyes,  thus  trapping  the  boy  into  remoining  at  home,  under  her  control. 


6.  She  persuades  him  to  take  her  to  the  Carnival  and  when  they  arrive, 
he  begs  her  to  come  to  Paris  with  him.  "We'll  live  like  kings,"  he 
boasts,  "and  why  not?    I've  25,000  francs  hidden  away  in  my  room!" 


7.  Joseph  overheors  the  conversation,  steals  to  Mauger's  room  and  mur- 
ders the  old  man  when  he  is  discovered  in  the  act.  He  forces  Celestine  to 
promise  to  marry  him  because  "we're  accomplices."  Georges  is  stunned 


50 


1.  Paris  is  too  full  of  designing  men  for  Celestine  (Paulette  Goddard), 
so  she  flees  to  the  countryside,  and  the  service  of  the  rich  Lanlaire  fam- 
ily, where  she  meets  valet  Joseph  (F.  Lederer)  and  Louise  (Irene  Ryan). 


4.  But  Georges  ( Hurd  Hatfield) ,  though  wracked  with  pain  and  bitter,  sees 
through  his  mother's  scheme  and  resists  Celestine's  enticements.  He 
has  crawled  home  to  die — no  woman  will  make  his  ogony  the  less  lonely! 


8.  In  his  agony,  the  young  Lanlaire  flees  to  the  greenhouse.  Celestine  fol- 
lows him  and  Joseph  comes  upon  therii  locked  in  each  other's  arms.  They 
fight,  and  the  girl  saves  her  lover's  life  by  begging  Joseph  to  elope. 


2.  Mr.  Lanlaire  (Reginald  Owen)  is  a  thwarted  old  man,  cowed  by  his 
wife  and  intrigued  by  true  pert  new  maid.  When  he  offers  Celestine  "ro- 
mance," she  accepts.  "I'll  use  men — rich  men — to  get  places,"  she  vows. 


5.  As  soon  as  Celestine  realizes  that  old  Lanlaire  is  penniless,  she  sets  her 
cap  for  his  old  enemy,  Capt.  Mauger  (Burgess  Meredith),  who'll  "eat 
anything  that's  dead — or  alive"  and  is  "the  strongest  man  in  the  world." 


9.  The  carriage  bearing  the  escaping  couple  runs  info  a  mob  of  cele- 
brating villagers.  In  his  panic  to  protect  some  loot,  Joseph  falls  under 
the  horses'  hoofs  and  is  killed,  as  Celestine  is  rescued  by  Georges. 


■  The  Broadway  cop  swore  a  mighty  oath 
and  shrilled  his  whistle  till  his  face  turned 
purple.   "Hey,  you!"  he  yelled. 

Cars  were  swishing  and  swerving,  squeal- 
ing their  tires  and  blasting,  their  horns  around 
a  tall,  dark  guy  standing  spang  in  the  middle 
of  the  busiest  street  in  the  world,  calmly 
focusing  a  camera  at  the  Strand  Theater  mar- 
quee which  blazed— "HELMUT  DANTINE — 
IN  PERSON."  The  whistle  didn't  even  make 
him  look  up.  Neither  did  the  yell.  The  cop 
gave  a  growl,  raised  his  hand  and  plunged 
into  the  murderous  traffic.  He  grabbed  the 
guy  by  the  coat  collar  and  yanked  him  back 
on  to  the  sidewalk. 

"Listen,  Screwball,"  he  snapped.  "What 
you  think  you're  doin' — Promotin'  a  free 
ambulance  ride  to  Bellevue?" 

"No.  Sir,"  replied  the  handsome  photog- 
rapher politely,  flashing  his  most  courteous 
smile.  "I  was  just  taking  a  picture  of  the  sign 
that  says  'Helmut  Dantine.'  I  want  to  send  it 
home.  You  see — " 

"A-h-h-h-h-h-h!"  New  York's  Finest  tilted 
his  cap  with  a  sarcastic  flip  of  the  back  of 
his  hand.  "I  get  it.  One  of  them  crazy  jerk 
movie  fans — hey?" 

"Well,"  shrugged  Helmut,  "yes." 

"Okay,  swooner,"  barked  the  law.  "Get 
your  pictures  and  autygraphs — but  get  this, 
too.  Do  I  catch  you  pilin'  up  traffic  on 
Broadway  again  and  so  help  me,  it's  the 
wagon!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  bowed  Helmut  again,  ducking 
into  the  crowd,  and  musing  wryly  that  that 
cop  had  aced  himself  (Continued  on  page  129) 


GIRLS  ASK  HIM  TO  BITE 


THEIR  PENCILS  AND  PEGGY  GARNER  GIVES 


HIM  THE  EYE,  BUT  HELMUT  DANTINE 


LIKES  IT,  LIKES  THIS  ROMEO  ROUTINE. 


Poor  Helmut!  First  he  and  true  love  Ida  Lupino  (here  on  Command 
Perf.)  had  a  whopping  row  and  split  up,  then  "Shadow  of  a  Woman" 
needed  retakes — fan  tangles  on  that  p.a.  tour  knocked  off  15  pounds! 


by  Jack  Wade 


52 


Kodachrome  by  Willinger 


CHARACTER  PARTS  WERE  FINE, 

SURE— BUT  WHEN  THEY  ASKED  HURD  TO  PLAY  THE  BEAU- 
TIFUL DORIAN,  HE  WONDERED  UNEASILY  IF 
THEY'D  LOOKED  AT  HIS  FACE  ...  by  ABIGAIL  PUTNAM 


■  The  long  arm  "of  chance  sent  Hurd  Hat- 
field to  Ojai — some  eighty  miles  from  movie- 
dom — while  M-G-M  was  hunting  a  Dorian 
Gray.  Iris  Tree,  Hurd's  hostess,  gave  the 
arm  a  jog,  and  that's  how  stars  are  born. 

She  was  just  back  from  a  few  days  in 
Hollywood.  "I  dined  with  Albert  Lewin," 
she  said,  passing  the  soup.  "They're  looking 
for  someone  to  play  Dorian.  You're  not 
absolutely  right  in  appearance,  but  I  sug- 
gested you  anyway — " 

Just  like  that.  Recovering  from  the  shock, 
Hurd  said:  "I  don't  stand  a  chance,"  and 
waited  hopefully  to  be  contradicted. 

"Maybe  not,"  came  the  placid  answer. 
"But  it's  worth  trying — " 

After  dinner  he  raced  out  to  borrow  the 
book.  At  college  it  had  been  required  read- 
ing, but  he'd  never  finished  it.  By  the  time 
he'd  turned  the  last  page  at  4  a.m.,  hope  had 
burned  to  a  crisp.  Iris  was  an  angel  but 
crazy,  and  so  he  told  her  next  day. 

"The  golden-haired  darling  of  London!" 
he  jeered.  "The  radiant  glamor  boy!  How 
long  since  you  took  a  squint  at  my  dark, 
morbid  features?" 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  she  advised  in  her 
crisp  British  way.  "Call  and  make  an  ap- 
pointment. What  have  you  got  to  lose?" 

He'd  come  to  Ojai  for  relaxation.  It 
was  no  part  of  his  plan  to  batter  at  the 
movie  gates.  The  theater  was  his  meat,  he'd 
studied    with    {Continued   on   page  109) 


Hurd  Hatfield's  got  the  romantic  lead  in  "Diary  Of  A  Chambermaid,''  but 
he's  got  problems:  Li  Ice  driving  a  car.  A  taxi  driver  once  offered  to  teach 
him  for  ten  doilars,  no  matter  how  long  it  took,  but  quit  after  two  lessons! 


.4 


It  kept  nagging  at 


billy  tint  in 


■  "What  if  we  wait  till  he's  half  asleep?"  suggested 
Bill  with  a  bright  smile. 

"Or  hit  him  over  the  head,  soft  like?"  Ruth  won- 
dered thoughtfully. 

From  over  in  the  depths  of  the  deep  armchair  big 
Dutch  untangled  himself.  "How's  about  slitting  his 
throat?"  he  drawled. 

Bill  paled.  Fun  was  fun  but  suppose  this  goof 
of  a  brother  really  meant  it? 

"Don't  you  come  one  inch  closer,"  he  wavered. 

"And  who  is  going  to  stop  me?"  murmured  Dutch. 

"Me — I  .  .  ."  Desperately,  Bill  turned  to  his  par- 
ents as  the  enormity  of  his  brother's  ninety  pound, 
ten  year  advantage  suddenly  swept  over  him.  "Mom 
— Dad,  do  something!" 

"All  right,  you've  had  your  fun,  children,  now 
stop  it.  At  once."  Mrs.  Eythe  picked  up  the  big 
cooking  spoon,  gave  a  last  vigorous  shake  to  the 
bottle  in  her  hand  and  marched  to  the  middle  of 
the  living  room. 

"Come,  Dip,"  she  crooned.  "There's  a  good  boy. 
Come,  Dippy,  come  take  your  nice,  sweet  castor  oil 
so  you'll  feel  all  better."  Warily,  she  approached 
the  big  dog,  knelt  beside  his  sprawling  bulk  and 
gently  pried  the  spoon  past  his  pointed  teeth.  For 
a  split  second,  there  was  a  dead  hush,  and  then  with 
one  flashing  motion,  the  huge  chow  grabbed  the 
spoon  and  slithered  under  the  sofa,  his  rough  tongue 
joyously  licking  off  the  last  drops  of  oil  with  little 
yips  of  pleasure.  Two  days  of  planning  strategy 
and  now  this!  The  Eythes  didn't  know  whether  to 
laugh  or  cry.   Being  the  Eythes — they  laughed. 

They've  always  laughed,  especially  when,  like  any 
other  average  American  family,  not  finding  some 
chink  in  their  particular  cloud  of  trouble  could've 
started  them  weeping.  Like  the  time  they  thought 
Bill  would  die.  Or  when  Mr.  Eythe  nearly  lost  his 
contracting  business  in  the  depression  of  '29.  And 
Dutch  broke  his  arm  in  the  big  game  against  Notre 
Dame  and  Ruth  wrote  home  (Continued  on  page  58) 


us — why  is  Bill  Eythe  so  ter- 
rific? So  one  of  our 
editors  scooted  to  Mars.  Pa., 
dug  up  inside  stuff  about  that 
pants  splitting  episode,  about  Mom's 
football  career,  about 
Dip,  the  dog.  Aah, 
now  we  know  .  .  . 


When  Bill  was  4,  the  Eythes  had  to  be  on  good  behavior.  Because 
Willie  warbled  the  family  woes  to  anyone  who'd  listen  ...  so  every- 
one knew  what  mommy  said  to  daddy  when  daddy  came  home  lote! 


By 

MIRIAM 

ALBERTA 

GHIDALIA 


Eythe  took  Margaret  Whiting  (above)  to  the  Holly- 
wood Bowl,  even  preferring  her  to  SOOOO  many  nice  gals, 
like  Anne  Baxter,  Greta  Garbo  and  Tallulah  Bankhead — 


house  has  a  swing,  a  lumpy  studio  couch,  and  a  door  that's  wide 
open  to  servicemen.  They  swarm  in  and  take  over  while  Bill  stoops  over 
the  stove,  whipping  up  omelettes  and  angel  cakes  that  fly  away  fast. 


Bill's  folks  visited  him  in  Hollywood  for  7  months.  Best  of 
oil,  Mom  liked  the  Mocambo,  where  she  rhumba'd  with  Bill — 
and  got  flustered  as  a  bobbysocker  when  Van  J.  danced  by! 


(Continued  from  page  56) 
from  Harrisburg  High  would 
someone   come   and   rescue  her 
please,  the  mice  were  at  her  sweat- 
ers again. 

Ruth  was  six  when  Bill  was 
born,  and  from  the  very  begin- 
ning, she  started  proving  the  bi- 
ology books  wrong — Bill  was  her 
baby.  The  accident  of  birth? 
Phooey !  Bill  was  the  child  of  her 
heart  and  to  a  woman,  what  else 
mattered?  Who  else  could  appre- 
ciate the  curled  pinkness  of  ten 
perfect  fingers  and  toes?  The 
heartache  of  that  little  naked  spot 
on  the  back  of  his  fuzzy  head 
Only  a  female  who  had  a  half- 
dozen  experience-crammed  years 
behind  her,  yet  was  only  six  years 
removed  (Continued  on  page  60) 


He's  lucky  to  have  a  sweater  left,  because  the  fans  ripped 
his  coat  to  pieces  on  Bill's  last  N.  Y.  appearance!  Bill's 
technicolorful  in  "Centennial  Summer,"  his  next  picture. 


58 


Her  complexion  is  ivory-miniature  smooth !  Pond's  is  her  complexion  care. 

ROSE  MERIWETHER  LEWIS,  of  Atlanta,  6a.  and  (  oral  Cables,  Fla.. 
engaged  to  Et.  4  omdr-.  RRECE  GREGORY  KROGER,  I'.S.N.R. 


Rose-Meri's  middle  name  comes  from 
the  famous  Meriwether  Lewis  who  helped 
discover  the  Pacific  Northwest.  "There's 
been  a  Meriwether  in  every  generation 
ever  since,"  she  says! 

Another  adorable  Pond's  bride-to-be, 
Rose  Meriwether  Lewis  has  true  South- 
ern charm — dark-dreamv  eyes,  a  com- 
plexion so  smoothly  soft  it  fascinates. 

"I  just  love  Pond's  Cold  Cream."  she 
says—  and  here  is  the  soft-smooth  way 
-he  especially  likes  for  using  it  .  .  . 

She  slips  luscious  feeling  Pond's  Cold 


Cream  all  over  her  face  and  throat,  and 
pats  it  well  to  soften  and  release  dirt 
and  make  up.  She  tissues  off — clean. 

She  rinses  with  more  fluffy-soft  Pond's, 
whirling  her  white-tipped  fingers  around 
her  face  in  little  circles.  Tissues  again — 
''to  get  my  face  extra  clean  and  soft." 

Copy  Rose-Meri's  twice-over  Pond's 
creamings — every  night,  every  morning, 
for  in-between-time  cleanups,  too !  You'll 
soon  see  why  it's  no  accident  so  many 
more  women  and  girls  use  Pond's  than 
any  other  face  cream  at  any  price! 


■J 


ROSE-MERES  RING— 

a  square-cut  diamond.  Her 
fiance  sent  il  from  Honolulu  in 
a  native  box  with  her  name,  a 
heart  and  a  rose  on  the  cover! 


IN  THE  ARMY  reconditioning  program.  Rose-Meri 
helps  at  Lawson  General  Hospital.  Recently  she  visited 
the  Institute  for  the  Crippled  and  Disabled  in  New  York 
to  see  how  they  teach  the  handicapped  to  re-educate 
muscles,  train  for  self-support.  Many  handicapped  people 
need  a  helping  hand  today.  Can  you  give  one? 


She's  Lovely ! 
She  uses  Enid's ! 


"DOWN  SOUTH"  Rose-Meri  says,  "You  have  to  take 
good  care  of  your  skin  if  you  want  to  keep  it  nice. 
Pond's  Cold  Cream  is  such  a  help!  It  leaves  my  face 
with  the  grandest  soft,  clean  feeling.  I  honestly  don't 
think  there's  a  finer  cream  anywhere."  You'll  love 
Pond's  Cold  Cream,  too!  Get  a  big  luxury-size  jar — 
today!  On  sale  at  beauty  counters. 


A  f «■  w  of  the  many 

Pond'.  Soelety  Beauties   ^  c^^^^^.  S^izfomty  ifo^/^ 


59 


C&/ti&  your  pen  troubles 
away  with  this  new  ink ! 

SOLV-X  IN  PARKER  QUINK  WORKS  THE  MAGIC! 


"S'MATTER,  MOM,  IS 
YOUR  PEN  STUFFED-UP?" 


Sure,  sonny,  your  mom's  address- 
ing those  invitations  with  just 
ordinary  high-acid  ink.  And 
high-acid  inks  cause  65%  of  all  pen 
troubles!  \\  hy  don't  you  tip  her 
off  to  Quink— the  kind  y  our 
teacher  uses.   It  contains 
pen-protecting  solv-x. 


"USE  MY  QUINK,  IT 
CLEANS  PENS  AS  IT  WRITES!" 


Smart  boy!  No  wonder  your  school 
papers  won  all  those  gold  stars  foi 
neatness!  And  Quink  does  much 
more  than  keep  pens  free-flowing. 
For  while  ordinary  high-acid  inks 
damage  vital  pen  parts,  solv-x  in 
Parker  Quink  guards  against  metal 
corrosion  and  rubber  rot. 


"OH  BOY!  DOESN'T  THAT 
SOLV-X  MAKE  A  DIFFERENCE?". 


Smooth  writing  now.  isn't  it  lady?  And 
hrilliant !  That's  w  hy  Quink  is  America's 
largest-selling  ink.  That's  why  new 
millions  are  switching  to  Quink.  And 
remember,  only  this  ink  developed  b\ 
Parker  scientists,  contains  wonder- 
working solv-x.  ^et  Quink  costs  no 
more  than  other  inks! 


Solv-x  in  Parker  Quink 
protects  pens 
4  ways: 


Stop  pen  troubles  before  they  start. 

Quink  with  soli  -x  comes  in  4  permanent . 
5  washable  colors  at  25c.  School  size. 
15c.  Also  pints  and  quarts.  The  Parker 


Pen  Company.  Janer- 


mer 


jt  writes 


60 


acid  inks- 


On ///A 

TOM" 


BILLY  THE  KID 

(Continued  from  page  58) 


THE  ONLY  INK 


CONTAINING  SOLV-X 


from  babyhood  herself.  So  for  the  rest  of 
their  lives,  (and  even  to  this  very  day), 
Bill  kept  his  place  as  Ruth's  baby,  to 
coddle  and  tease  and  go  half  out  of  her 
mind  over  with  worry. 

At  first  they  thought  it  was  only  an 
upset  stomach.  "Mommy,"  Ruth  re- 
ported from  the  nursery.  "The  baby,  he 
feels  hot." 

"Nonsense,  dear,  it's  just  that  he's  been 
tossing  around  in  his  crib." 

"But  he  cries  so  hard,"  she  frowned. 

"Of  course,  honey.  When  you  were  three 
months  old  you  cried  'so  hard,'  too.  But 
we'll  go  check,  shall  we?" 

They  checked,  and  a  minute  later  Mrs. 
Eythe  was  at  the  phone.  Let's  see  now, 
was  Dr.  Brown  three  rings  or  four?  Darn 
these  party  lines.  Silly  to  get  upset,  Ruth 
and  Dutch  used  to  run  temperatures  all 
the  time,  never  meant  a  thing.  Ah,  yes, 
here  it  was,  Mars  297  Ring  3.  Sorry,  came 
the  voice  at  the  other  end,  Dr.  Brown  was 
out,  he'd  be  back  in  an  hour. 

"But  Mrs.  Brown,  can't  you  please  find 
him?  It's  little  Billy,  he's  so  flushed — " 

An  hour  later  Dr.  Brown  showed  up  and 
reported  an  upset  stomach.  Keep  the  baby 
quiet,  give  him  these  drops  every  hour, 
he'd  be  fit  as  a  fiddle  in  a  day  or  two. 
Two  hours  later  the  baby  was  screaming, 
his  red  face  dry  and  hot,  the  veins  in  his 
forehead  bulging  with  the  pain. 

This  time  the  doctor  came  running.  Re- 
sponsible women  like  Kate  Eythe  didn't 
phone  at  three  a.m.  without  good  reason. 
It  was  an  ear  infection,  with  the  fever 
running  to  105.  If  Billy  lived  through  the 
night,  he  had  a  fighting  chance.  But  oh 
God,  he's  such  a  tiny  baby — 

lonely  vigil  .  .  . 

It  was  a  long  night.  Ice  packs,  sheets 
wrung  out  in  cold  water  to  soothe  the 
burning  little  body.  Mrs.  Eythe  calm  and 
competent,  her  eyes  wide  and  staring 
to  hold  back  the  hot  tears,  her  husband 
locked  in  his  room  with  only  the  steady 
fall  of  his  steps  back  and  forth  breaking 
the  monotony  of  the  baby's  whimpers. 

At  daybreak  the  doctor  straightened  up 
from  the  crib,  stretched  his  cramped  back 
and  announced,  "He'll  make  it.  Frankly, 
Mrs.  Eythe,  I  never  for  a  minute  thought 
he  would."  And  then  with  a  kindly  look 
at  her  face,  "Run  along  and  get  some  rest 
yourself  now,  you're  exhausted.  I'll  take 
over  until  the  nurse  arrives." 

"Thank  you,  oh  thank  you,"  she  whis- 
pered. Slowly,  she  walked  out  of  the  room, 
nearly  stumbled  over  a  little  form  huddled 
on  the  floor  against  the  doorway. 

"Ruth!  Ruth,  baby,  what  are  you  doing?" 

"Taking  care  of  Billy." 

"Come,  come  to  your  bed,  darling.  You 
did  a  beautiful  job,  a  splendid  job.  Billy's 
going  to  live!" 

"Oh,  I  knew  he  would,"  the  child  an- 
swered simply.  She  held  up  her  little 
Bible.  "I  can't  read  it  but  I  talked  to  it. 
It  always  works,  huh,  Mommy?" 

And  as  she  gathered  up  the  sleepy  child 
in  her  arms,  Kate  Eythe  cried.  For  the 
first  time  in  that  long,  grey  night. 

Bill  never  fully  recovered  from  that  old 
infection.  There  was  always  an  earache 
or  a  buzzing  sensation  or  a  slight  dizziness 
to  plague  him.  When  he  was  twelve  his 
parents  took  him  to  the  leading  ear  spe- 
cialist in  Pittsburgh.  The  doctor  probed 
and  peered,  asked  questions,  and  then  dis- 
missed the  boy  into  the  next  room. 

"It's  chronic,  Mrs.  Eythe,  he'll  never  be 
without  some  discomfort  for  the  rest  of 
his  life.  And  he'll  have  to  be  careful,  very 
careful-  Shall  I  tell  him  now?" 


"No.  No,  thank  you,  doctor.  I  don't 
thing  he  needs  to  be  told.  What  good 
would  it  do?" 

"But  he's  a  boy,  madam.  Young  boys 
swim  and  throw  snowballs  and  play  catch. 
Bill  mayn't,  you  know.  He'll  even  have 
to  stuff  cotton  in  his  ears  every  time  he 
washes  his  face." 

"Ill  see  to  it  that  he  doesn't  harm  him- 
self, doctor.  Billy's  a  good  boy,  he'll  listen." 

And  until  three  years  ago,  when  Bill 
went  to  Hollywood,  he  never  knew  that 
his  ear  condition  was  chronic. 

Bill  was  always  a  round  little  boy; 
round  cheeks,  a  dumpling  body  and  long 
arms  and  legs  that  never  seemed  to  belong 
to  the  pudgy  rest  of  him.  And  gentle? 
Angels  would  have  let  him  tug  at  their 
wings. 

But  what  a  temper  he  had!  Not  the  kind 
that  stamped  and  bellowed  and  made  fine 
scenes.  No.  When  Bill  got  really  sore  his 
eyes  would  narrow,  his  fists  clench  taut 
and  a  thin  white  line  trace  itself  around 
his  mouth.  The  family  hadn't  come  up 
against  it  yet  when  he  was  cast  in  Miss 
Kyser's  Easter  play  at  the  Mars  public 
school. 

you're  for  me  .  .  . 

His  sister  Ruth  had  come  in  from  Harris- 
burg,  where  she  was  rooming  with  a  girl 
friend  and  working  in  the  State  Depart- 
ment as  a  clerk,  to  help  create  the  costume. 
As  "character"  lead  in  the  play,  "Pappy" 
in  "Peter  Rabbit,"  Bill's  costume  had  to 
be  a  really  splendid  production.  And  Lord 
knew  it  was!  A  skin-tight  red  satin  body 
with  long  absorbent  cotton  ears  that  looked 
so  real  they  nearly  twitched,  and  mud- 
colored  heavy  cotton  stockings  and  a  tail 
that  wriggled  with  every  step  he  took. 

The  stage  at  the  Mars  grade  school  wasn't 
a  very  elaborate  affair  in  those  days.  Three 
flashlights  with  red  lollipop  cellophane 
wrappings  were  the  footlights,  and  what 
looked  suspiciously  like  two  sheets  from 
the  infirmary  stitched  together  dubbed  in 
as  the  curtain. 

The  play  was  going  along  famously  when 
— oh  woe! — Billy  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the 
queen,  struggled  to  heave  himself  up 
again  and  slirrp!,  his  pants  split!  The 
quivering  red  satin  parted  to  a  wonderful 
expanse  of  white  underdrawers.  The  audi- 
ence went  wild.  They  roared.  Miss  Kyser 
threw  her  head  back  and  laughed  till  she 
hiccupped.  Miss  Jeffreys  backstage  could 
be  heard  gasping  for  breath.  To  Bill,  it 
was  pure  horror.  He  just  stood  there, 
frozen,  not  moving  a  muscle. 

Mrs.  Eythe  and  Ruth  ran  backstage  after 
the  curtain  calls. 

"You  were  splendid,  son,"  his  mother 
assured  him. 

All  of  a  sudden,  he  got  very  busy  tug- 
ging at  his  absorbent  cotton  ears.  "T 

"But  darling,  everybody  loved  it,"  con- 
soled Ruth.  "It  made  them  laugh  and  be 
happy." 

Fiercely,  he  whirled  around,  looked  them 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"But  you  didn't  have  to  laugh,"  he 
raged.  "My  people  didn't  have  to  laugh. 
I  should've  had  somebody  with  me." 

The  next  year  when  he  was  Santa  Claus 
he  wouldn't  let  anybody  attend  the  play, 
only  Ruth.  And  his  mother  didn't  dis- 
cover until  weeks  later  that  this  time  his 
sofa  pillow  belly  had  dropped  to  his  knees. 

Ruth's  a  quiet  girl  with  wide-set  brown 
eyes  and  a  good-little-girl  look.  She  doesn't 
laugh  much,  but  there's  always  a  smile 
trembling  on  her  hps,  as  though  she's 
ready  to  love  you  dearly  and  wouldn't 
you  like  to  be  friends,  please? 

She  was  working  in  Harrisburg  at  the 
time,  where  "the  brat"  used  to  come  on 
regular  Thursday  to  Monday  weekend 
visits.  He  never  asked  for  much  when 
he  got  out  there,  it  was  enough  just 
to  be  near  Ruthie.    He'd  trot  around  the 


apartment  after  her  as  she  swept  and 
dusted,  hand  her  bobby  pins  when  she 
put  up  her  hair,  sit  patiently  while  she 
changed  dressings  on  his  poor,  aching  ear. 

It  was  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  this 
Saturday,  the  radio  was  on  and  Ruth  was 
swinging  around  the  room  in  a  fast  two- 
step,  a  mop  clasped  adoringly  to  her  chest. 
The  gang  was  coming  up  later  and  she  felt 
good. 

"Is  it  hard  to  dance,  Sis?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno.  Sorta  comes  natural,  I 
guess."  And  then  with  a  twinkle,  "Natural, 
that  is,  to  grown-ups." 

He  was  still  for  a  moment,  then,  "Teach 
me,  Sis?" 

So  she  nipped  the  dial  to  a  waltz, 
grabbed  him  by  his  stubby  middle  and 
dragged  him  around  the  room.  She 
could've  cried  at  the  starry  look  in  his 
eyes.  He  looked  like  Porky  Pig  auditioning 
for  a  Gene  Kelly  role. 

A  few  hours  later  the  bell  started  ring- 
ing. Every  time  it  did,  Bill'd  race  for  the 
door.  If  it  was  a  girl,  "Hi!"  he'd  chirp  in 
his  best  Doug  Fairbanks  voice,  "wanna 
dance?"  And  before  the  girl  had  a  chance 
to  gawk,  he'd  stretch  his  arms  up  until 
they  barely  touched  her  shoulders  and 
start  jigging  up  and  down,  that  same  bea- 
tific smirk  on  his  face.  But  Bill  never 
fooled  anybody — he  wasn't  giving  a  darn 
about  how  many  girls  he  trampled  under- 
foot.  If  he  could  practice  on  them  so  that 


THAT'S  FOR  ME! 

Yep,  that  five-dollar  check  is  for  you 
— but  def — and  all  you've  got  to  do  is 
tell  what  happened  when  you  met  that 
movie  star.  So  perch  your  typewriter 
upon  your  knee  (though  a  pen  will 
do!)  and  write  briefly  and  clearly  to 
your  "I  Saw  It  Happen"  Editor,  Modern 
Screen,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y.  If  you  make  us  feel 
that  we  were  right  there  with  you, 
we'll  publish  your  True  Confession 
(that's  for  us!)  and  send  you  five 
dollars  (that's  for  you!) 


he'd  be  a  better  partner  for  Ruth,  well  .... 

A  Doug  Fairbanks  voice  wasn't  the  only 
thing  young  Billy  acquired  in  that  three - 
movie-shows-a-day  period  where,  among 
other  things,  he  developed  a  passion  for 
chocolate  bars,  serials,  Greta  Garbo  and 
being  a  director — all  four  of  which  last  to 
this  day.  His  parents,  of  course,  objected 
bitterly. 

"He'll  ruin  his  eyes,"  Mr.  Eythe  would 
complain. 

"He  says  he  doesn't  look  half  the  time, 
just  listens,"  Mrs.  Eythe  would  answer. 

But  Bill  was  too  far  gone.  After  seeing 
"The  Ten  Commandments"  for  the  fourth 
time,  he  couldn't  resist.  He  wrote  a  long, 
searching  letter  to  Cecil  B.  DeMille.  He, 
William  Eythe,  Esquire,  intended  becom- 
ing a  director,  too.  What  did  Mr.  DeMille 
suggest?  Mr.  DeMille  very  kindly  an- 
swered with  an  ultimatum — four  pages 
long.  Either  Bill  went  to  classes  every 
day  and  studied  hard  or  there  was  no 
hope.  So  Bill  framed  the  letter,  went  to 
classes  every  day — and  got  his  movie-going 
done  after  school. 

There's  an  old  jingle  that  goes,  "A  son  is 
a  son  till  he  gets  him  a  wife,  but  a  daugh- 
ter's a  daughter  all  the  rest  of  her  life." 
But  possibly  because  Bill  was  his  mother's 
last  born,  or  because  she  had  so  nearly  lost 
him,  they  were  closer  to  each  other  than 
most.  Although  if  ever  boys  had  a  mother 
they  could  pal  with,  Bill  and  Dutch  Eythe 
are  so  blessed,  for  Katie  Anne  Eythe  is 
clever  and  chic  with  a  lovely  face  and  a 
young,  bouncy  manner. 


Like  any  fond  mother,  Katherine  Eythe 
looked  forward  to  the  time  when  her 
youngest  boy  would  be  married,  with  a 
wife  and  family  of  his  own,  but  Bill  never 
went  for  girls  much.  They  were  pleasant 
to  have  around  and  if  they  were  good  to 
look  at,  who  was  he  to  quibble?  But  he 
never  "dated  steady"  and  he  never  played 
favorites.  In  Bill's  gang  they  all  went  out 
in  a  crowd  where  everybody  danced  with 
everybody  and  no  hearts  broken.  And 
when  you  took  a  girl  home,  it  was  because 
she  was  the  next  on  the  block  to  be 
dropped  off  and  not  because  you'd  seen 
the  latest  Valentino  picture  and  wanted  to 
practice  the  technique  on  someone.  They 
had  a  pretty  reasonable  curfew  in  Mars, 
home  by  midnight  or  one  on  a  Saturday 
night,  two'ish  if  the  occasion  was  special 
and  you'd  told  your  parents  beforehand. 
For  a  long  time,  Bill  had  a  habit  of  poking 
his  head  into  his  parents'  room  after  a 
night  out,  chirp  "Anybody  conscious?"  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  sprawl 
across  his  mother's  bed,  munch  an  apple 
and  give  a  detailed  account  of  the  evening. 

It  never  failed,  somehow,  but  that  right 
in  the  middle  of  what  Mrs.  Beardsley  had 
served,  they'd  hear  the  front  door  squeak 
open  and  seconds  later,  a  cautious  creak 
from  that  darned  sixth  step  from  the  top 
that  wouldn't  shut  up,  no  matter  where 
you  stepped,  even  with  your  shoes  off.  A 
muffled  "darn!"  and  "Dutch!"  the  three 
conspirators  would  whisper  in  unison. 
"He's  sneaking  in,"  Mr.  Eythe  would  an- 
nounce, and  exchange  a  profound  look 
with  his  wife.  The  look  would  be  lost  on 
Bill.  "Sissy,"  he'd  hoot.  "Who  does  he 
think  he's  kidding?  What  does  he  see  in 
girls  anyhow?"  And  dropping  a  light  kiss 
on  his  mother's  head,  he'd  lounge  off  to 
bed.  Bill  was  nearly  21  before  he  started 
figuring  out  for  himself  exactly  how  you 
could  keep  that  sixth  step  from  the  top  shut 
up.  Even  with  your  shoes  off. 

In  his  whole  life,  Bill  wavered  in  his 
decision  to  be  an  actor  just  once,  and  that 
was  during  his  senior  year  at  high. 

It  was  pretty  touchy,  announcing  his 
decision  to  postpone  going  to  college  to  his 
folks.  Dinner  was  the  best  time,  he 
imagined,  but  with  Ruth,  away  in  Harris- 
burg and  Dutch  at  Carnegie  Tech,  anything 
a  fella  said  fell  with  such  a  darned  drama- 
tic thud  in  the  conversation. 

"Swell  roast,  Mom." 

"Oh?   Glad  you  like  it,  dear." 

"Say,  dad,  there's  something  I'd  like  to 
ask  you.    Dad,  I'd  like  to — " 

'Yes,  son?" 

" — have  some  more  gravy,  if  I  may." 

The  Eythes  hadn't  brought  up  two  other 
children  without  learning  the  signs.  They 
waited.   They  discussed  the  weather. 

"Say,  dad,  what  do  you  think  of  art?" 

"I  think  it's  a  very  fine  institution,  Bill." 

"So  do  I!  So  folks,  that's  why  I'm  going 
to-^-that  is,  I'd  like  to — Mom,  Dad,  I'm  sign- 
ing up  at  Pitt  Art  School  because  I  did 
swell  work  in  High's  required  art  courses 
and  I  think  I'd  make  a  swell  commercial 
artist  and  please  say  it's  okay  with  you  and 
I'll  work  hard  and  earn  my  tuition  and 
you're  not  sore,  are  you,  that  I'm  not  going 
to  Tech  even  though  Dad  went  and  Dutch 
is  going  and  you'd  like  me  to?" 

work  and  worry  .  .  . 

They  didn't  mind.  But  there  was  one 
point  they  later  bitterly  regretted  not  hav- 
ing clamped  down  on.  That  "I'll  work 
hard  and  earn  my  tuition"  clause.  Because 
Bill  started  an  orchestra  while  still  in 
high  school.  He  wore  a  tux,  played  the 
piano  and  arranged  bookings  for  the  school 
dances.  But  obviously,  before  they  could 
get  bookings,  they  had  to  practice.  They 
practiced  at  the  Carl  Eythes. 

At  midnight,  Mr.  Eythe  would  be  plead- 
ing. "Please  Kate,  do  something!" 

"Do  something!"  she'd  repeat  in  a  shrill  61 


voice,  "it's  all  I  can  manage  to  keep  inside 
my  skin!" 

At  one  he'd  be  reduced  to  moans. 

At  two,  he'd  be  firm.  "Young  men,"  he'd 
announce,  standing  tall  and  majestic  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  "I'm  sorry,  but  you'll 
have  to  leave." 

At  three,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eythe  would  be 
fast  asleep  to  the  strains  of  "Tiger  Rag." 
Exhaustion. 

By  the  time  graduation  rolled  around, 
Bill  was  holding  down  three  jobs.  There 
was  the  orchestra,  of  course,  and  then  the 
stint  managing  Olson's  Dairy  after  classes 
and  the  weekend  job  assisting  the  director 
in  charge  of  the  fashion  show  at  the  local 
department  store. 

Graduation  is  a  big  event  in  Mars.  It's 
a  big  event  any  place,  with  the  first  long 
gowns  and  a  corsage  for  your  best  girl. 

"Who  are  you  taking  to  the  dance,  Bill?" 
his  mother  asked  idly  that  morning. 

"I'm  not  going." 

"Not  go —  But  Bill,  your  father  and  I 
are  on  the  receiving  line!  Did  you  ask 
Mary  Beardsley?  Or  maybe  Jane  Wilson?" 

"Oh,  it's  not  that,  Mom,"  he  smiled.  "It's 
not  getting  a  girl.  But  I've  got  to  work 
tonight.  I've  got  to  do  inventory  at 
Olson's.  Aw,  don't  feel  sorry,  Mom,  it 
makes  me  feel  swell  .  .  ." 

So  graduation  night,  Bill  Eythe  changed 
out  of  his  tux  in  the  gym  lockers  after  the 
ceremonies,  pinned  an  orchid  on  his 
mother's  evening  gown  and  went  off  to  do 
inventory  at  Olson's  Dairy.  That  was  the 
second  time  in  his  life,  Kate  Eythe  recalled, 
that  her  son  had  made  her  cry. 

ah  love,  ah  life  .  .  . 

For  a  whole  year  Bill  concentrated  on 
art  at  Pitt,  but  all  along,  deep  down  he 
knew  what  he  wanted,  and  art  wasn't  it. 
The  term  up,  he  applied  at  the  Fox-Chapel 
Summer  Theater  as  apprentice  actor.  He 
went  through  the  whole  pattern:  Typing 


scripts,  painting  flats,  swimming  in  cold 
Chapel  Creek  at  two  in  the  morning  with 
the  air  sweet  and  heavy  on  his  wet  body, 
declaiming  Shakespeare  over  beer  and 
pretzels  at  the  "Town  House,"  falling  may- 
be a  little  in  love  with  his  current  leading 
lady,  but  always  falling  out  in  time  for  the 
next  play  and  the  next  leading  lady. 

Elizabeth  was  one  of  them,  cute  as  a 
button  and  blonde  as  flax.  Mom  knew  her 
from  back  home,  so  when  Liz  was  cast  as 
the  carousel  keeper  in  "Liliom,"  with  him 
doing  the  lead,  he  wired  for  her  and  Dad 
and  Ruthie  to  come  to  the  opening. 

He  was  a  little  nervous,  sure.  You  don't 
mind  making  faces  in  front  of  a  bunch  of 
strangers,  but  when  it's  people  who  be- 
long to  you  sitting  down  front,  third  row, 
seats  11,  13  and  15,  you  feel  like  three 
years  old  and  it's  Hallowe'en  Eve.  Liz 
looked  swell,  the  rouge  in  hard  circles  on 
her  overpowdered  cheeks,  her  fine  yellow 
hair  dyed  blood-red  and  frizzed — she  really 
looked  the  part.  A  slut.  He  made  his  en- 
trance, there  was  a  splatter  of  applause 
and  right  away  he  could  feel  the  folks  up 
there  with  him,  pulling  for  him. 

He  was  going  swell  until  the  second  act. 
Here  was  the  big  scene.  He  threw  Liz 
her  cue,  she  came  on  from  upstage  right — 
and  the  guffawing  started.  Seats  11,  13 
and  15  were  practically  rolling  in  the 
aisles!  The  folks  had  spotted  Liz  in  her 
flaming  frizz-top  and  had  just  broken  up 
over  it  all.  But  when  they  trouped  back- 
stage to  congratulate  him,  they  took  their 
bawling  out  like  troupers.  Even  when  he 
looked  down  at  his  mom's  still-dimpling 
face  and  hissed,  "I'm  ashamed  of  you.  You 
damn  near  wrecked  that  second  act!" 

They  nearly  pulled  the  same  routine 
when  Bill  opened  in  his  first  show,  "The 
King's  Maid,"  playing  a  doctor,  Van  Dyke 
beard  and  all.  But  they  calmed  down 
soon  enough  when  they  overheard  two 
wiseguys    behind    them    cackling,  "This 


beaut'll  have  a  hell  of  a  ways  to  go  to  get 
to  Broadway."  With  Baltimore  only  186 
miles  from  New  York,  they  realized  the 
reference  wasn't  to"  mileage.  "Maid"  died 
an  unnatural  death  when  it  was  just  a 
week  old,  but  two  weeks  later  Oscar  Serlin, 
who  had  directed  it,  sent  for  Bill  to  do 
"The  Moon  Is  Down."  After  that  role,  Bill 
certainly  did  go  a  "hell  of  a  ways." 

The  registrar  nearly  keeled  over  when 
Bill  registered  at  Carnegie  Tech  for  the 
four-year  drama  course. 

"But  aren't  you  Dutch  Eythe's  brother?" 

"I  am." 

"But — but — but   you're    registering  for 
drama'."  she  gasped. 
"Yup." 

"Well,  what  does  Dutch  say?" 

"Howard?    Oh,  he  says  I'm  nuts!" 

That's  how  it  was  all  along  the  line.  The 
brother  of  the  great  Dutch  Eythe,  All- 
American,  professor  now  at  Maryland  Boy's 
Academy,  going  in  for  drama?  It  was  in- 
credible. 

dip  the  dog  .  .  . 

The  neighbors  keep  asking  the  Eythes 
about  Margaret  Whiting.  "What's  this  we 
read  in  Parsons'  column  about  Bill  and 
Margaret?"  Mrs.  Eythe  shrugs  her  shoul- 
ders. "All  I  know  is  what  I  read  in  the 
papers — I've  given  up  trying  to  keep  check 
on  Bill's  newspaper  romances.  I've  met 
Margaret,  of  course,  she's  a  charming  girl." 

Bill's  just  bought  himself  a  new  home 
in  North  Hollywood,  and  so  far,  Dip  the 
dog  is  the  only  member  of  the  family  who's 
seen  it.  Dip  was  just  six  weeks  old  when 
Ruth  sent  him  to  her  "brat"  from  Harris- 
burg  back  in  '30,  where  he  was  promptly 
adopted  and  christened  "Dip"  in  honor  of 
Ruth's  not-yet-then  husband,  Charles  Dip- 
pery.  Dip's  sixteen  years  old  now,  and  his 
teeth  aren't  too  good  and  whenever  he  gets 
a  spell  of  rheumatism  or  indigestion  or  just 
plain  old-age'itis,  the  family  has  to  take 


Straight  Line  Design 


lans  teeth  best 
C,e  Lv  dentists  2tol 


,  „  Voted  1" 
„.«  Don*1*"  eurvey 
M  Notion**-  *•»  bnJShing 


Con"** 


Why  Pepsodent  Straight  Line  Design  Cleans 
Teeth  Best.  Most  teeth  in  the  average  mouth 
lie  in  a  series  of  relatively  straight  lines.  Author- 
itative research  shows  Pepsodent's  Straight 
Line  Design  fits  more  teeth  better  than  convex 
or  concave  designs . . .  Actually  cleans  up  to  30% 
more  tooth  surface  per  stroke. 


has  the  Straight  Line  Design 
most  dentists  recommend 


turns  sitting  up  with  him  and  feeding  him 
aspirin.  Bill  got  sort  of  lonesome  for  the 
dog  recently,  so  Mom  talked  to  the  old 
fellow  for  hours,  convincing  him  that  being 
sent  first  class  mail  was  fun  and  wouldn't 
ne  love  to  see  Billy?  They  didn't  tell  Bill 
about  it,  thought  they'd  make  this  package 
a  whopper,  so  what  happens  but  that  Dip 
landed  in  Hollywood  on  a  Sunday  and  the 
station  master  had  to  go  down  himself  and 
keep  him  company  because  depots  are 
closed  on  Sundays  and  the  old  boy  looked 
so  lonesome!  Bill  thinks  Dip  recognized 
him.  He  leaped  up  and  started  drooling 
all  over  his  old  master.  And  of  course  it 
could  have  been  just  that  his  eyes  were 
watery  from  traveling,  but  Bill'H  swear 
there  were  tears.  Dip  wanted  to  make 
friends  with  the  three  setters  Bill's  got 
frisking  around  the  place,  but  he'd  lost 
most  of  his  social  grace.  Kept  walking 
into  them  with  his  near-sighted  old  eyes 
and  when  the  pups  wanted  to  make  some- 
thing of  it.  just  turned  and  walked  off,  his 
tail  fluttering  bravely  with  the  glory  that 
was  once  Dip's. 

Dip's  back  home  in  Mars  again,  a  bit  the 
worse  for  wear,  maybe,  but  a  little  brighter, 
a  little  more  resigned  to  this  sad  business 
of  living  out  your  life  an  old,  tired  dog.  He 
likes  having  people  around  to  talk  to, 
especially  "Mom"  Eythe.  They  spend  a  lot 
of  time  together  lately,  mostly  at  night 
when  the  house  is  very  still  and  she  can 
kneel  by  his  bed  and  scratch  him,  oh  so 
gently,  between  the  eyes  and  look  deep 
out  the  window  for  long  minutes.  They 
understand  each  other,  these  two.  Knew 
how  ft  feels  to  be  laughing  and  joking  in  a 
room  full  of  people  and  all  of  a  sudden 
have  a  catch  at  your  heart  and  know  it  for 
loneliness.  Dip  helps  remind  Kate  Eythe 
of  her  baby,  brings  the  old  days  tumbling 
hack  so  it  doesn't  seem  too  close,  this  may- 
be having  another  "fool  woman"  to  worry 
about  the  boy.  Not  that  she  won't  be  glad 
to  get  him  off  her  hands,  you  understand. 
It's  just  that  "A  son  is  a  son  till  he  gets  him 
a  wife."   And  Billy's  such  a  good  boy  .  .  . 


ON  A  NOTE  OF  TRIBUTE 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


second  whether  any  of  his  fans  differed 
with  his  politics.  That  was  their  right,  as 
it  was  his  right  to  take  a  position. 

Since  those  days  Frank  has  served  an 
even  greater  cause,  a  non-partisan  cause, 
and  served  it  unsparingly.  Instead  of  being 
dazzled  by  his  brilliant  success,  he  looked 
around  carefully  and  saw  the  dangers 
which  confront  us  all  today.  He  saw  that 
the  war  didn't  really  end  last  August — 
that  Fascism  is  still  alive,  even  though  its 
armies  have  been  smashed.  He  saw  that 
the  greatest  friend  of  Fascism  in  this 
country  is  racial  mistrust  and  antagonism, 
and  he  knows  that  certain  vicious  men 
make  a  profession  of  arousing  hate. 

Frank  Sinatra  decided  it  was  his  duty 
as  a  citizen  to  help  fight  that  sort  of  thing. 
He  has  been  preaching  unity — unity  of  all 
peoples. 

It  would  be  easy  for  Frank  to  rest  on 
his  laurels,  or  to  use  his  fantastically  great 
tame  strictly  as  a  source  of  income— to 
endorse  cigarets  and  shaving  soap  and  make 
personal  appearances  as  a  singer  for  the 
sake  of  Sinatra  alone.  But  Frank  has 
chosen  to  apply  his  fame  to  more  con- 
structive purposes — to  endorse  democracy 
and  unity,  and  make  personal  appearances 
as  a  citizen  (such  as  his  visit  to  Gary, 
Indiana)  for  the  sake  of  harmony  in  this 
country.  He  is,  as  I  say,  a  citizen  above 
all  else.  Being  that,  he  is,  as  all  good 
citizens  automatically  become,  a  patriot. 

We,  who  once  snickered,  salute  him 


Bruuettes  be  glad!  Artist  Earl  Cordrey 
sliows  how  your  type  of  coloring  is  enriched,  enlivened 
with  original*  "Flower-fresh"  shade  of 


Here"?  the  right  Cashmere 
Bouquet  shade  for  you! 

FOR  LIGHT  TYPES 

Natural.  Rachel  No.  1 
Rachel  No.  2 

FOR  MEDII  .M  TYPES 

Rachel  No.  2.  *Rose  Brunette 

FOR  DARK  TYPES 

*Rose  Brunette.  Even  Tan 


We  give  \ou  a. brunette's  best  bet!  It  s  Cashmere 
Bouquet  s  new  "Flower-fresh"  lace  powder, 
lovelv  Rose  Brunette.  W  ith  the  faintest  flash  ol 
pink,  it  makes  those  gorgeous,  tawny  tones  in 
your  skin  come  to  life.  It  clings  for  hours, 
smooth  as  silk,  veiling  tiny  blemishes.  Cashmere 
Bouquet  comes  in  six  new  Flower-fresh 
shades,  keved  to  all  skin  types  from  an 
ice-cream  blonde  to  a  ereen-exed  red  head.  63 


RITA  AND  ORSON  CALL  THE  WHOLE 
THING  OFF— PETER  LAWFORD  PLAYS  SIR 
GALAHAD— BETTY  HUTTON'S  HEFTY- 
LAUREN  B.  TAKES  CRITICISM  LIKE  A  TROUPER 


■  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Victor  Mature  and  Orson 
Welles  exchanged  hot  words  and  cold  looks  at  a 
night  club  a  couple  of  nights  before  Rita  and  Welles 
parted,  I'm  making  a  bet  that  la  Hayworth  and  Vic 
do  not  resume. 

The  reason?    June  Haver! 

Of  course,  where  Vic  is  concerned  you  never 
know.  Ever  since  I've  known  that  boy  he  has  been 
maaadly  in  love  with  some  fair  charmer  and  she's 
always  "the  love  of  my  life." 

I'm  not  saying  that  June  and  Vic  will  marry.  He 
has  been  twice  divorced  and  she  is  a  very  devout 
little  girl  in  her  faith  which  forbids  marriage  to  a 
divorced  man.  But  these  two  are  very  much  in  love. 
She  wants  to  spend  all  her  time  with  him  even 
when  she  goes  on  shopping  or  marketing  errands. 

And  to  prove  just  how  much  she  thinks  of  him, 
not  long  ago  she  walked  out  on  a  dinner  party  given 
by  her  boss,  Darryl  Zanuck  and  his  charming  wife, 
Virginia,  because  she  had  a  date  with  Vic  later  in 
the  evening!  In  fact,  he  called  for  her  at  the 
Zanucks'  wearing  a  sweater  and  sports  clothes,  and 
little  Junie  got  into  her  fur  coat  over  her  sparkling 
evening  gown  and  drove  away  with  him. 

The  party  June  left  behind  at  the  Zanucks'  was 
cne  of  the  gayest  I've  been  to  lately.  Our  younger 
set  is  not  only  party  conscious  since  the  end  of  the 
war,  but  it  seems  to  me  everybody  wants  to  make 
up  for  lost  time.  I've  never  seen  so  many  pretty 
girls  in  such  gorgeous  clothes. 

The  affair  was  in  honor  of  (Confinued  on  page  66) 


Duet  by  Hildegarde  and  Diana  Lynn,  who  guested  at  H.'s  show  when  in  Ne 
York.  Diana's  constant  cry  while  touring  the  town:  "Couldn't  we  star 
at  8  a.m  ?    I  con  always  sleep  at  home,  but  I  can't  afford  to  miss  this1. 


All  you've  got  to  do  to  get  kissed  by  Gene  Tierney  (like  Perry  Como  her 
is  complete  one  year  on  radio's  "Supper  Club"  program.  Gene's  got  b 
plans  for  husband  Oleg  Cassini:    Studio  consultant  on  costume  desigr 


Jeanne  Crain  soys  she'd  rather  stay  home  and  learn  lines  than  go  party-  Who  wouldn't  be  gay,  dancing  with  Nanette  Fabray?  But  Bing  Crosby's 
mg,  but  she  couldn't  resist  new  husband  Paul  Brooks'  invitation  to  dance  got  other  reasons',  too:  On  the  last  day  of  "Blue  Skies,"  he  took  his 
at  the   Mocombo.    J.'s   excited  about   playing   opposite  Greg    Peck.      usual  "last  day"  photo  with  all  four  sons,  then  quit  for  a  year's  rest. 


What's  with  the  match  between  Bob  Walker  and  Florence  Pritchett? 
He's  at  the  Stork  Club  with  her  here  .  .  but  just  a  few  nights  ago  it  was 
Buff  Cobb!  Bob's  getting  ready  to  play  the  role  of  the  late  Jerome  Kern. 


While  Lana  Turner  was  in  Arizona,  male  visitors  included  Greg  Bautzer 
and  Rory  Calhoun  .  .  .  but  the  daily  phone  calls  came  from  Bob  Hutton! 
She  and  Bob   (dining  here  at  The  Troc)   have  Hollywood  wondering. 


65 


POWERS  MODELS 


Miss  Ann  Wick  ham,  resplendent  Powers  Model, 
finds  Kreml  Shampoo  keeps  her  hatr  so  much 
easier  to  arrange  in  the  stunning  new  hair-do's 


Positively  Never  Leaves  Any  Excess 
Dull  Soapy  Film 

The  way  Kreml  Shampoo  thoroughly  cleanses  every 
tiny  strand  of  hair  and  brings  out  all  its  natural  shim- 
mering highlights  is  sheer  sorcery!  Here's  a  shampoo 
that  really  keeps  its  promise. 

Those  divinely  beautiful  Powers  Models  —  famous  for 
their  shining  bright  locks— use  Kreml  Shampoo  and  how 
they  rave  about  it!  They  claim  there's  nothing  better  to 
leave  hair  softer,  silkier  and  easier  to  arrange.  Kreml 
Shampoo  leaves  the  hair  so  sparkling  clean  —  fairly 
dancing  with  its  natutal  glossy  brilliance  that  lasts  for  days. 

Helps  Keep  Hair  From 
Becoming  Dry  or  Brittle 

Kreml  Shampoo  positively  contains  no  harsh  chemicals 
to  dry  or  break  the  hair.  Instead,  its  beneficial  oil  base  is 
simply  wonderful  to  help  soften  dry,  brittle  ends.  It 
rinses  out  like  a  charm  and  never  leaves  any  excess  dull 
soapy  film  which  makes  hair  look  so  muddy  and  lifeless. 

So  glorify  your  hair  with  beautifying  Kreml  Shampoo- 
then  see  how  quickly  "he"  succumbs  to  , 
your  added  charm.  Buy  a  bottle  at  anv  /*S>G»«<"><««1 

1     l  Good  Hoti«i»kpi>nii 

drug,  department  or  10(  store. 


You,  Too,  Can 
Shampoo  Your  Hair 
Like  Beautiful 
POWERS  GIRLS 


Kreml  Shampoo  brings  out  your 
hair  s  natural  shimmering  high- 
lights and  silken  sheen 


Leaves  hair  with  its  silken  sheer, 
that  lasts  for  days 


kreml  Shampoo 

A  product  of  R.  B.  Semler,  Inc. 
FOR  SILKEN-SHEEN  HAIR— EASIER  TO  ARRANGE 
MAOE  BY  THE  MAKERS  OF  THE  FAMOUS  KREML  HAIR  TONIC 


Tyrone  Power,  just  out  of  the  Marines,  and 
his  happy  wiie,  Annabella.  She  was  all  done 
up  in  a  shocking  pink  dress,  that  is,  the  top 
of  it  was  shocking  pink  and  it  had  one  of 
those  new  necklaces  embroidered  on  the 
blouse  which,  when  combined  with  her  own 
diamonds,  was  stunning. 

Jeanne  Crain  is  certainly  a  cutie-pie  when 
it  comes  to  dressing  her  type.  With  that 
lovely  red  hair  of  hers  she  knows  she  looks 
wonderful  in  green.  Her  gown  was  a  soft 
sea-green  with  sequins. 

I  don't  think  anyone  had  any  more  fun  than 
Jimmie  Stewart,  Henry  Fonda  and  Tyrone, 
who  were  swapping  stories  like  mad. 

Nineteen-year-old  London  actress  Peggy 
Cummins,  whom  you  will  know  very  soon  as 
Amber  in  "Forever  Amber,"  was  proudly  tell 
ing  everyone  that  her  lovely  white  dress  was 
part  of  her  American  wardrobe.  "All  English 
girls  envy  American  girls  their  lovely  clothes," 
Peggy  told  me. 

Little  Diana  Powell,  Bill's  vest  pocket-size 
wife,  told  me  about  how  she  had  been  shop 
ping  all  day  with  William  Powell,  Jr.,  who  is 
just  home  from  overseas  and  is  returning  to 
Princeton.  "I'm  so  proud  that  Bill  Jr.  likes  me 
so  much — enough  to  call  me  Mother."  I 
couldn't  help  laughing  because  Diana  looks 
like  a  baby  and  young  Bill  is  head  and 
shoulders  taller. 

Clark  Gable,  who  had  a  previous  engage- 
ment, came  in  after  dinner  with  Anita  Colby, 
who  looked  like  a  fashion  plate.  I  spotted 
Cary  Grant  and  Joseph  Cotten  talking  together 
in  a  corner  and  maybe  you  think  I  didn't  bust 
into  that  twosome.  That's  too  much  man- 
power going  to  waste! 

I've  never  seen  Joe  in  such  a  serious 
mood.  He  talked  about  the  experience  neces- 
sary for  young  actors  and  how  heartbreaking 
it  is  that  so  many  kids  are  coming  to  Holly- 
wood with  dreams  of  crashing  the  movies 
when  they  have  not  one  ounce  of  training 
behind  them. 

"Now  that  the  war  is  over,  more  and  more 
boys  and  girls  are  coming  here  drawn  by  the 
glamor  of  fame  and  fortune,"  Joe  said.  "They 
have  money  from  war  jobs  and  other  good 
jobs  to  last  them  a  little  while  until  they  can 
crash  the  studios — they  hope,"  Joe  went  on. 
I  can't  go  into  all  the  details  of  advice  he  has 
for  the  youngsters  because  space  forbids.  But 
his  best  tip  is  this:  If  you've  got  the  acting 
or  movie  bug — try  to  get  in  some  dramatic 
school  or  Little  Theater  in  your  home  town 
before  trying  to  crash  Hollywood! 

Darryl  Zanuck,  boss  of  the  20th  Century -Fox, 
who  usually  has  the  cares  of  the  studio  on 
his  shoulders,  forgot  ( Continued  on  page  74") 


Makes  hair  easier  to  set  and 
arrange  in  any  style 


Joan  Caulfield,  lovely  star  of  Paramount's 
new  picture,  "Miss  Susie  Slagle,"  chooses  this 
beautifully  fitting  cerise  coat  by  Hi-Ho  Juniors. 

To  find  out  vjhcrc  to  buy  this  coat,  as  well 
as  the  other  fashions  in  MODER.\ 
SCREEN'S  fashion  paqes,  ivrite  to:  Toussm 
Pines,  Fashion  Editor,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16.  N.  Y. 


mini  i' m 


do  wonders  for  a  teen's  figure.  Choice  of  lime,  aqua,  or  pink.  Teen  sizes  8  to  16.  About  $8.  Wear  it  with 
the  Teentimer  Cosmetics  that  are  specially  "timed  for  teens"  and  you'll  really  be  a  Band-box  Beauty. 
For  name  of  nearest  store,  write  Teen-timers,  Inc.,  1359  Broadway,  New  York  18,  N.  Y.  Listen  to  the 
Teentimers  Club  starring  Johnny  Desmond  and  top  name  bands  Saturday  mornings  on  your  local  station! 

68    *Reg.  U.  S.  Pal.  Off 


MANDARIN 


MISS 


BY    TOUSSIA  PINES 


RIGHT:  This  collarless  beauty  is  a  natural  for  that  black 
skirt  and  sweater  combine  mentioned  above.  And  how  about 
wearing  that  scarf  you  got  for  Christmas  muffled  high  at 
the  neckline?  Note  braid  around  the  armhole,  that's  news! 

ABOVE:  Braid-bound  high,  high  neck,  deep  armhole  sleeves, 
polled  in  tiny  waist;  fashion  points  that  make  this  honey 
of  a  coolie  coat  new  as  tomorrow's  headlines!  Wear  it  as 
you  see  it,  closed  high  and  pinned  or  open,  with  lapels. 


■  Exciting  as  tomorrow,  cute  as  cute  Mme. 
Chiang,  are  these  bright  colored  coolie 
coats;  and  we  wish  you  could  see  them  in 
color!  Designed  by  Gordon-Corpuel.  they're 
just  right  for  you  teen-aged  lovelies,  right 
for  your  tiny  figures  and  for  your  slender 
budgets.  Slimly  belted,  bound  in  gleaming 
black  braid,  these  little  wonders  go  happily 
over  your  suits  come  Spring,  over  your 
crisp  cottons  come  Summer.  ^  ear  over 
a  plain,  slim  black  skirt  and  black  sweater 
to  make  a  tunic  suit  that's  terrific!  Or 
add  a  tiny  black  beret,  loads  and  loads  of 
gold  or  silver  bracelets  over  your  black 
gloves  to  give  glamor  to  those  fine,  full 
sleeves !  These  coats  are  made  in  all  those 
lush  Chinese-y  colors,  like  coral  red,  bright 
royal  blue,  brilliant  green.  Note  the  deep 
wing  sleeves,  the  fine  flare  of  the  skirt,  the 
dashing  movie-hero  look  of  the  knotted  belt, 
and  make  up  your  mind  right  now  to  own 
one! 


CO 


...  the  rayon  knit  panty 

that  fits  like  your  skin! 

To  assure  trim  dress 
lines . . .  slip  into 

S&«£t*~  first  of  all. 
For  S&*&*~  are  sized  to  fit 
your  hips . . .  every  panty  carries 
the  hip  size  on  the  label. 
And  proper  fit  does  away 
with  strain— gives  greater 

comfort,  longer  wear. 


^&/t/eei~  individually 
wrapped,  is  a  §pletafit  product. 
Send  for  booklet 
"The  Loveliness  of  You" 
A  Guide  to  Feminine  Charm. 


A.  H.  SCHREIBER  CO. 

10  West  33rd  Street.  New  Terk  1.  N.  Y. 


MAKE  THESE  YOURSELF 


The  best  way  to  brighten  up  that  tired  old 
wardrobe  is  to  get  busy  and  whip  up  a  tew 
things  for  yourself!  Here  are  two  dresses,  two 
blouses  and  a  skirt — all  lovely  to  look  at,  easy- 
as-pie  to  make!  Make  the  poncho-blouse  first, 
it's  so  easy  that  it  will  give  you  the  push  you 
need  to  go  to  work  on  the  rest!  Learn  to  pick 
up  pretty  fabrics  here  and  there  when  you  see 
them,  pretty  buttons,  bits  of  trimming.  And 
you'll  see!  Suddenly  you'll  find  yourself  the 
best-dressed  gal  in  your  whole  admiring  crowd! 

A.  Make  this  square-necked  honey  in  a  bright 
print  with  eyelet  embroidery  at  the  neck,  or  in 
a  dressy  black  sheer  with  black  lace.  This  one 
is  No.  2879,  and  it's  cut  in  sizes   10  to  40. 

B.  Easy  to  make,  yet  with  that  smart,  profes- 
sional look  is  this  scalloped  neck  dress  with  three 
fancy  buttons.  Make  it  irr  bright  rayon  gabar- 
dine for  Spring,  in  a  colorful  cotton  for  Summer. 
It's  No.  2966,  and  it  comes  in  sizes  12  to  42. 


4 


CUSTQIT1  -  STyLf  D 
for  your 


At  (teller  Store! 
SEND  FOR  FREE  BOOKLET 


fit 


MUZAK  BRASSIERE  CO.,  IRC.  -  REW  TSRK  It.  H.  T. 


Romantic  date  blouse 
with  quaint  lace  trim 
and  sweet  peorly  but- 
tons. Angel  white 
only.  Sizes  32  to  38. 


At  leading  stores  or  writ*: 
EAR-RODA     BLOUSE  CO. 

135  WEST  36th   STREET,   NEW  YORK 


MAKE  THESE  YOURSELF 


C.  The  overblouse  is  the  thing,  especially  if  it 
has  a  peplurn.  Make  it  in  taffeta  for  dates, 
or  in  pastel  rayon  with  a  black  skirt,  or  in  wool 
jersey  for  school.  Blouse  No.  2861  in  sizes 
10  to  40.  Skirt  No.  2837,  in  waist  sizes  24  to  32. 

D.  The  newest  thing  in  easy-to-make  blouse: 
the  poncho  type,  which  you  make  in  a  jiffy,  wear 
•vith  everything  you  own.    No  harder  to  make 
than  a  dickey,  but  ever  so  much  more  prac- 
tical! No.  2880,  in  one  size  that  fits  anybody. 


TO  ORDER  MODERN  SCREEN  PATTERNS 

Send  20c  in  coins  for  each  pattern.  Write  name 
and  address  plainly,  and  state  pattern  number 
and  size.  Address:  Pattern  Bureau,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  Box  42,  Station  O,  N  ew  York  II,  N.  Y. 
For  24-page  Fashion  Book,  illustrating  1 50  other 
pattern  styles  in  full   color,   send    15c  extra. 


Inexpensive  —  but  styled  to  the  minute.  A  smart,  casual  Topper  with  the 

new  softly  rounded  shoulders,  nipped  waistline,  winged  sleeve  and 

deep  armhole.  Tailored  in  all-wool  Shetland.  Tie  sash  belt,  shirred  elastic 

back  for  easy  action.  In  neon  blue,  gold,  aqua,  sky  blue,  lime,  melon.  Sizes  9  to  15. 

Write  us  for  store  name  in  your  city.   Dept.  m— 
GORDON-CORPUEL,  520  Eighth  Avenue,  New  York  18 


UNDER  f20 


71 


Above:  There's  nothing  to  beat  that  fine  old 
Southern  belle  look,  ma'am !  That  scooped  out 
neck,  those  huge  puffed  sleeves,  the  rows  of 
sweet,  sweet  eyelet  embroidery  are  dynamite! 


Right:  Stripes  have  no  rival  for  that  crisp, 
fresh-out-of-the-bandbox  look!  And  the  way 
they're  matched  in  this  honey  of  a  cotton 
dress  is  just  nothing  short  of  miraculous! 


Far  right:  This  plaid  seersucker  lovely  will 
be  your  best  friend  this  Summer!  It  is  cool 
to  look  at,  cool  to  wear,  easy  to  launder. 
The  corselet  belt,  bow  tied,  is  a  new  touch. 


COTTON 


GRACE  NORMAN. 


OF  TEENTIMERS'   FAME,  PREVIEWS  THE 


LUSCIOUS  COTTON  DRESSES  SHE 


HAS  DESIGNED  FOR  YOU  TO  WEAR 


FROM  TODAY  ON  AND  ON! 


72 


It's  EASY 
and  it's  FUN ! 


-says  Mrs.  Lois  Clarke 
of  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

Wife  and  mother  tells  how 
she  lost  53  pounds  and 
"that  middle-aged  look" 

Down  from  181  pounds  to  128. 
Down  from  size  42  to  size  14. 
That  is  what  Mrs.  Clarke 
achieved  through  the 
DuBarry  Success  Course.  "I 
was  overweight, '  tired,  irri- 
table, and  so  self-conscious 
about  my  looks  that  I  just 
stayed  home,"  says  Mrs. 
Clarke.  "How  different  now  ! 
I  lost  53  pounds  and  that 
middle-aged  look.  My  skin  is 
clear,  my  hair  truly  lovely." 


Above,  Mrs. Clarke  on 
starting  her  course. 
At  right,  the  lovely 
Lois  Clarke  of  today, 
looking  far  younger 
than  her  35  years. 

"If  I  had  only  known  how  easily  I  could  he- 
come  slender,"  Mrs.  Clarke  says,  "and  what 
fun  il  would  he,  I  could  have  saved  myself 
years  of  unhappiness.  As  for  the  Success 
Course,  Ann  Delafield  should  have  an  extra- 
special  star  in  her  crown  for  hringing  health 
and  beauty  to  so  many  women." 

HOW  ABOUT  YOU?  Wouldn't  you  like 
to  be  slender  again,  wear  more  youthful  styles, 
hear  the  compliments  of  friends?  The  DuBarry 
Success  Course  can  help  you.  It  brings  you  an 
analysis  of  your  needs,  then  shows  you  how  to 
adjust  your  weight  to  normal;  remodel  your 
figure;  care  for  your  skin:  style  your  hair  be- 
comingly; use  make-up  for  glamour.  You  fol- 
low at  home  the  same  methods  taught  by  Ann 
Delafield  at  Richard  Hudnut  Salon,  New  York. 

DuBjrry  Baauty  Chest 
Included ! 

With  your  Course  you 
receive  this  Chest  con- 
taining a  yenerous  sup- 
ply of  DuBarry  Beauty 
and  Make-up  Prepara- 
tions for  your  type. 

Ann  Delafield,  Directing 


Richard  Hudnut  Salon 


f  Guaranteed by*A 
Good  Housekeeping  , 

Please  send  me  new  booklet  telling 
•II  about  the  DuBarry  Home  Suece»*  Course. 

Miss 

Mrs  


Dept.  693  Fifth  Ave. 

New  York.  N.  Y. 


StreeL 


74  Ci'T- 


-State. 


Accepted  tot  rtwrtisrat  io  eektctiiow  ot  tfct  Amman  Medial  Aoecution 


GOOD  NEWS 

(Continued  jrom  page  65) 


everything  and  had  more  fun  than  anyone 
else.  I  never  saw  him  laugh  so  much  and 
have  such  a  really  good  time — but  then  we 
all  did. 

*  *  * 

NOMINATED  FOR  THE  HEAVIEST-PUBLIC- 
NECKER-IN-HOLLYWOOD:  Turhan  Bey!  He 
and  Peggy  Badey  don't  even  move  out  of  the 
spotlight  to  do  their  kissing  in  night  clubs. 
»        *  * 

Peter  Lawford  tells  me  he  is  going  to  have 
to  give  his  mother  some  lessons  on  how  to  be 
the  mother  of  a  movie  star.  Lady  May  Law- 
ford  is  so  gracious  and  so  hospitable  she  just 
can't  turn  away  the  fans  and  bobby  soxers 
who  come  to  the  house  asking  to  see  Peter. 

Not  long  ago,  three  young  daughters  of  a 
neighbor  stopped  by  to  meet  him.  Lady  Law- 
ford  invited  them  in  but  explained  that  her 
son  was  asleep  and  couldn't  be  disturbed. 
Having  established  that  fact,  she  spent  the 
rest  of  the  evening  entertaining  them  and  tell- 
ing them  all  about  her  son. 

When  the  girls  decided  to  go  home  they 
discovered  with  considerable  surprise  that  it 
was  eleven  o'clock. 

"Oh,  you  can't  go  home  alone  at  this  hour," 
insisted  Lady  Lawford  as  she  headed  for 
Peter's  room  to  awaken  him!  So  at  nearly 
midnight,  a  very  sleepy  hero,  clad  only  in 
pajamas  and  an  overcoat,  was  driving  the 
Beverly  Hills  streets  delivering  home  three 
very  thrilled  sub-debs. 

*  *  • 

Hold  on  to  your  beanie!  You  aren't  going 
to  believe  tins — but  Betty  Hutton  now  tips  the 
scales  at  140  pounds — 12  pounds  heavier  than 
she  weighed  in  for  "Stork  Club." 

"It's  because  I'm  happy,"  wailed  Betty, 
"and  been  eating  my  own  cooking!" 

I  have  to  admit  that  those  Thursday  night 
dinners  at  Betty's  honeymoon  house  are  be- 
coming really  famous.  Ted  Briskin,  her  beam- 
ing groom,  likes  her  cooking — "And  any  good 
cook  will  tell  you  that  you  can't  cook  any- 
thing good  that  isn't  fattening,"  Betty  said. 

*  »  * 

Right  here  is  where  I  want  to  give  Lauren 
Bacall  a  great  big  hand.  I  don't  know  whether, 
you  call  her  "Baby"  or  Betty — as  Humphrey 
Bogart  does.   I  call  her  a  wonderful  scout. 

Recently,  Lauren  was  hurt  to  the  quick  over 
the  unfavorable  reviews  in  all  the  papers  on 
her  performance  in  "Confidential  Agent"  The 
critics  really  took  the  girl  over  the  coals. 

She  said,  just  the  other  day  at  my  home, 
"I'm  not  a  great  actress.  I  need  plenty  of  help 
in  every  scene  I  play  before  the  camera.  I 
have  to  be  told  what  to  do  with  my  hands 
and  feet  and  which  way  to  turn  my  head.  My 
studio  failed  to  take  this  into  consideration 
when  they  gave  me  Herman  Shumlin,  a  stage 
director,  to  handle  me  in  'Confidential  Agent.' 

"In  the  future  I  am  going  to  say  the  first  day 
on  the  set  'Boys,  I  need  a  helping  hand. 
Please  help  see  me  through.' " 

Well,  if  the  girl  does  that,  youll  see  her  go 
farther  and  farther  in  her  career — and  I  mean 
it.  One  bad  performance  will  not  finish 
Lauren  by  any  means. 


That  little  house  where  Alan  Ladd  and  Sue 
Carol  have  lived  so  long  and  happily  during 
their  married  life,  in  the  Los  Feliz  district  of 
Los  Angeles,  will  soon  be  a  happy  memory  of 
the  past 

Every  day  Sue  and  Alan  are  out  in  the 
Valley  scouting  for  property  and  they  want 
at  least  ten  or  twelve  acres.  .  I  suppose  you 
know  they  have  gone  crazy  over  horses, 
horses,  horses  and  intend  to  breed  them. 

"What  we  want,"  says  Alan,  "is  a  small 
rambling  farm  house  and  plenty  of  room  for 
stables,  hen  coops,  a  play  house  for  Alana 
and  a  small  guest  house."  Speaking  of  Alana, 
guess  she  isn't  a  baby  any  longer.  She's  just 
been  presented  with  a  miniature  riding  out- 
fit— the  exact  duplicate  of  the  ones  worn  by 
her  Ma  and  Pa. 

*  *  • 

Van  Johns  on -In -Shorts:  He  has  never  read 
"Forever  Amber".  ...  He  defends  Greta 
Garbo  in  arguments  when  that  lady  is  being 
fried  by  some  of  her  critics.  .  .  .  He  never  has 
any  late  Christmas  shopping  to  do  because  he 
buys  Christmas  presents  for  his  pals  any 
time  during  the  year — wherever  he  happens 
to  run  across  nice  things.  .  .  .  The  headaches 
that  bothered  him  for  so  long  are  coming  less 
frequently.  ...  He  flatters  older  women,  and 
the  mothers  of  his  girl  friends,  by  calling 
them  by  their  first  names.  .  .  .  He's  given  up 
desserts,  which  he  loves,  because  he  was 
gaining  weight.  .  .  .  He's  not  quite  as  happy 
as  he  was  when  he  first  came  to  Hollywood 
— but  he  doesn't  know  why.  .  .  .  He's  an 
awful  good  guy. 

*  *  • 

News  that  Joan  Crawford  and  Phil  Terry 
had  suddenly  parted  came  to  me  around  mid- 
night after  I  had  retired  to  a  good  night's 
sleep — I  thought! 

Then  came  the  'phone  call  that  sent  me  to 
my  typewriter  to  write  my  exclusive  story — 
a  story  I  hated  to  write  and  which  was  a 
definite  surprise. 

Just  two  days  before  Phil  left  home,  he  and 
Joan  had  entertained  at  a  small  cocktail  party. 
They  certainly  seemed  happy  and  proud  of 
their  two  children.  The  den  was  a  mass  of 
Christmas  presents  Joan  was  wrapping  and 
ornaments  were  all  over  the  house  for  the 
trees  they  planned  to  decorate  the  next  night 

Little  Christina  was  upstairs  bedded  with 
the  flu.  But  little  blonde  Phil,  Jr.  was  all  over 
the  place.  He  is  one  of  the  most  adorable 
children  I  have  ever  met.  You  just  want  to 
bite  a  chunk  out  of  his  fat  little  knees  and 
arms.  Only  three  years  old,  he  bows  formally 
when  he  is  introduced.  But  the  cutest  thing 
he  does  is  to  mutter  under  his  breath  when 
he  is  not  actively  included  in  the  conversation. 

I  can't  help  but  think  that  whatever  hap- 
pened between  Joan  and  Phil  was  very  sud- 
den. I'm  sorry,  for  they  are  both  nice  people. 

*  *  * 

The  first  party  given  by  he-man  Randy 
Scott  and  his  lovely  wife,  Pat,  was  a  terrific 
affair — and  I'm  not  apologizing  for  that  ad- 
jective.   Just  everybody  in  town  was  invited. 
(Continued  on  page  77) 


mmmnmmnmi 

niiifiii 


■  If  1 1  \f, 

hi- II-!-' 
1  ft  •  - 
i 

I  i 

II 

CAMPANA  IS  DIFFERENT 


CANADIAN  BORN:  It  had  to  be  better  at  20  below. 

THRIFTY,  TOO  :  Deep,  rich,  e»ollient— one  drop  covers  both  hands . 


•  Incomparables  -  Tina  Laser's  clever  use  of  line 
and  color. . .the  miracle  of  Campana  Balm's  skin  softening 
effectiveness.  Campana  Balm  is  different  | 
from  all  other  lotions.  Fast  acting. 
Rough,  chapped  hands  respond  overnight 
-become  whiter,  thrillingly  softer. 
Because  Campana  Balm  really  works  - 
before  or  after  household  tasks, 
exposure  to  wind,  water,  weather. 
Keep  hands  soft  always  -  use  Original 
Campana  Balm,  10*  to  SI. 00. 


i 


IF  A  SILKIER,  SMOOTHER  COMPLEXION  WOULD 
MAKE  YOU  HAPPY,  THEN  HEED  THIS  HOLLYWOOD  ADVICE 
ABOUT  THE  USE  OF  FACE  POWDER  AND  CREAMS! 

By  Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor 


Susan 
Hayward 


HINTS  FOR 


HAPPY  FACES 


■  They're  gleeful,  they're  glad,  they're  joy- 
ous, they're  merry  .  .  .  these  girls  just  plain 
feel  good!  Why?  'Cause,  one  and  all,  they 
are  sure  of  their  complexion  beauty.  If  you 
would  have  your  mirror  reflect  as  happily- 
smooth  a  complexion  as  Deanna's  or  Shir- 
ley's, it  would  he  wise  to  check  on  the  care , 
you  give  your  skin.  Out  Hollywood  way,  the 
lassies  are  downright  fastidious  about  the 
powder  they  dab  on  their  noses,  they  are 
quick  to  take  advantage  of  the  many  fine 
facial  creams  that  cosmetic  folks  whip  up. 

First  off,  how  do  you  powder  your  face? 
Do  you  buy  the  nearest  shade  on  the  counter, 
then  dab  it  on  hit  or  miss,  or  rub  it  in  as 
if  you  were  polishing  old  furniture?  That's 
just  about  as  wrong  as  casting  Joan  Davis 
in  the  "Forever  Amber"  lead.  Let  your 
powder  blend  with  your  complexion  tone 
and  see  to  it,  if  you  use  a  tinted  powder 
base,  that  the  base  also  fits  into  the  ensemble. 
Then  gently  pat  on  the  silky  grained  stuff 
with  a  clean  puff  as  it  should  be  applied.  I 
want  you  to  note  this  "gentle  patting  on" 
procedure  very  carefully.  It  is  important 
because  clumsily  rubbing  the  puff  over 
your  skin  will  disturb  the  even  distribution 
of  foundation  and  {Continued  on  page  118) 


7b 


Cocktails  started  at  Romanoff's  at  six  and 
ended  way  past  curfew  time.  Lana  Turner, 
who  has  everyone  worried  that  she  will  slip 
off  and  marry  one  of  her  dozens  of  admirers, 
was  with  Bob  Hutton.  Lana  is  so  pretty  and 
romantic  she's  apt  to  do  what  we  least  expect 
when  we  least  expect  it.  She  wore  a  poke 
bonnet,  the  cutest  thing  you  ever  saw.  But 
it  wasn't  big  or  deep  enough  to  keep  Bob 
from  peering  at  her  every  moment.  Does  that 
boy  have  it  bad! 

Lew  Ayres  made  his  first  public  appear- 
ance, and  what  an  ovation  everyone  gave 
him!  He  still  has  that  same  serious  charm 
that  made  you  love  him  on  the  screen.  The 
war  changed  many  of  his  ideas  and  there 
has  been  much  talk  that  he  is  caking  up  the 
ministry.  But,  in  just  meeting  him  at  a  social 
gathering,  I  cannot  say  I  think  Lew  has 
changed  greatly.  He  was  always  a  quiet, 
reserved  man  but  he  has  great  warmth  and 
a  gentle  humor,  too. 

Cary  Grant  and  Betty  Hensel  are  no  longer 
pretending  they  don't  care.  Imagine  having 
Cary  so  much  in  love  with  YOU  that  he 
wouldn't  leave  your  side  all  evening.  Ain't 
bad.  Betty  was  wearing  Cary's  Christmas 
gift — a  diamond  and  ruby  brooch.  I  suppose 
I'll  be  writing  about  their  marriage  as  soon 
as  his  divorce  from  Barbara  Hutton  becomes 
final. 

*        *  * 

I  asked  one  of  the  members  of  The  Holly- 
wood Women's  Press  Club  if  giving  "booby 
prizes"  to  the  stars  who  had  been  the  least 
co-operative  during  the  year  ever  hurt  any 
player — and  by  the  same  token,  if  giving 
Golden  Apples  for  good  behavior  with  the 
press,  was  of  any  value. 

Personally,  I  have  always  felt  these  awards 
were  a  little  unfair.  But  this  girl,  who  is  a 
fan  magazine  writer,  said:  "Well,  look  at 
Cary  Grant.  He  won  the  booby-prize  one  year 
and  felt  so  badly  about  it  and  became  so  co- 
operative and  willing  to  help  that  he  won  the 
Golden  Apple  the  next  year!  I've  never  known 
anyone  to  be  so  pleased.  Cary  even  asked  to 
become  a  member  of  the  Club.  He  pays  dues 
and  plays  Santa  Claus  at  all  our  Christmas 
parties." 

Joan  Crawford  won  the  popularity  vote  this 
year  by  a  huge  margin.  And  when  you  stop 
and  think  how  long  Joan  has  been  a  top  star 
you'll  agree  that  playing  ball  with  the  press 
pays  off.  Gregory  Peck  won  the  "good  boy" 
honors. 


HOW  TO  SNAG  STAGS 

Stags — that's  a  crossword  puzzle 
word  for  men  .  .  .  males  .  .  .  fellers. 
When  they're  beating  a  path  to  your 
door,  you're  a  gay,  happy  thing.  When 
they're  not — then  you're  flashing  the 
S.O.S.  signal  to  Jean  Kinkead.  'Cause 
Jean's  the  gal  who  knows  all  the  an- 
swers to  the  $64  question,  "How  To  Be 
Popular  With  Boys."  In  fact,  that's  the 
title  of  the  Modern  Screen  Super  Chart 
in  which  our  Jeannie  covers  her  favor- 
ite subject  from  A  to  Z.  Turn  to  the 
Super  Coupon  (page  22)  for  details  of 
how  to  get  your  free  copy. 


TFORM 


Girdles 
Brassieres 
All-in-ones 


BRASSIERES  79*  to '1.50 
FOUNDATIONS  *2.50  to '6.50 

Bestform  Foundattons,  Inc.  •  64  West  23rd  Street,  New  York  10,  N.V. 


IOOK 
this  ca 


for 
rd 


Y0U'U  lead  *eefslena 

*****  -*3ia  dress,  coot 
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&  hundred  ««    „Mote  fMWra       d  for  ,t  t° 

Do"-    «i   U0I  BROTHER  St  N.X.l8 


77 


Another  "Hickory"  Succeii 


78 


our  Style-line 


starts  at  your  Bust-line 

There  is  a  key  to  style,  so  easy  to 
get,   so  important  to  have.  Sfl 
young  firm  bustline  is  a  basic 
need,  a  "Perma-lift"*  bra  will  do 
so  much  to  help  you  achieve  m 
easily,  comfortably.  In  "Perma» 
lift"  the  famous  cushion  insets  aft 
the  base  of  the  bra  cups,  gently 
support  your  bust  from  below,  re-B 
tain  that  support  through  count-  M 
less  washings  and  wear.  Ask  for  \ 
a  "Perma  •  lift"  bra  today  at  your  | 
favorite  corset  department.  Mod-  I 
estly  priced  $1.25  to  $2.50. 

•  "Perma  •  lift"  and  "Hickory" 
are  trademarks  of  A.  Stein  & 

Company.     (Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off.) 


SWEET  AND  HOT 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


fram  sauce  with  the  ossenfay  and  shifaffa 
on  the  side."  I  was  up  to  the  Copacabana 
a  while  ago  and  heard  King  Cole  do  it, 
and  the  composer,  Redd  Evans  was  there 
too,  so  I  asked  for  the  lowdown.  Redd  just 
grinned.  "It's  nothing  but  double-talk — 
doesn't  mean  a  thing."  King  Cole  admitted 
it  took  him  three  days  to  learn  the  line, 
and  he  had  to  postpone  his  recording.  He 
doesn't  like  to  have  to  read  music  on  record 
dates.  Being  a  great  perfectionist,  he  likes 
everything  pat. 

IT'S  A  GRAND  NIGHT  FOR  SING- 
ING— L  arry  Stevens  (Victor)  — Larry 
Stevens  has  one  of  those  lovely  stories  no- 
body believes.  There  he  was,  singing  at  a 
gas  station  and  dishing  out  gas,  and  up 
drives  Jack  Benny  and  practically  hauls 
out  a  pen  and  a  contract  on  the  spot.  But 
there's  no  sense  in  any  of  us  dashing  for 
the  nearest  filling  station,  kids.  Probably 
not  even  Groucho  Marx  would  show  up. 
That's  life.  Anyhow,  Larry  sings  "It's  a 
Grand  Night  for  Singing"  from  the  picture 
"State  Fair"  very  nicely,  and  on  the  other 
side  he  does  "Closer  to  Me,"  from  the  pic- 
ture "Easy  to  Wed."  This  one's  got  the 
final  chorus  in  Spanish,  with  Latin  back- 
ground by  Mahlon  Merrick  and  his 
orchestra 

JUST  A-SITTIN'  AND  A-ROCKIN'— 
Stan  Kenton  (Capitol) — Now  the  number 
I  told  you  was  my  choice  for  the  best 
popular  record  of  the  month.  It's  got  a 
very  knocked-out  vocal  by  beautiful  June 
Christy  who  sounds  just  like  Anita  O'Day, 
and  it's  got  a  wild  arrangement  that  really 
rocks.  On  the  other  side  there's  a  jazz 
number  called  "Artistry  Jumps."  It's  a 
jump  version  of  Kenton's  theme,  "Artistry 
in  Rhythm."  The  Kenton  boys  have 
recorded  "Artistry  in  Rhythm,"  but  this  is 
an  entirely  different  treatment.  It  features 
Vido  Musso  on  tenor  sax,  and  Stan  himself 
at  the  piano. 

LONG,  LONG  JOURNEY— Billy  Eckstine 
(National) — This  is  a  tune  I  wrote  about 
a  year  ago,  and  Billy  Eckstine  had  been 
going  to  wax  it  all  along,  so  it  was  entirely 
a  coincidence  that  the  elevator  strike  was 
called  the  day  the  band  was  finally  set  to 
record.  Everybody  had  to  walk  up  twelve 
flights  of  stairs — carrying  everything  in- 
cluding the  bass  fiddle — a  long,  long 
journey  indeed.  Which  fact,  combined 
with  the  title,  made  lots  of  people  think 
it  was  a  press  agent's  stunt.  It  wasn't, 
honest.  Billy  sings  the  lyric,  and  solos  on 
trombone.  Incidentally,  though  I  wrote 
"Long,  Long  Journey,"  I  like  "I'm  In  The 
Mood  For  Love"  (on  the  other  side)  better. 

STRANGER  IN  TOWN— Charlie  Spivak 
(Victor),  Mel  Torme  (Decca) — Here's 
a  song  composed  by  the  amazing  Mel 
Torme.  I  first  heard  of  this  kid  when  he 
was  fourteen  years  old.  He'd  written  a 
tune  called  "Lament  to  Love"  and  Les 
Brown  recorded  it!  Now  he's  eighteen, 
and  a  popular  drummer,  singer,  band- 
leader, song- writer,  etc.  I  saw  Mel  and  his 
group — The  Meltones — when  I  was  on  the 
Coast  last  January,  but  it  was  under  rather 
amusing  conditions.  I'd  gone  out  to  catch 
the  Bandwagon  show  one  Sunday  after- 
noon, and  I  noticed  Mel  and  the  Meltones 
sitting  quite  calmly  through  about  half 
the  show.  Then  suddenly  they  got  up  as 
one  man,  sang,  "Don't  itch  it,  Fitch  it," 
and  sat  down  again.  For  the  rest  of  the 
show.  To  get  back  to  the  Charlie  Spivak 
arrangement,  it's  sung  by  Jimmy  Saunders, 
a  boy  who  made  news  recently  by  marry- 
ing Rita  Daigle,  one  of  the  Rheingold  girls. 
Probably  Everything  will  be  beer  and 
skittles  for  him  from  now  on.  The  other  side 
of  Spivak's  "Stranger"  is  "Home  Country" 


with  a  vocal  by  the  popular  Irene  Daye. 

SYMPHONY— Jo  Stafford  (Capitol) ,  Guy 
Lombardo  (Decca),  Bing  Crosby  (Decca), 
Benny  Goodman  (Columbia) — One  of  the 
few  ballads  of  the  war  to  originate  over- 
seas, this  was  the  number  one  favorite  of 
the  fellows  in  France. 

TOMORROW  IS  FOREVER— Dick 
Haymes-Helen  Forrest  (Decca)  —  From 
the  new  Orson  Welles  picture  of  the  same 
name,  this  "Tomorrow  is  Forever"  gets 
sung  here  by  Helen  Forrest  and  Dick 
Haymes.  To  tell  the  truth,  I'm  not  wild 
about  these  double  feature  jobs.  I  think 
each  vocalist  does  better  when  the  arrange- 
ment is  built  around  him  or  her.  I  also 
think  Helen  was  singing  much  better  five 
years  ago,  when  she  was  with  a  band 
It  seems  to  me  she's  become  a  little  af- 
fected. The  orchestra  with  her  and  Haymes 
on  this  job  was  directed  by  Earle  Hagen. 
He's  the  trombonist  who  used  to  be  with 
Ray  Noble,  and  he's  the  composer  of  an 
awfully  pretty  tune  called  "Harlem  Noc- 
turne." (Harlem  Nocturne's  been  recorded 
by  Johnny  Otis  for  Excelsior,  and  I  think 
you'd  like  it.) 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

JIVIN'  JOE  JACKSON— Count  Basie 
(Columbia) — Count  Basie 's  new  vocal  dis- 
covery, Ann  Moore,  is  featured  on  this 
record.  The  other  side  of  "Jivin'  Joe"  is  an 
instrument  number  by  the  band.  It's  called 
"Queer  Street." 


RECORDS  OF  THE  MONTH 
Selected  by  Leonard  Feather 

BEST  POPULAR 

AS  LONG  AS  I  LIVE — Johnny  Johnston 
(Capitol) 

COME  TO  BABY,  DO — Les  Brown  (Colum- 
bia), King  Cole  Trio  (Capitol) 
DIG  YOU  LATER  (HUBBA-HUBBA-HUBBA) — 

Perry  Como  (Victor) 

IT  MIGHT  AS  WELL  BE  SPRING— Paul  Wes- 
ton-Margaret  Whiting  (Capitol),  Ray 
Noble  (Columbia) 

IT'S  A  GRAND  NIGHT  FOR  SINGING— Larry 
Stevens  (Victor) 

JUST  A-SITTIN'  AND  A-ROCKIN'  —  D uk e 
Ellington  (Victor) .  Stan  Kenton  (Capi- 
tol), Georgie  Auld  (Musicraft),  Delta 
Rhythm  Boys  (Decca) 

LONG,  LONG  JOURNEY— Billy  Eckstine 
(National) 

STRANGER  IN  TOWN  — Charlie  Spivak 
(Victor),  Mel  Torme  (Decca) 

SYMPHONY— Jo  Stafford  (Capitol),  Bing 
Crosby  (Decca) 

TOMORROW  IS  FOREVER— Helen  Forrest- 
Dick  Haymes  (Decca) 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

COUNT  BASIE— Queer  Street  (Columbia) 
ROY  ELDRIDGE— Embraceable  You  (Decca) 
EDMOND  HALL— It's  Been  So  Long  (Blue 
Note) 

ERSKINE  HAWKINS— Good  Dip  (Victor) 
HARRY  JAMES— 9:20  Special  (Columbia) 
CHARLIE  LAVERE— Can't  We  Talk  It  Over? 
( Jump ) 

RED  NORVO— Slam  Slam  Blues  (Comet) 
STUFF  SMITH— Time  And  Again  (Musi- 
craft) 

REX  STEWART— Solid  Rock  (H.R.S.) 
EDDIE  VINSON— Mr.  Cleanhead  Steps  Out 
(Mercury) 

BEST  ALBUMS 

KITTY  CARLISLE -WILBUR  EVANS-FELIX 
KNIGHT— The  Desert  Song  (Decca) 

EDDIE  CONDON— Jazz  Concert  of  Gersh- 
win Songs  (Decca) 

SPIKE  JONES — Nutcracker  Suite  (Victor) 

POLONAISE — Al  Goodman  Orchestra  and 
singers  (Victor) 

SHOWBOAT  ALBUM— Diane  Courtney  and 
others.  Kern  songs  (Pilotone) 

ARTURO  TOSCAN  IN  I— Rossini  Overtures 
(Victor) 

SOPHIE  TUCKER— Songs  She  Made  Fa- 
mous (Decca) 

ORSON  WELLES— Famous  Presidential 
Speeches  (Decca) 

BEN  YOST  SINGERS— Old  Timers  (Sonora) 


DEAR  MRS.  JOSEPH  COTTEN: 

We  think  you're  lucky... to  be  so  lovely 
yourself  ...and  to  be  married  to  such  a 
distinguished  star  of  the  screen. 

Yours, 

Tangee 


At  last  I  ve  found  it  — 

the  perfect  cake  make-up 

Scores  of  cake  make-ups  came  to  Hollywood  ahead  of 
Tangee  Petal-Finish  Cake  Make-Up.  Some  were  fine  in 
one  way. .  .some  in  another.  Then  Constance  Luft  Huhn's 
newest  creation  arrived  and  took  the  motion  picture 
colony  by  storm  because  it's  ideal  in  every  way.  You  ll 
find  that  Tangee  Petal-Finish  Cake  Make-Up  is  so  very 
easy  to  apply.  .  .  stavs  on  for  so  many  extra  hours  ...  is 
designed  to  be  oh-so-kind  to  your  skin!  And  you  don't 
look  —  or  feel  —  as  if  you  were  wearing  a  mask. 

The  thrill  of  Satin  -  Finish  ! 

Yes,  it  is  a  thrill  to  find  a  lipstick  that  does  not  run  or 
smear  .  .  .  that  means  lips  not  too  dry,  not  too  moist . .  . 
that  stays  on  for  extra  hours.  And  that's  what  Constance 
Luft  Huhn  has  done  for  your  "lip-appeal".  .  .  by  creating 
the  Tangee  Satin-Finish  Lipstick.  Todav's  smartest  colors 
are  Tangee  Gay-Red,  Red-Red  and  Medium-Red. 


says : 


CONSTANCE  LUFT  HUHN,  Head 
of  theHouse  of  Tangee  and  one  of 
America's  foremost  authorities  on 
beauty  and  make-up.  Among  Mrs. 
Huhn's  recent  triumphs  are  the 
famous  Tangee  Satin-Finish  Lip- 
stick, and  the  new  Tangee  Petal- 
Finish  Cake  Make-Up. 


a  n 


see 


how  beauti  ful 


u  can 


79 


"Love-phooey! 
Fm  wrapped  up 
in  my  job" 


KEEP  FRESH !  Bathe.  Then  dust 
your  body  with  Cashmere  Bouquet 
Talc.  Quickly  it  dries  lingering  mois- 
ture. Leaves  you  ravishingly  fresh. 

FEEL  SMOOTH!  Sprinkle  extra 
Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc  over  chaf- 
able  places.  It  imparts  a  satin-smooth 
sheath  of  protection  to  sensitive  skin. 

STAY  DAINTY!  Keep  your  femi- 
nine appeal  on  high.  Use  Cashmere 
Bouquet  often  for  coolness,  comfort 
and  for  the  dainty  way  it  scents  you 
with  the  fragrance  men  love. 


In  10c.  20<  and  35e  sizes 

For  the  luxury  size 
with  velour  puff  ask  for 
Cashmere  Bouquet 
Dusting  Powder  65^ 


DIARY  OF  A  CHAMBERMAID 

(Story) 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


"Are  you  here  for  Lanlaire's?"  the  man 
said. 

"Yes.    I'm  the  new  chambermaid." 

"Your  name?" 

"Celestine." 

The  man  stared  at  her  for  a  full  mo- 
ment and  his  eyes  moved  from  the  gleam- 
ing black  hair  to  the  small  trim  ankles. 

"You'll  do." 

The  other  girl  looked  up  meekly. 

"My  name  is  Louise.  I'm  the  new  scul- 
lery maid." 

The  man  said  shortly:  "You're  ugly. 
Go  back  to  Paris." 

"But—" 

"You  heard  what  I  said." 

He  started  to  turn  but  the  girl  Celestine 
didn't  move  and  she  said  softly:  "Are  you 
Mr.  Lanlaire?" 

The  man's  head  snapped  around:  "I 
run  the  Lanlaire  establishment." 

"The  valet?"  Celestine  said. 

"Among  other  things." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Joseph." 

"You  can  tell  your  master,  Joseph,  that 
because  you  chose  to  insult  the  scullery 
maid,  the  new  chambermaid  decided  to 
quit,  too." 

"Now — "  Joseph  said. 

"Both  of  us — or  neither,"  Celestine  said. 

"Come  along,  then,"  Joseph  said;  his 
eyes  flicked  over  the  two  of  them.  "Both 
of  you." 

Celestine's  heels  clicked  like  two  excla- 
mation points  over  the  rough  cobblestones. 
As  they  came  to  the  carriage  Joseph 
turned  once  more. 

"I  want  it  understood  that  I  am  a  per- 
son of  some  importance  at  Lanlaire's,"  he 
said.  "Understand  it  now.  For  your 
own  good." 

"Valet!"  Celestine  said  contemptuously. 

And  her  heels  clicked  again. 

This  was  Celestine:  Dark  and  pretty  and 
poor.  Born  into  poverty,  fighting  the 
world  from  the  time  her  flashing  eyes  first 
flickered  at  the  drabness  around  her.  It 
was  never  easy  and  she  never  expected 
it  to  be.  There  was  early  wisdom  in  her 
face  and  she  knew  what  she  wanted. 
Hadn't  she  written  it  in  her  diary?  Oh, 
she  wasn't  going  to  be  a  chambermaid 
forever.  There  were  men  in  the  world 
and  some  of  them  had  money;  and  all  of 
them,  or  almost  all,  had  a  way  of  looking 
twice  at  a  pretty  black-haired  girl  with 
trim  ankles  .  .  . 

So  she  came  to  Lanlaire's.  And  it  didn't 
take  her  long  to  see  her  chances  and  to  size 
them  up.  Mrs.  Lanlaire  was  a  she-wolf.  But 
the  Master?  Ah,  there  was  another  story. 
And  Mauger,  the  neighbor.  And  there 
was  even  talk  of  a  son — Georges;  he  might 
turn  up  some  day.  There  were  plenty 
of  chances  at  Lanlaire's  if  a  girl  were 
smart. 

It  was  Joseph  who  stopped  her  in  one 
of  the  corridors  one  day. 

"You  don't  have  much  time  for  me," 
he  said. 

A  chambermaid?"  Celestine  said.  "A 
chambermaid  has  no  time  for  people  of 
importance." 

"Like  the  Master—" 

Celestine  shrugged. 

"You're  wasting  your  time  there,"  Jo- 
seph said.  "All  the  money  is  in  Mrs. 
Lanlaire's  name.  He  hasn't  a  cent  of  his 
own." 

"Others  do,"  Celestine  said. 
"Mauger?" 

"He  tells  me  he  has  twenty  five  thou- 
sand francs,  in  cash  alone,  in  the  house. 


Among  other  things.  You're  not  so  smart, 
Joseph." 

"You'd  never  consider  Mauger,"  Joseph 
said.  "Not  seriously.  The  man  is  a 
fool—" 

"Are  you  the  only  smart  one  in  France?" 
Celestine  asked. 

"In  this  part  of  France." 

"I'm  not  so  keen  on  brains,"  Celestine 
said.    "A  good  man  doesn't  need  them." 

Joseph  laughed. 

"We're  alike,"  he  said.  "You're  a  sharp 
one.  And  so  am  I.  And  I'm  patient. 
You'll  get  to  like  me  better  some  day." 

"I  doubt  it." 

Joseph  smiled:  "I  don't.  Wait  and  see. 
I'm  not  a  bad  sort  at  all." 

"Valet!"  Celestine  said. 

"Not  forever,"  Joseph  said.  "Not  for- 
ever, by  a  long  shot." 

The  letter  came  the  following  day. 
Celestine  brought  it  in  to  Mrs.  Lanlaire  at 
dinner  and  reading  it,  the  great,  harsh 
face  suddenly  lit,  and  she  turned,  rising 
from  the  table.  After  that  it  was  all  ex- 
citement. Orders  were  shouted  down  the 
halls  of  the  house.  The  suite  on  the  sec- 
ond floor  was  cleaned  and  aired.  Mrs. 
Lanlaire  was  everywhere  at  once.  She 
caught  Celestine  in  one  of  the  corridors 
and  twirled  her  as  if  she  were  inspecting 
a  toy  doll. 

"The  dress!"  Mrs.  Lanlaire  cried.  "It 
won't  do." 

She  hurried  into  her  own  room,  opened 
one  of  the  great  closets,  rummaged  for  a 
moment  and  came  out  bearing  a  gown. 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"It's  beautiful,  Madame,  but—" 

"Then  it's  settled.  If  you  need  more 
let  me  know.  Hurry  now — "  Celestine 
turned  to  go.  "Celestine!"  Mrs.  Lanlaire's 
face  was  almost  soft  now.  "You're  the 
prettiest  here.  He  likes  pretty  things. 
Be  kind  to  him — " 

"Him?"  Celestine  said. 

"My  son.  He's  coming  back.  He  must 
have  whatever  he  wants.  I  couldn't  bear  to 
see  him  leave  again.  I  want  everything  to  be 
so  perfect  here  that  he'll  never  dream  of 
going—" 

"Your  son  .  .  .  ?" 

Mrs.  Lanlaire's  face  was  alight. 

"Georges  is  coming  back!"  she  cried. 

Celestine  didn't  see  him  when  he  came. 
She  heard  the  rumble  of  the  carriage  out- 
side but  by  the  time  she  ran  to  the  window, 
the  courtyard  was  bare.  She  hurried  out 
to  the  great  hall  but  she  was  too  late. 
She  heard  their  voices  high  up,  beyond 
the  turn  of  the  great  stairs,  and  then  the 
door  to  the  new  suite  being  opened.  Mrs. 
Lanlaire,  high  on  the  upper  landing,  called: 

"Celestine!" 

She  turned. 

"Bring  up  champagne.  To  Georges' 
room — " 

She  felt  even  then,  a  sudden  sense  of 
strangeness;  as  if  this  moment  in  her  life, 
walking  up  the  curving  stairs  with  the 
iced  bucket  of  champagne  and  the  tray 
with  the  delicate  and  beautiful  etched 
glass  goblet — as  if  this  moment  marked 
the  turn  in  her  life.  She  had  a  curious 
sensation  that  walking  up  these  stairs 
now,  she  was  walking  out  of  the  past, 
climbing  into  some  unknown  future  .  .  . 

She  knocked  on  the  door. 

She  could  only  see,  at  first,  the  sweep  of 
brown  hair  against  the  white  pillow.  Then 
she  saw  his  face:  Pale,  gravely  white 
under  the  startling  brown  eyes.  He  looked 
frail,  weak;  and  yet  there  was  something 


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81 


Will  she  still 
turn  heads  at^J^/ ? 


ENSEMBLE  BY  MILGRIM 


WHAT  ABOUT  YOU?  Are  you  seeing 
to  it  now  that  your  skin  will  retain  its 
glow  of  youth  long  after  others  accept 
the  tell-tale  lines  and  tiny  wrinkles  that 
follow  loss  of  natural  skin  moisture?  Are . 
you  making  every  effort  to  retain  as  long 
as  possible  the  natural  oils  that  keep  your 
skin  smooth  and  supple?  You  should! 

Neglect  of  proper  skin  care . . .  too  much 
exposure  to  winter's  harsh  winds  and 
summer's  hot  sun... these  are  the  things 


G%^S^  iC?^<S0S3^ —  A  wonderful  make-up  base 
that  vanishes  smoothly  into  the  skin,  leaving  com- 
plexion satiny  and  daintily  scented.  Let  it  act  as  you 
sleep!  This  fine,  lightly-textured  skin  cream  contains 

cholesterol" .  Helps  keep  skin  soft  and  supple, 
neutralizes  any  excess  acid  accumulations 
in  outer  pore  openings,  guards  vital 
skin  moisture.  60t,  plus  tax. 


that  cause  your  skin  to  lose  its  natural 
moisture. 

Choose  creams  carefully.  You  needn't 
pay  a  high  price  to  get  creams  that  will  do 
something  for  your  skin  .  .  .  try  the  two 
fine  creams  that  bear  the  proud  name  of 
Chas.  H.  Phillips. 

Phillips'  Milk  of  Magnesia  Skin  Cream 
contains  a  special  ingredient  that  guards 
against  loss  of  natural  skin  moisture . . . 
"cholesterol".  Helps  nature  keep  your 
skin  from  looking  old  before  its  time.  And 
soothing,  softening  oils  that  assist  in  keep- 
ing skin  smooth  and  supple. 

Phillips'  Milk  of  Magnesia  Cleansing  Cream 

prepared  especially  for  removing  make-up, 
surface  dirt  and  accumulations  from  outer 
pore  openings. 

Both  creams  contain  genuine  Phillips' 
Milk  of  Magnesia. 

Phillips' 

MILK   OF   MAGNESIA  CREAMS 


HlllIlK 


A  light,  daintily- 
scented  cleansing  cream  that  tissues  off  easily. 
Liquefies  as  you  smooth  it  on  your  skin.  Leaves 
your  complexion  looking  dewy-fresh  and 
sparklingly  clean.  60t,  plus  tax. 


strong  and  sensitive  in  the  turn  of  his 
chin,  the  quiet  line  of  his  mouth. 

"Good  afternoon,  sir — "  she  said. 

He  didn't  turn. 

"The  champagne—" 

"Take  it  away." 

"But  Madame  said—" 

"Take  it  away.  Champagne.  I've  had 
it!" 

"The  bottle  is  unopened,  sir." 

He  almost  smiled  then  and  turned  to 
her,  half  rising  against  the  backboard  of 
the  bed.  He  looked  at  her  for  a  full 
minute  before  he  spoke  again. 

"Your  hair  .  .  .  against  the  Light  .  .  ." 
He  shrugged  angrily.  "Are  you  the  maid?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I'll  have  the  champagne." 

"It  might  make  you  feel  better.  If  you 
have  a  touch  of  a  cold  there's  nothing 
like—" 

"I've  had  this  cold  for  six  years,"  he 
said;  he  said  it  almost  as  if  it  were  a  joke. 
Then  his  face  grew  grave  again,  looking 
at  her,  and  he  said:  "Mother  told  you 
to  bring  the  champagne?" 

"Yes." 

"Mother  takes  good  care  of  me,"  he 
said  mockingly.  "Even  though  I  am  the 
black  sheep  of  the  family.  Champagne 
and  a  pretty  maid."  He  shook  his  head. 
"I'm  sorry.  I've  nothing  against  you,  of 
course — " 

He  turned  away  from  her  again,  look- 
ing out  of  the  huge  window  that  framed 
the  gentle  French  countryside,  green  now, , 
and  beautiful  with  growing  things,  rising 
gently  to  a  sky  that  stretched  like  a  blue 
arch  of  grace  east  and  west  to  the  ends 
of  the  world. 

It  was  quiet  in  those  calm  summer  days, 
a  soft  beguiling  calm  that  bathed  the 
garden  and  the  walks  around  the  house 
and  even  the  tiny  village  over  the  hill 
in  beauty.  It  might  have  been  the  beauty 
of  summer  that  brought  them  together  so 
often — Georges  and  Celestine.  Or  it  might 
have  been  more.  But  they  walked  the 
garden  paths  together  and  down  to  the 
village  under  the  green  of  the  trees,  spread 
like  an  aerial  canopy  over  their  heads. 

The  old  man,  Lanlaire,  saw  it  and  he 
stopped  Georges  one  day  as  he  walked 
alone.  He  looked  gently  at  his  son  and 
then  he  said:  "Ah,  you've  been  touched, 
too,  I  see — •" 

"Touched?" 

"Celestine." 

Georges  didn't  answer  for  a  moment. 

"More  than  touched,  my  son?"  Lan- 
laire said  softly.  , 

"Much  more.    I'd  marry  her — " 

"Then  why  don't  you?" 

Georges  smiled  almost  sardonically: 
"Me?  Sick,  tired,  cynical,  beaten.  I'd 
make  a  fine  husband." 

"She  might  be  the  medicine  you  need." 

"No,"  Georges  said  harshly.  "I  wouldn't 
wish  that  on  her." 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  suddenly 
silent,  and  left  the  garden.  The  old  man 
looked  after  him  and  frowned  and  then 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  house.  They 
could  hear  Georges  pacing  in  his  room  all 
through  dinner  that  night  .  .  .  and  beyond 
into  the  small  hours:  The  irregular  click 
of  his  heels,  stopping  suddenly,  and  begin- 
ning again. 

"I'm  going  up  to  him,"  Mrs.  Lanlaire 
said. 

"No,  don't,"  the  old  man  said.  "He 
doesn't  want  to  see  you." 

"Whom  would  he  want  to  see?"  she  said 
sharply. 

"I  don't  know,"  the  old  man  said.  "Celes- 
tine, possibly.    Maybe  not  even  her  .  .  ." 

"He  must  stop  this  endless  pacing.  It's 
not  good  for  him." 

"The  world  is  full  of  things  which  aren't 
good  for  us,"  said  the  old  man  softly. 

Mrs.  Lanlaire  stared  at  him  impassively 
for  a  moment  and  then  turned  toward  the 


small  corridor  that  led  to  the  servants' 
quarters.    She  found  Celestine. 

"My  son  is  very  upset  for  some  reason. 
Perhaps  a  cup  of  hot  broth  might  soothe 
him.    Will  you  bring  it  to  him?" 

"Of  course,"  Celestine  said.- 

"Georges  is  unhappy  and  ill,"  Mrs.  Lan- 
laire  said.  "He  may  be  thinking  of  leav- 
ing, sick  as  he  is.  I  won't  have  it!  I 
won't  allow  it!    You  must  help  me  .  .  ." 

"Whatever  I  can  do,  Madame,"  Celestine 
said. 

He  was  standing  at  the  window  when 
she  came  in,  standing  with  his  back  to- 
ward her.  He  swung  around  as  she  came 
in,  looking  at  the  bowl  of  broth  she  was 
carrying,  looking  at  her. 

"Why  did  you  come?"  he  said. 

"The  broth—" 

"Who  told  you  I  needed  it?" 
"Madame  said — " 

"How  often  has  she  sent  you  to  me?" 
"Sent  me?"  Celestine  said. 
His  face  was  a  mask. 
"When  we  walked  in  the  Garden?  In 
the  village?" 
"No—" 

"All  those  pleasant,  seemingly  acciden- 
tal meetings?    Maman  sent  you — " 
"No—" 

He  said  harshly:  "You're  lying.  My 
mother  is  a  very  wise  woman.  She  knows 
my  weaknesses.  But  she  doesn't  know  my 
strength — " 

He  strode  suddenly  to  the  door,  threw 
it  open.  Mrs.  Lanlaire  was  there.  Georges 
said  sardonically:  "Come,  in  Maman." 

His  face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  very 
bright,  like  a  man  in  a  fever.  But  his 
voice  was  low  and  steady  and  when  he 
spoke  he  didn't  look  at  Celestine. 

"It  almost  worked,"  he  said.  "It  almost 
worked  again,  Mother.  You  almost  had 
me.  That's  what  you  want,  isn't  it?  To 
possess  me  the  way  you  possess  Father 
and  everything  your  hand  touches.  You 
don't  care  how  you'd  get  it.  You'd  use 
anything.    Even  love — " 

"Georges,  I  swear — " 

"I  don't  believe  you.  She's  very  pretty, 
Mother.  It  would  be  very  easy  to  love 
her.  But  I'm  going  away.  If  I  have 
to  crawl  from  this  house,  I'm  getting  out!" 

It  was  then  Celestine  suddenly  turned 
and  ran.  There  was  only  silence  behind 
her  and  she  could  feel  Georges'  accusing 
eyes  following  her  down  the  corridor. 

She  was  packing  her  bag  in  the  small 
room  in  the  attic  when  Joseph  appeared 
at  the  door. 

"So  you're  leaving,"  he  said. 

"What  do  they  think  I  am?"  Celestine 
said.  "Don't  they  think  I'm  human?  That 
I  have  feelings?  How  can  he  believe  I'd 
harm  him?  I  never  want  to  see  him  again 
now.  None  of  them!" 

"So  you're  running  away.  Back  to 
Paris,"  Joseph  said.  "Back  to  drudgery. 
And  all  the  rest.  I  thought  you  were 
smarter  than  that." 

"I'm  smart  enough." 

"Smart  enough  to  listen  to  me?" 

Her  eyes  met  his  across  the  small  room. 

Joseph  spoke  softly:  "A  long  time  ago  I 
bought  a  little  cafe  in  Cherbourg.  It's 
almost  paid  for  now.  It  needs  a  touch  of 
the  feminine.  One  could  be  independent 
there.    Never  hear  an  order  again — " 

"Be  your  serving  girl  in  Cherbourg?" 
Celestine  said  sarcastically. 

"My  wife — "  Joseph  said. 

There  was  silence  in  the  small  room. 

"And  we  could  leave  now,"  Celestine 
whispered. 

"Give  me  a  day." 

"A  day,"  Celestine  said.    "One  day." 
"Done." 

He  touched  her  then,  only  a  small  strok- 
ing movement  that  brushed  her  cheek. 
She  almost  drew  away  but  his  eyes  held 
her.  He  said  softly:  "I  knew  that  day  at 
the  station.    My  wife  .  .  ." 


•if;  /  /  \\l 


...by  CHERAMY 


Frolic  is  such  a  joyous  perfume! 
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and  bright.  And  .  .  .  when  you  use  it, 
you"ll  agree  .  .  .  Frolic  has  the  most 
head-spinning,  heart-winning  ways! 


Perfume.  $6.50;  3.50;  debutante  size.  1.10. 
Toilet  Water.  1.75. 

Dusting  Powder.  1.00.  Talcum  Pon  der.  50t. 
(Plus  tax) 


Oo/kr /fa/ids  //?  30scw/ids 


COAST-TO-COAST  TESTS  PROVE  IT— AMAZING  NEW  HINDS,  NOW  ENRICHED 
WITH  LANOLIN,  GIVES  INSTANT  SMOOTHNESS  IN  95%  OF  CASES 


"Fast  worker. ..the  new  Hinds.Smooth 
results  in  an  instant.  And  no  sticky 
after-effects."— Mrs.  Harry  T.  Batten, 
St.  Petersburg,  Florida. 

Make  this  sensational 
30-second  test  yourself  — 

Discover  why,  in  95%  of  cases,  Hinds-tested 
hands  felt  smoother— softer  — in  only  30 


seconds.  Just  put  a  few  drops  of  the  new  / 


lanolin-enriched  Hinds  on  your  hands. 
Rub  it  in . . .  see  what  a  feeling  of  softness 
Hinds  gives  to  your  hands  in  only  30 
seconds!  You'll  say  the  new  Hinds  is 
the  grandest  lotion  you've  ever  used! 


"This  creamy  new  Hinds  beats  everything  Fve 
ever  used.  Not  only  for  my  hands... but  wonder- 
ful for  elbows,  knees,  and  children's  chapped 
skin  too."  —  Mrs.  C.  Krug,  Ontario,  Canada. 


Copyright.  1946,  by  Leon  St  Fink  Products  Corporatio 


Hinds  t^p  Hands 


The  fourteenth  of  July  was  a  holiday: 
The  Day  of  Freedom.  It  was  a  holiday 
everywhere  but  at  Lanlaire's.  Mrs.  Lan- 
laire  never  admitted  that  the  Revolution 
had  taken  place.  But  in  the  village,  it 
was  the  finest  day  of  the  year.  The  streets 
were  lit  and  booths  were  set  up  in  the 
cobblestoned  gutters.  A  carousel  twirled, 
flinging  music  into  the  still  summer  air. 

It  was  there  that  Celestine  waited  for 
Joseph.  She  wandered  from  booth  to  booth 
with  Louise,  almost  carried  away  by  the 
laughter  of  the  Fair,  caught  up  in  the 
gay  swirling  spirits,  forgetting  everything — 
Joseph  had  said  to  meet  her  back  in  the 
Garden  at  eleven.  She  hardly  knew  what 
time  it  was  when  she  found  herself  back 
on  the  road  to  the  Lanlaires'  again. 

She  turned  down  the  path  between  the 
Lanlaires  and  the  Maugers.  And  it  was 
then  she  saw  Joseph.  For  a  moment  she 
almost  thought  he  had  come  from  the 
Maugers'.  But  maybe  it  was  the  wine. 
He  came  toward  her  silently.  And  when 
he  touched  her  his  fingers  were  Like  ice. 

"Celestine  .  .  ."  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  tipsily  and 
she  poked  her  finger  at  his  nose:  "Joseph 
.  .  .  funny  Joseph  .  .  .  always  so  serious." 

"We  leave  for  Cherbourg  tonight." 

"Fine.    Let's  go." 

"No.   After  dinner.   We  must  serve  din- 
ner first." 
"I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  them." 
"We  must." 

"I  want  to  go  to  Cherbourg  .  .  ." 

"Tonight.  I  swear  it.  I  have  the  money." 

"Enough  for  fare?    For  both  of  us?" 

"More.  Much  more.  Twenty  five  thou- 
sand francs  .  .  ." 

"Twenty  five  thousand  francs?" 

And  suddenly  it  was  as  if  a  cold  wind 
had  blown  over  her.  She  stared  at  him. 
"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"What  does  it  matter?    I  have  it  .  .  ." 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

And  suddenly  she  saw  again  in  her 
mind  how  she  had  first  seen  him:  Almost 
as  if  he  had  come  from  Mauger's. 

"Mauger  .  .  ."  she  whispered.  "You 
stole  it." 

Joseph  laughed  harshly:  "He'll  never 
tell." 

"Never  tell  .  .  .  ?"  Celestine  gripped  his 
arm.    "Where  is  Mauger?" 

Joseph  didn't  answer. 

"You  killed  him,"  Celestine  said. 

Joseph  said  sharply:  "We've  got  to  get 
back  to  Lanlaire's.  Quick,  now.  And 
don't  be  a  fool."  As  he  almost  pulled  her 
across  the  quiet  field,  he  said:  "I  did  it 
for  you,  I  did  it  for  you  .  .  ." 

The  great  candles  burned  sombrely  in 
the  dining  room.  Celestine  seemed  to  see 
them  almost  through  a  haze.  Mauger's 
name  kept  running  through  her  head. 

It  was  with  the  coffee  that  Joseph  made 
his  announcement. 

"Madame,"  he  said;  and  there  was  a 
thin  edge  of  sarcasm  to  his  voice.  "I  have 
served  you  for  many  years.  But  I'm  sure 
you  will  not  think  it  disloyal  if  I  dreamed 
of  some  day  being  my  own  master.  Today 
I  find  it  possible.  I  beg  to  inform  Madame 
that  I  am  leaving  her  service — " 

Mrs.  Lanlaire  hardly  stirred. 

"May  I,"  Joseph  continued,  "also  inform 
you  of  my  coming  marriage.  Celestine  has 
been  kind  enough  to  accept  my  plea — " 

"Liar!" 

The  voice  was  like  a  whip.  And  then 
they  saw  Georges  rising  from  his  chair 
at  the  end  of  the  table. 

"Liar!"  he  said  again. 

"You  may  ask  Celestine,"  Joseph  said 
smoothly. 

He  turned  to  her. 

She  stared  from  one  to  the  other.  "It's 
true,"  she  whispered. 

"True?"  Georges  said  mockingly.  "You 
love  him?" 

"Yes  .  .  ." 


"Kiss  him.  then!"  Georges  said  savagely. 
"You  love  him,  you  say.  Let  me  see  you 
kiss  the  man  you  love!" 

She  saw  Joseph  coming  to  her.  And  for 
the  second  time  she  ran  from  a  room.  She 
hardly  felt  her  tears  until  a  hand  wiped 
them  from  her  eyes,  lifted  her  chin,  forced 
her  to  look  up  at  a  pale  thin  face  and  the 
brown  tousled  hair. 

"Celestine  .  ,  T 

"Leave  me  alone." 

"You  can't  marry  him." 

"Why?"  she  said  bitterly.  "Do  you  still 
think  that  I  have  my  cap  set  for  you?" 

'Tm  sorry  for  what  I  said  in  the  room 
that  night.  I  was  angry  at  my  mother.  Not 
you  .  .  ." 

"You  told  me  you  never  wanted  to  see  j 
me  again." 

"I  lied.    Forgive  me  .  .  ." 

She  swayed,  feeling  the  pulses  beat  in 
her  head,  seeing  again  the  image  of  Mauger 
racing  through  the  channels  of  her  mind. 
"It's  too  late,  Georges.  It's  too  late  now. 
I  must  go  with  Joseph  .  .  ." 

"The  woman  is  right,"  a  voice  said. 

They  turned  together  and  they  saw 
Joseph  standing  there.  Georges  started 
slowly  toward  him. 

"Get  out,  Joseph,"  he  said. 

"I  warn  you,"  Joseph  said  coldly.  "You 
come  to  me  at  your  own  risk — " 

Georges  didn't  stop.  She  heard  the  sharp 
sting  of  blows,  heard  Joseph"s  voice  cut 
like  a  whip:  "I'll  kill  you  .  .  ." 

She  ran  toward  them. 

"Joseph,  don't!  Don't  touch  him!" 

"Are  you  corning?" 

"Yes  .  .  ."  she  said. 

Without  looking  back  she  left  the  room. 
She  heard  Georges'  labored  breathing, 
heard  him  try  to  rise,  and  fail  .  .  . 

The  rest  of  it  was  a  nightmare.  Joseph 
had  a  carriage  wTaiting  in  the  courtyard. 
He  pushed  her  on  to  it.  There  were  two 
trunks  lashed  to  the  seat  beside  them.  The  I 
fevered  sway  of  the  carriage  jolted  open 
the  lid  of  one  of  the  trunks.  Inside,  like  a 
hidden  sun,  she  caught  the  glint  of  silver. 

"Where  did  you  get  it,  Joseph?" 

"Lanlaire's,"  he  said  harshly.  "They 
owe  me  something  for  the  years  of  service." 

The  hourses  swung  sharply  at  the  road 
curve.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to  hang  on. 

The  village  loomed  ahead.  Down  the 
small  road,  a  band  came  marching,  playing 
their  gay  tunes,  carrying  torches  to  light 
the  night.  The  Fourteenth  of  July.  Joseph 
cursed,  pulled  at  the  reins.  The  crowd 
swirled  around  them. 

They  were  drunk  on  wine  and  gaiety 
and  laughter.  Joseph  cursed  and  lashed  out 
with  the  whip.  Then  suddenly  they  were 
free  of  the  crowd  again  and  Joseph  was 
saying:  "The  fools  .  .  .  the  fools  .  .  ." 

They  were  at  full  gallop  once  more  when 
Joseph  saw  that  the  trunks  were  loose. 
They  were  swaying  at  the  edge  of  the  car- 
riage, threatening  to  fall  to  the  road.  The 
reins  fell  from  his  hands.  He  lunged  to  save 
the  trunks. 

"Joseph!"  Celestine  screamed. 

But  it  was  too  late.  He  was  struggling 
with  the  trunks  and  he  never  saw  the 
turn  in  the  road.  Then  the  trunks  tumbled 
from  their  perch  and  he  was  carried  with 
them.  She  heard  his  scream,  cut  short, 
suddenly  silent.  And  then  there  was  only 
the  beat  of  the  horses'  hooves,  like  pelt- 
ing hail  on  the  cobblestones. 

She  never  knew  how  she  stopped  the 
carriage.  Suddenly  she  saw  a  slight,  frail 
figure  coming  toward  her  through  the  dark. 

"Georges  .  .  ." 

"Celestine!" 

And  she  knew  then  that  the  dark  night 
would  soon  be  over;  the  dark  night  and 
the  nightmare.  She  knew  then  that  never 
again,  in  all  the  days  to  come,  would  she 
ever  be  frightened  or  lonely  or  cruel.  No 
matter  what  came,  she  was  home  .  .  . 


GYPSY  ROSE  UE 

W  /screen  Star  .  .  .  S°YS  : 

Stage  and  Screen  without 

•  „  Aft  RID,  than  1  wouiu  ^        atj-rTD  is  an 

absolute  necessity  for  ™eu„(^ 
Roomed  men  and  women, 


NEW... a  CREAM  DEODORANT 

which  SAFELY 
STOPS  under-arm  PERSPIRATION 


1.  Does  not  irritate  skin.^Does  not  rot 
dresses  and  men's  shirts. 

2.  Prevents  under-arm  odor.  Stops  per- 
spiration safely. 

3.  A  pure,  white,  antiseptic,  stainless 
vanishing  cream. 

4.  No  waiting  to  dry.  Can  be  used  right 
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5.  Arrid  has  been  awarded  the  Approval 
Seal  of  the  American  Institute  of 
Laundering  —  harmless  to  fabric.  Use 
Arrid  regularly. 


Plus  Tax 


(Also  100  and  590) 
At  any  store  which  sells  toilet  goods 


MORE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  USE 

ARRID 

THAN  ANY  OTHER  DEODORANT 


85 


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Ises  away,  q^I^^deS  water.  Leaves  hair 
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BOGEY  GIRL 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


has  studied  seamanship  and  navigation  at 
every  opportunity;  Betty  has  been  learn- 
ing the  jobs  of  deck  hand,  cabin  boy,  and 
cook.  On  their  cabin  cruiser,  the  Bogarts 
usually  rolled  out  around  eight  in  the 
morning,  and  Bogey  went  topside  to  check 
the  weather  and  other  mysterious  nautical 
details.  Betty  would  make  up  the  bunks, 
dust  the  cabin,  and  prepare  breakfast.  She 
learned  to  make  good  coffee  at  once;  later 
she  learned  to  scramble  eggs,  and  fry  bacon. 
Sometimes,  bridelike,  she  had  trouble. 

One  morning  she  had  fried  thick  lamb 
chops  in  a  skillet  without  a  pouring  spout. 
She  wanted  to  save  the  grease,  so  trans- 
ferred it  from  the  large  skillet  to  a  smaller 
skillet  boasting  a  spout.  Bogey  watched  this 
operation  with  a  dubious  eye. 

Next,  the  amateur  chef  started  to  pour 
the  blisteringly  hot  oil  from  the  little 
skillet  into  an  empty  coffee  can;  in  her 
haste,  she  dumped  the  entire  contents  in 
a  miniature  Niagara  that  cascaded  over 
her  thumb.  Yelling  like  a  trapped  ban- 
shee, she  managed  to  set  down  skillet  and 
coffee  can  before  she  turned  on  a  dance 
that  the  Hopis  are  going  to  copyright  for 
their  next  Snake  festival. 

Her  thumb  peeled,  layer  after  layer,  for 
a  month,  and  indications  are  that  a  faint 
pink  scar  will  be  permanent. 

Bogey  laid  down  several  rules  for  care- 
ful kitchen  conduct:  Hot  fats  were  to  be 
poured  only  into  receptacles  placed  on 
tables — not  held  in  hand.  Fats  were  to  be 
decanted  only  after  cooling  had  taken 
place.  His  solicitude  was  great,  which 
probably  explains  his  saying  unhappily, 
"Carelessness,  Charlie.  Carelessness." 

pride  goeth  .  .  . 

Came  then  the  day,  several  weeks  later, 
when  the  Bogarts  returned  to  the  dock 
after  a  fast  automobile  trip  for  supplies. 
When  the  last  item  was  stowed  aboard,  the 
skipper  returned  to  the  car,  checked  for 
forgotten  merchandise,  found  that  all  was 
shipshape,  and  locked  the  car. 

Ten  fast  seconds  later  he  realized  that 
he  had  locked  the  ignition  keys  inside. 
Mr.  B.  carried  on  a  fast  monologue  that 
might  have  given  innocent  passersby  the 
impression  that  Bogey  was  a  minister 
describing  the  more  lurid  results  of  riotous 
living.  Mrs.  Bogart  said  nothing. 

After  his  conversational  block-busting, 
Bogey  located  a  telephone  from  which  he 
called  a  locksmith.  Somewhat  later,  he 
was  once  again  in  full  command  of  his  car. 
At  which  time  he  looked  at  his  girl  with 
the  guileless  face  and  observed,  "It's  a 
good  thing  you  didn't  do  that,  or  I  would 
really  have  given  you  hell!" 

The  Bogarts  looked  at  one  another  and 
burst  into  shouts  of  laughter. 

When  Betty  and  Bogey  aren't  on  their 
boat,  they  eagle  away  their  lives  in  a 
dream  house  perched  on  the  top  of  a 
Hollywood  hill.  Finding  the  house  in  the 
first  place  was  a  minor  miracle;  they  had 
been  looking  everywhere  when  a  friend 
said  one  night,  "I  just  heard  about  a  house 
owned  by  people  who  are  moving  to  South 
America.  Thought  you  might  be  interested, 
so  I  got  all  the  information." 

Betty  drove  up  the  next  morning,  and 
the  papers  were  signed  a  few  days  later. 
The  house  is  built  in  layers.  On  the  top 
floor,  entered  from  the  spiral  street  that 
arises  like  a  flagpole  from  Sunset  Boule- 
vard, is  the  dining  room,  kitchen,  and 
quarters  for  May,  the  world's  best  cook. 
She's  been  with  Bogey  for  ten  years. 

On  the  lower  floor,  reached  by  a  bride's 
processional  dream  of  a  stairway,  is  the 
living  room,  the  game  room,  a  terrace  from 


which  eighty  percent  of  Southern  Califor- 
nia is  visible  on  a  clear  day.  and  a  guest 

The  bedrock  floor,  down  another  flight 
of  stairs  from  the  living  room,  is  occupied 
by  — •;  master  bedrccm.s  and  csis,  ar.d 
the  quarters  of  Fred,  an  Anglo -African 
who  has  been  with  the  Bogarts  for  over 
a  year  and  for  whose  services  half  of 
Hollywood  would  gladly  commit  mayhem. 

Fred,  born  and  reared  in  London,  was 
referred  to  as  a  Jamaican  in  a  Hollywood 
column  and  said  to  Bogey.  "If  Fm  to  be 

seem  that  I 

address  firm 
nlord"  to  an 
result  of  bis 
households, 
i  friends.,  the  j 
Bogarts   arrived   one   night,   used  their 
latchkey  instead  of  ringing,  and  found  Fred 
in  the  game  room,  struggling  mightily  in 
an  attempt  to  play — by  ear — a  popular 
song.    They  had  been  standing  in  the  j 
doorway,  through  two  uncertain  choruses, 
before  Fred  became  aware  of  them.  Leap- 
ing up,  he  said  regretfully,  "Good  eve- 
ning, milord  and  lady.   I  have  been  dust- 
ing the  piano  without  harmonious  success."  ( 
This  house  is  the  first  in  which  Lauren  j 
has    lived:    she    Ere—   up    in   New  York 
apartments,   vowing   that   when   ;:.e  be- 
came a  home-owner,  she  was  going  to 
have  a  fireplace  in  every  room.  She  didn't 
quite  make  it,  but  both  the  living  room 
and  the  game  room  boast  fireplaces. 

The  game  room  was  originally  furnished 
with  a  bleached  mahogany  spinet,  a  fire- 
place whose  red  brick  had  been  painted 
yellow,  and  a  bamboo  bar  with  matching 
stools.  The  Bogarts  promptly  sold  the  bar 
and  st:  :1s.  installed  m atchcrg  right-angle 
red  chairs,  and  had  the  yellow  paint 
scraped  off  the  fireplace.  Betty  scouted 
around  Los  Angeles  stores  until  she  found 
beige  crash  figured  in  red:  she  had  drapes 
made  of  this  material.  She  also  found  a 
handsome  lamp,  the  base  of  which  is  a 
deep  red  stallion  head,  and  the  shade  a 
fluted  cylinder  of  straw  cloth. 


uests  through  their 
throw  open  a  door 
Be  room,  and  the 
jcked  by  a  complete 
g  blue  of  an  angel's 
iquipment  is  present, 
hat  amazes  everyone 
ve  feet  deep,  about 
eight  feet  long,  com- 


Tne  ±iogarts  Keep  it  drained,  fearing  for 

However,  this  fascinating  affair  provides 
the  Bogarts  with  a  permanent  topic  of 
conversation.  "If  Warner's  had  let  me 
make  'Arsenic  And  Old  Lice.'  "  opined 
Bogey,  "it  would  have  been  a  swell  place 
tcr  the  b  :  dies  " 

One  of  the  most  charming  things  about 
the  game  room  is  that,  above  the  piano. 
Betty  has  placed  a  series  of  framed  pic- 
tares  of  herself  and  Bogey.  Some  are  shots  I 
that  were  made  immediately  after  their  | 
wedding  cr  Louis  Bromfield's  farm:  mere 
is  an  autographed  picture  of  Mr.  Brom- 
field.  and  there  are  two  pictures  of  Bogey 
painted  by  his  mother.  On  the  opposite 
-.vail  there  :s  an  etching  ;:  Bogey  as  "Duke" 
in  'The  Petrified  Forest." 

Hanging  from  one  of  the  wall  bracket- 
lights  is  a  doll  made  of  driftwood,  raffia, 
shells  and  imagiraticn:  Lauren  fell  in  love 
with  it  at  The  Beachcomber's  one  night,  so 
Bogey  bought  it  for  her. 

Ordinarily,  however,  her  gifts  come  in 
packages  simply  because  she  is  like  a  kid 
on  Christmas  morning  about  a  package — 
any  package.  Bogey,  like  most  men,  loathes 
shopping;  his  idea  of  proper  procedure  is 


milady"  to  Lauren  and  ": 
amared  Mr    5:  part    cs  the 
service  in  British  coroneted 
After  an  evening  cut  wit 


bathing  beauty  .  .  . 


but  the  install  a::  :n  t 


Va/erie's  Boss  led  her 
quite  a  mad  chase  * 


-  But  GAYLA  HOLD-BOSS 
kept  her  ha/r-do  in  place! 

•  Invisible  heads,  rounded-for-safety  ends, 


&9  Mi  SZM  "SCOTCH"  TA  DC 


SCOTCH 

You'll  never  notice  that  spot 
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.  .  .  after  you  patch  it  with 
"Scotch"  Cellulose  Tape  .  . . 
because  "Scotch"  Tape  is 
transparent  and  sticks  tight. 


WANDERING  WIRES 

Lamp  cords  look  neater  if  you 
"Scotch"  Tape  'em  to  the  base- 
board. "Scotch"  Tape  leaves  no 
ugly  holes  in  your  woodwork. 


BALLAD  BULLETIN 

If  the  kids'  quartette  has  your 
sheet  music  in  a  mess  .  .  .  "Scotch" 
Tape  will  put  it  in  close  harmony 
before  you  can  say  Paderewski ! 


•  There's  practically  no  end  of  jobs 
you  can  do  best  with  "Scotch" 
Brand  Tape.  Your  favorite  store 
may  have  it  now  in  the  gay  new 
plaid  dispenser.  Why  not  ask 

for  it  today  —  25*  Complete.  Always  look  for  the 

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to  see  an  object  in  a  shop  window,  walk 
in,  say,  "I  want  that,"  pay  for  it  and  walk 
out.  Lately,  he  has  been  having  anything 
he  buys  for  Betty  done  up  in  style. 

Two  months  before  Lauren's  birthday, 
Bogey  ordered  a  chrysoberyl  clip  to  match 
her  ring.  Two  weeks  before  Lauren's 
birthday,  the  jeweler  called  Bogey  to  say 
that  the  clip  was  ready.  "I'll  be  right 
over,"  said  Mr.  Bogart,  being  the  type 
who  is  never  in  a  rush  about  anything. 

That  night  he  strolled  into  the  house 
with  the  right  hand  pocket  of  his  jacket 
bulging  importantly.  "Hello,"  he  said, 
giving  the  word  a  reading  that  was  worth 
an  Academy  Award. 

"You've  got  my  birthday  present," 
diagnosed  his  wife.    "Let's  open  it." 

"Nothing  doing.  I  just  brought  it  home 
because  it  was  ready,  but  I'm  going  to 
put  it  away  until  the  proper  day,"  said 
Bogey.  In  full  view  of  Betty,  he  strolled 
to  his  bureau  and  dropped  the  parcel  into 
the  bottom  drawer.  "There  it  stays  until 
your  birthday." 

"Give  me  just  a  little  hint — is  it  some- 
thing to  wear?"  inquired  Lauren.  "Is  it 
gold?  Or  is  it  perfume?  Is  it.  .  .  ." 

bequiling  betty  .  .  . 

Ten  minutes  later  Betty  was  wearing 
her  birthday  present,  and  Bogey  was  giv- 
ing her  the  details  about  what  he  had  said 
to  the  jeweler,  and  what  the  jeweler  had 
said  to  him;  how  long  the  work  had  re- 
quired and  how  much  the  stone  weighed. 

Lauren's  latest  gift  from  her  husband 
didn't  come  in  a  velvet  box  from  Beverly 
Hills,  but  in  a  cage  from  Ohio.  His  name 
is  Harvey  and  his  ears  have  been  cropped. 
Don't  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  an  acci- 
dent has  befallen  Frank  Fay's  invisible  six- 
foot  rabbit,  because  the  Bogart  Harvey  is 
a  boxer  puppy  six  months  old.  Seen  from 
the  front  he  looks  as  if  he'd  been  eating 
out  of  a  coal  scuttle,  and  seen  from  the 
rear  he  looks  as  if  he'd  backed  into  a  snow- 
drift, but  he  has  the  disposition  of  a  candy 
bar:  Sweet  and  sticky. 

If  Betty  Bogart's  first  enthusiasm  is 
opening  packages,  her  second  is  preparing 
gifts  for  others  to  open.  Bogey  is  not  an 
easy  person  for  whom  to  select  a  gift.  He 
wears  two  rings  and  a  watch;  owns  a  tie- 
clip  that  he  has  never  worn;  refuses  to 
wear  an  identification  bracelet;  likes  old 
ties,  relaxed  tweeds,  non-matching  sport 
jackets.  Clearly  not  a  candidate  for  ex- 
tensive package-opening. 

Yet,  for  Christmas,  Lauren  bought  him  a 
robe,  pajamas,  a  fountain  pen,  inscribed 
matches  for  use  on  the  boat,  and — for 
laughs — a  gold  toothpick  to  be  worn  on  his 
watch  chain.  Bogey  went  all  over  town 
afterward,  inspiring  hilarious  laughter  by 
his  deadpan  praise  of  the  gift. 

One  of  the  first  things  Lauren  learned 
about  her  husband  was  that  any  of  his 
"dese  and  doses"  on  the  screen  were  pure- 
ly theater  and  were  not  to  be  confused 
with  the  man  himself.  "He's  one  of  the  best 
informed  men  I've  ever  met,"  is  the  invari- 
able comment  of  those  who  spend  an  eve- 
ning with  the  Bogarts. 

The  Bogarts  are  currently  enthusiastic 
about  "The  Brick  Foxhole"  by  Richard 
Brooks,  and  "The  Life  of  Enrico  Caruso" 
by  the  singer's  wife.  They  spend  many  of 
their  evenings  in  town,  reading  together 
and  interrupting  the  reading  to  discuss  a 
paragraph  or  an  idea.  In  talking  about 
these  quiet  evenings  at  home,  Betty  told 
a  friend,  "When  I  was  tearing  around, 
having  dates,  I  used  to  squirm  if  a  silence 
fell  between  me  and  the  boy  I  was  with. 
I  began  to  feel  stupid  and  dull  and  em- 
barrassed. Sometimes,  when  I  thought 
about  being  married,  I  thought  it  must  be 
awful  to  run  out  of  tilings  to  say,  and 
then  to  sit  there  with  that  same  person, 
night  after  night,  even  when  you  were 
talked  out." 


Drawing  a  deep  breath  and  smiling  to- 
ward a  picture  of .  Bogey,  she  went  on, 
"But  everything  is  so  different  when  you're 
married.  Bogey  and  I  can  sit  together 
for  hours  without  exchanging  a  word,  yet 
there's  no  feeling  of  strain.  There's  only 
a  wonderful  companionship  and  a  sense  of 
completeness." 

The  actress,  Lauren  Bacall,  has  taken 
a  terrible  beating  from  the  critics  for  her 
work  in  "Confidential  Agent."  In  all  fair- 
ness, it  should  be  pointed  out  that  the 
script  was  bad,  and  that  it  was  only  the 
director's  second  picture.  Although  no 
one  likes  to  take  a  drubbing,  Betty  Bo- 
gart — as  a  private  individual  rather  than 
a  professional  personality — has  refused  to 
allow  it  to  make  her  miserable.  Not  long 
ago  she  told  friends,  "If  I  never  make  an- 
other picture,  I  won't  really  care.  I  have 
everything  a  girl  could  want  anyhow." 

While  the  Powells  and  the  Bogarts  were 
agreeing  on  the  transfer  of  ownership  of 
"The  Santana,"  they  had  dinner  together 
on  several  occasions.  One  night  June  and 
Betty  were  gabbing  like  mad  about  the 
best  little  linen  shops  in  which  to  pick 
up  oversize  sheets,  where  one  could  buy 
good  wool  blankets,  how  long  it  required 
to  have  towels  monogrammed — in  short, 
girlie  talk. 

Dick  Powell  and  Bogey  exchanged 
glances  and  winked.  "Look  at  them," 
grinned  Bogey,  "talking  like  housewives 
over  their  tall  glasses  of  cold  milk." 

Bubbled  June,  "Isn't  it  wonderful  to  be 
married?" 

Betty  Bogart  is  a  woman  of  few  words. 
All  she  said  was,  "It  is,"  but  the  look  she 
gave  her  husband  obviously  closed  the 
sentence  with  an  exclamation  point. 


DENNIS  MORGAN 

(Continued  from  page  35) 


and  let-downs,  fiascos  and  lucky  breaks  of 
Hollywood,  where  he  finally  faced  the 
greatest  job  of  keeping  busy  yet — until  he 
clinched  his  chance. 

Back  in  the  last  century,  the  engineer 
of  the  pioneer  Soo  Line  train  dropped  Den- 
nis Morgan's  maternal  great  grandfather,  O. 
D.  Van  Dusen,  off  beside  a  lonely  stretch 
of  track  and  puffed  on  around  the  bend. 
Around  O.  D.  was  nothing  but  dark  pines, 
a  rushing  river,  wild  animals  and  Indians. 
But  Grandpa  Van  Dusen  was  hunting  a 
site  to  start  a  lumber  mill  and  he  built  one, 
to  found  the  town  of  Prentice,  named  after 
his  partner.  His  granddaughter,  Grace,  mar- 
ried the  son  of  another  lumber  pioneer  who 
left  the  cozy  coastal  comfort  of  Providence, 
Rhode  Island,  to  go  West  and  make  his 
stake.  Her  bridegroom's  name  was  Frank 
Morner,  and  he  was  of  pure  Swedish 
descent.  The  Van  Dusens  were  Dutch.  In 
American  terms,  the  blood  heritage  of 
Dennis  Morgan  is  pure  pioneer.  But  it 
was  pioneer  refined  by  education. 

Grandfather  Morner  -vas  the  first  super- 
intendent of  schools  in  South  Price  County, 
and  he  possessed  a  stubborn  Yankee  faith 
in  learning.  He  sent  his  boy,  Frank,  to 
Chicago  to  Morgan  Park  Academy  and 
then  on  to  Whalen  Academy  in  Beaver 
Dam,  Wisconsin.  Frank  met  Grace  Van 
Dusen  while  she  was  studying  music  in 
nearby  Lawrence  College  at  Appleton.  He 
was  twenty-five  and  she  nineteen  when 
they  married  and  settled  back  home  in 
Prentice,  where  Frank  Morner  took  a  job 
in  the  bank.  Their  first  child,  Kenneth,  was 
in  his  third  year  on  the  bitter  cold  morn- 
ing of  December  20,  1915,  when  Doctor 
William  Ellis  carried  his  snow- dusted 
medical  bag  inside  the  warm  and  quiet 
Morner  house.  As  he  unwound  his  muffler 
and  rubbed  his  chilled  hands  by  the  glow- 


"  Water-Colors" 

Pond's  new  Make-up  Pat  washes  gorgeously 
smooth,  natural  color  over  your  face. 

"Camouflages" 

Make-up  Pat  hides  little  blemishes,  freckles. 
Gives  skin  a  young,  "poreless"  finish. 

"De-Shines" 

No  more  shiny  nose!  Make-up  Pat  gives  a 
velvety,  just-made-up  look  that  lasts  and  lasts! 


pond's  make-up  pat  protects  your 
skin  from  wind  and  weather.  Wear 
it  every  day!  69*,  39*,  plus  tax. 


GERALDINE  SPRECKELS,  society  heiress:  "Pontfs 
Make-upPatdoeSn'tlookmasky...doesn'tfeelmasky! 


Pond's  double-formula  discovery 
means  softer  make-up  for  blondes 
....  richer  make-up  for  brunettes 

Pond's  new  Make-up  Pat  has  foolproof  shades! 
The  blonde  shades  never  look  chalky  .  .  .  the 
brunette  shades  never  look  sallow.  Because 
Make-up  Pat  has  a  double  formula: 

A  featherweight  formula  makes  blonde  shades 
go  on  sheer  .  .  .  delicate  .  .  .  never  pasty. 
'  A  richer  formula  gives  brunette  shades  richer, 
rosier  glow  on  your  skin.  Never  "flat  . 

Just  "wash  on"  Make-up  Pat  with  a  damp- 
to-wet  sponge  or  cotton.  While  still  moist, 
blend  evenly  with  fingertips. 

"Make-up  Pat  gives  a  clear,  'poreless,'  fine- 
textured  finish  that  lasts!"  says  beautiful  Geral- 
dine  Spreckels. 


■mnianify 


BRI&HT  IDEAS 

-from 


DOROTHY  LAMOUR 

star  of  Paramounfs 

"MASQUERADE  IN  MEXICO" 

grows  her  own  earrings!  She  had 
clips  designed  that  hold  real  flow- 
ers; now  Dottie  shops  in  the  garden 
every  morning  to  pick  her  fresh- 
and-fragrant  jewelry  for  the  day. 


Another  bright  idea  that 

Dottie  shares  with  many 
other  movie  stars  is  clean- 
ing her  teeth  with  Calox 
Tooth  Powder.  Calox  has 
five  different  cleansing  and 
polishing  ingredients  to 
help  remove  all  kinds  of 
surface  stains  and  bring 
out  all  the  natural  lustre  of 
teeth.  "I  depend  on  Calox 
for  daily  care,"says  Dottie. 


CalOX  does  more  than  cleanse  and 
polish.  It  actually  sweetens  your 
breath  as  it  brightens  your  teeth, 
leaves  your  mouth  feeling  clean 
and  minty-fresh.  For  a  smile  of 
Breath-less  Beauty,  try  Calox 


ing  base  burner,  Doctor  Ellis  sighed  at  the 
imponderable  ways  of  the  Lord. 

He  was  on  a  double  mission.  In  one 
room  he  would  soon  bring  into  this  world 
the  second  child  of  Grace  Morner.  In 
another,  he  knew,  her  firstborn  lay  dying. 

The  Morners  knew  it,  too.  It  had  been 
evident  for  months  that  they  soon  would 
lose  Baby  Kenneth.  They  summoned  up 
their  Protestant  faith  to  give  them  strength 
for  the  inevitable  sadness,  prayed  that  the 
new  child  would  be  a  boy  to  replace  the 
loss,  and  asked  God  to  grant  him  the  strong 
spark  of  life  their  first  boy  had  lacked. 

Doctor  Ellis  brought  the  answer  to  their 
prayer  as  Frank  Morner  paced  in  the 
parlor  by  the  crackling  stove,  chewing  an 
unfilled  pipe. 

"You've  got  a  fine  son,  Frank,"  he  said 
wearily.  "I  never  saw  a  better  baby.  Per- 
fectly formed,  sound  as  a  dollar.  Nine  and 
a  half  pounds.  Everything's  all  right.  Now 
about  Kenneth — "  He  paused,  reflecting 
that  some  people  who  envied  a  country 
doctor  were  plumb  crazy. 

"Go  on." 

Kenneth  died  New  Year's  Eve,  less  than 
a  week  after  Stanley  Morner  dangled  by 
one  foot  from  his  father's  strong  fist  and 
"let  out  a  yip."  The  compensations  of 
Providence  were  never  more  evident.  From 
the  start,  the  physical  ruggedness  denied 
his  brother  was  concentrated  in  the  solid 
male  body  of  Baby  Stanley,  named  by  his 
dad  after  a  close  college  chum  at  Whalen. 

He  walked  at  nine  months,  and  talked 
at  eighteen.  He  crawled  around  his  nursery 
like  a  spider,  never  still  a  minute.  When 
he  could  toddle,  he  was  into  everything  in 
the  house  like  a  nosey  puppy  to  drive  his 
mother  mad.  He  cried  seldom  but  lustily 
and  then  only  because  he  was  sick. 
The  only  trouble  he  had  was  gums  re- 
luctant to  let  baby  teeth  through.  They 
had  to  be  lanced.  Later  on,  he  puffed  up 
with  the  mumps.  That's  the  only  sickness 
Dennis  Morgan  ever  knew  as  a  kid.  It 
was  a  good  thing.  The  North  Wisconsin 
woods  was  no  place  for  a  weakling. 

sportsman  .  .  . 

In  this  boy  heaven,  Stan,  as  his  folks 
called  him,  grew  up  like  a  young  Indian. 
He  could  ski  at  eight  and  ice  skate  earlier, 
setting  off  up  the  creek  before  the  snow 
fuzzed  it,  the  first  kid  on  the  ice  every 
winter.  He  never  fell  through  the  thin 
crust,  because  he  had  a  natural  outdoors 
know-how  and  confidence.  He  was  hardy, 
too.  Once,  in  first  grade,  his  teacher  heard 
a  commotion  on  the  pond  near  the  school- 
house.  Running  out,  she  found  Stan  gliding 
across  the  frozen  surface  in  his  bare  feet. 
She  hustled  him  inside,  plunked  his  toes 
in  cold  water  and  chafed  them  to  ward  off 
frostbite.  ^  He  laughed  at  the  idea.  Frost 
couldn't  bite  him.  "Why  did  you  do  it?" 
she  demanded. 

"Somebody  dared  me,"  said  Stan.  He 
added,  "And  it  was  fun." 

It  was  fun,  too,  for  young  Stan  to  haul 
out  of  his  warm  bed  in  the  below  zero 
cold  of  a  winter's  morning,  strap  on  his 
skis  and  make  the  rounds  of  his  river  fur 
traps  in  the  gray  dawn.  He  trapped  for 
muskrat,  mostly,  because  he  had  a  baby 
sister  by  then,  Dorothy,  and  he  wanted  to 
catch  her  a  warm  coat.  He  caught  enough 
to  do  that  and  ship  more  off  besides,  down 
to  St.  Louis  where  they  paid  him  $1.50  a 
piece  for  the  pelts,  fabulous  wealth  to  a 
woods  kid. 

Because  of  his  size,  strength,  outdoor 
skill  and  early  manliness  it  was  natural 
that  Stan  should  be  the  leader  of  his 
gang.  There  were  scads  of  kids  his  age 
in  Prentice,  all  country  kids,  and  at  home 
in  the  woods — his  cousin  Arnold  Morner, 
the  Shigley  boys,  Sam  Louis,  Ralph,  Gibby 
and  "Twisty"  Bloomberg,  Bill  Branch  — 
dozens  more.  None  of  them  softies.  Prentice 
didn't  breed  softies.  But  somehow,  when  a 


! 


crisis  came  up,  it  was  Stan  the  kids  looked 
to  to  take  over.  Like  the  time  he  got  his 
nickname,  "Tuff." 

They  were  playing  choose-up  baseball 
on  a  vacant  lot  when  a  bigger  and  older 
kid,  Pete,  well  call  him,  came  up  and 
started  to  take  over.  Pete  was  a  husky 
character,  older  and  a  natural  bully.  He 
could  lick  any  kid  in  grade  school  and 
often  did,  just  to  show  the  rest  who  was 
boss.  He  didn't  stick  to  kids  his  size.  It 
was  easier  to  push  small  fry  around.  So 
that's  what  Pete  was  doing  this  day  and 
Stan  Morner  didn't  like  it.  He  walked 
over  to  Pete,  calm  and  quiet  as  always  but 
his  eyes  cold. 

"You  want  to  fight?"  He  said  it  like 
that,  short  and  flat. 

Pete  started .  to  bristle,  but  the  bristle 
wilted.  He  didn't  like  the  ominous  way 
Stan  Morner's  arms  hung  with  the  fists 
half  closed  and  his  mouth  straight  and 
tight.  Pete  was  bigger,  older,  more  brawl- 
wise  and  had  a  reputation  at  stake.  But 
that  didn't  starch  his  soine  enough  to  face 
the  deadly  look  he  was  getting. 

"Naw,"  he  said,  surprisingly  meek  all  of 
a  sudden.  "I  don't  want  to  fight."  And  he 
sauntered  off.  Immediately  the  kids  mar- 
velled. "Gee  whiz,  gosh — jiminy! — Pete 
never  done  that  before.  I  guess  you're 
plenty  tough,  Stan.  01'  'Tuff'  Morner!" 
And -that's  how  he  was  named. 

Tuff  was  thirteen  that  noon  when  he  got 
home  from  school  and  asked  his  Mother 
for  seventy-five  cents. 

"What  for?"  Mrs.  Morner  wanted  to 
know.  They  lived  comfortably  and  there 
was  always  enough.  But  nobody  threw 
money  around — even  six-bits  of  it— in 
Prentice. 

"Sam  and  me  saw  a  big  muskie  in  a  pool 
up  the  river  and  I  need  some  bait  to  fish 
him  with." 

His  Mother  waved  him  away.  "That's 


man's  business.  Go  see  your  father."  Stan 
raced  downtown  to  the  bank  and  put  the 
bite  on  Pop  Morner.  "That's  a  lot  of 
money,"  his  Dad  objected. 

"Need  a  lot  of  bait,"  countered  Stan.  "It's 
a  big  fish.  We  saw  him  yesterday.  I  bet 
he's  twenty  pounds!"  His  Dad  snorted  but 
produced  the  three  quarters.  "All  right — 
but  you  better  catch  that  whopper!" 

"I'll  catch  him,  all  right,"  said  Stan. 

Before  the  noon  hour  was  over,  he  and 
his  chum  were  hauling  the  28-pound 
muskellunge  dangling  from  a  stick  down 
the  main  street  to  the  bank.  Everybody  in 
town  knew  about  that  feat. 

no  angel  .  .  . 

But  if  young  Stan  was  a  superior  speci- 
men in  most  ways — he  wasn't  too  good  to 
be  true.  Nobody  ever  pinned  wings  on  him, 
even  though  he  attended  Sunday  school  and 
wriggled  in  his  pew  when  the  preacher  cor- 
nered him.  The  main  thing  he  hated  about 
Sunday  school  was  that  his  mother  made 
him  dress  up.  Stan's  idea  of  the  proper 
outfit  for  a  regular  guy  was  something  in 
the  leather,  corduroy,  wool  or  sheepskin 
line,  preferably  with  patches  of  red  flannel 
sewed  on  here  and  there  for  woods  warn- 
ings to  hunters.  Somehow,  even  when  he 
was  coaxed  into  party  clothes,  Stan  had  to 
have  a  touch  of  the  outdoors  in  his  en- 
semble. His  first  long  pants  suit  was  a 
rough,  tweedy  deal  in  which  he  made  his 
manly  debut  at  14  at  a  chum's  birthday 
party  where  you  danced  with  girls.  Stan 
wore  the  suit  all  right,  with  shirt,  tie  and 
everything,  but  he  insisted  on  also  wear- 
ing rubber  boots!  Clumped  around  the  floor 
in  them  all  evening,  very  happily. 

There  were  other  ways  Stan  Morner  fell 
from  grace,  when  his  spirits  got  the  best 
of  him.  One  day  he  and  cousin  Arnold 
were  scuffing  along  the  main  street  when 
right  in  front  of  Red  Nelson's  restaurant 


they  spied  a  prize — a  discarded  package  of 
real  cigarettes.  They  snatched  it  and  made 
for  Grandpa  Van  Dusen's  cow-pasture. 
Stan  had  experimented  with  cornsilk,  ca- 
talpa  beans  and  leaves  before,  but  this 
genuine  pack  with  eight  real  cigarettes  left 
was  a  devastating  temptation.  They  divvied 
up,  four  apiece,  and  set  out  to  smoke  up  the 
whole  lot.  Two  was  enough.  In  a  few  min- 
utes the  blue  sky  above  had  turned  yellow- 
green  and  comets  and  shooting  stars  raced 
around  the  clouds.  Tuff  Morner,  12,  tried  to 
pull  himself  to  his  feet  and  stumble  home, 
but  he  couldn't  make  it.  Neither  could 
Arnold.  They  just  lay  there  rolling  their 
eyes  helplessly  and  groaning  until  dusk. 
Then  they  helped  each  other  home. 

One  Hallowe'en  Tuff  Morner  was  a  con- 
spirator in  what  remains  a  painful  mem- 
ory of  the  Prentice  school  board. 

Some  older  boys  did  the  dirty  work — 
sneaking  up  the  fire  escape  in  the  dead  of 
night  and  sprinkling  the  stuff  over  all  the 
chairs  and  desks,  whose  varnish  it  prompt- 
ly ate  away.  So  technically,  you  can't  call 
Tuff  Morner  directly  responsible  for  the 
fact  that  the  high  school  closed  up  tight 
for  two  days  and  was  an  unholy  place  to 
be  near  for  a  good  month.  But  after  all, 
Tuff's  role,  though  removed  from  the  scene 
of  operations,  was  basic.  He  supplied  the 
Essence  of  Skunk. 

Every  calendar  red  letter  day,  whether 
Hallowe'en,  Decoration  Day,  Thanksgiving, 
Easter  or  Fourth  of  July,  was  a  big  event 
in  Prentice.  It  was  remote,  200  miles  from 
Minneapolis,  the  first  big  town  Dennis 
Morgan  ever  saw  and  where  he  spied  his 
first  awe-inspiring  street  car.  And  in  small 
lonesome  towns  a  holiday  is  a  holiday; 
they  make  a  fuss;  there  isn't  much  other 
excitement  to  spice  up  the  year. 

His  birthday  was  December  20  and  that 
was  the  day  the  family  always  trimmed  the 
Christmas  tree.   Stanley  had  his  presents 


91 


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(1) 


that  night  after  dinner — a  separate  batch  of 
birthday  gifts — that  didn't  take  anything 
away  from  the  second  haul  five  days  later. 
And  one  Christmas  he  found  a  trombone 
under  the  tree.  Music  was  in  his  blood. 

Grace  Morner  was  always  singing  around 
the  house  and  she  had  been  studying  music 
at  Lawrence  College  when  Stan's  father, 
Frank,  met  and  married  her.  Her  musical 
ear  knew  the  gift  when  she  heard  it,  and 
when  her  boy  began  singing  the  songs  she 
sang  and,  untutored,  making  music  in  his 
boyish  soprano,  she  knew  what  to  do.  She 
called  Miss  Nellie  Dwyer,  the  best  music 
teacher  in  Prentice.  Tuff  Morner  felt  a 
little  silly  at  first  but  the  teacher  cleverly 
coaxed  him.  Miss  Dwyer  closed  her  eyes 
and  listened.  When  she  opened  them  she 
dabbed  with  her  kerchief.  "He's  got  a 
beautiful  voice,"  she  said.  Stan  pawed  the 
rug  with  his  toe,  embarrassed.  "He  ought 
to  be  taking  piano  lessons  right »  now," 
suggested  Nellie  Dwyer.  "He'll  appreciate 
it  so  much  when  he  grows  up." 

So  Tuff  Morner  began  learning  his  finger 
exercises,  scales  and  chords.  He  was  ten 
years  old  and  singing  was  one  thing,  but 
the  mathematics  of  a  keyboard  were  an- 
other. The  lessons  started  out  all  right,  but 
half  way  through  Stan  would  plead,  "Let's 
have  a  singing  lesson,"  and  Miss  Dwyer, 
who  couldn't  resist  that  clear  young  voice, 
would  weaken.  She  felt  a  little  guilty, 
sneaking  in  singing  lessons,  when  piano 
was  her  specialty — but — well  it  was  obvious 
Stanley  Morner  wasn't  ever  going  to  send 
Paderewski  back  to  Poland.  He  labored  al- 
most three  years  before  he  finally  quit. 

you'll  be  sorry  .  .  . 

One  of  Dennis  Morgan's  adult  regrets 
today  is  that  he  didn't  muddle  through  with 
his  piano  lessons.  What  he'd  give  today 
to  accompany  his  mature  voice  adequately! 
He  felt  Nellie  Dwyer  was  right  even  then 
when  she  said,  "You'll  regret  it  later,  Stan- 
ley." But  still  he  quit.  He  didn't  like  to 
finger  any  old  piano,  darn  it!  He  liked  to 
sing.  Fortunately,  Dennis'  own  boy,  Stan- 
ley, Junior,  can  ripple  over  the  keys.  When 
his  dad  tunes  up«at  home,  Stan,  Jr.,  asks, 
"What  key  you  want  it  in,  Dad?" 

When  he  was  twelve,  the  "Beethoven 
Trio"  was  born.  It  was  Stan  Morner's  first 
self-propelled  step  toward  a  career,  ex- 
travagant as  the  pretentious  title  sounded. 
Beethoven  was  about  the  best,  wasn't  he? 
Okay,  nothing  but  the  best  for  Tuff  Morner. 
His  cousin,  Phyllis,  played  the  piano  in  the 
"trio,"  Carl  Samuelson,  another  Prentice 
boy,  the  violin,  and  Stan  sang.  They  got 
to  be  a  regular  feature  whenever  anybody 
celebrated  anything  in  Prentice.  As  long 
as  he  could  use  his  natural  voice,  Stan 
Morner  loved  every  minute  of  it,  even  if  it 
meant  practice  in  working  up  a  repertoire. 
There's  only  one  time  on  record  where  he 
ever  missed  a  singing  engagement,  no  mat- 
ter how  big  or  dinky,  once  he  got  started. 

That  was  one  Christmas  day,  oddly 
enough,  and  it  involved  a  matter  of  the 
heart.  Try  and  make  Tuff  Morner  sick 
enough  in  an  ordinary  way  to  miss  a 
chance  to  sing  for  an  audience.  But  this 
was  a  little  different.  He  had  a  dog,  the 
best  dog  he  ever  had,  named  Bob.  Bob 
was  a  collie  with  a  black  eye  and  while 
collies  aren't  bred  to  hunt,  ordinarily,  Bob 
could  do  anything  any  dog  could  and  some 
things  a  human  could,  too. 

This  Christmas  was  especially  severe  and 
a  heavy  blanket  of  snow  covered  the 
ground.  When  he  got  up  for  his  presents, 
Stan  noticed  that  Bob  was  droopy.  Dis- 
temper. As  the  day  progressed  it  got  worse 
and  finally  he  began  acting  funny.  They 
let  him  out  and  off  he  tore  through  the 
snow,  running  his  heart  out,  and  Stan 
plunging  after  him.  He  never  caught  Bob 
until  he  was  dead,  although  he  stumbled 
clear  across  town  and  into  the  open  fields, 
with  not  enough  clothes  on.    Even  that 


wasn't  what  made  him  sick.  It  was  just 
that  Bob,  his  best  friend,  was  gone,  on 
Christmas  of  all  times.  Mrs.  Morner  had  to 
call  up  the  committee  for  the  Christmas 
choral  and  explain.  That's  the  only  time 
Stan  ever  missed  a  concert. 

About  that  time  something  else  hap- 
pened that  was  to  leave  a  deep  impression 
on  Stanley  Morner's  subconscious  mind. 
He  didn't  know  it  at,  the  time.  But  the 
night  his  father's  bank  burned  to  the 
ground  a  bee  began  to  buzz  under  his 
beanie. 

In  fighting  the  fire,  the  hoses  soaked  half 
the  paper  money  in  Prentice,  and  Stan's 
dad,  being  cashier,  carried  the  sopping 
greenbacks  home  to  his  house.  There  he 
spread  them  out  on  every  bed,  sofa  and 
chair  in  the  house  to  dry. 

It  was  to  make  Tuff  Morner  ponder.  He 
approached  his  dad. 

"How  do  people  ever  make  so  much 
money?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

His  dad  smiled.  "Oh,  lots  of  ways.  Mostly 
by  doing  something  they're  good  at— and 
like.  That  helps.  When  you  like  something 
you're  usually  good  at  it,  too." 

"What  do  people  like?" 

"Oh,  all  kinds  of  things.  Around  here 
they  like  the  lumber  business." 

"I  don't,"  said  Stan.  "I  like  to  sing." 

His  father  went  on  counting  the  crinkled 
greenbacks  and  the  conversation  ended. 
But  he  wondered  what  thoughts  were  going 
on  in  his  boy's  head.  It  would  be  years 
before  he  found  out,  or  before  Stan  did 
either,  for  that  matter. 

busy  little  lad  .  .  . 

The  trombone  added  a  new  interest  to  the 
rapidly  multiplying  operations  of  Tuff 
Morner's  life.  Stan  blared  away  in  the 
attic  and  backyard  until  the  neighbors 
almost  went  out  of  their  minds.  But  he 
mastered  it  at  last  and  joined  the  Prentice 
city  band,  with  cousin  Arnold.  They  tooted 
at  all  civic  occasions  and  always  at  the 
County  Fair,  down  at  the  county  seat,  near- 
by Phillips,  Wisconsin.  By  this  time,  too, 
Tuff  Morner  was  deep  in  high  school 
athletics,  the  pillar  of  the  Prentice  High 
basketball  team,  at  center,  and  the  catcher 
on  the  baseball  team.  And  he  still  had 
energy  to  spare. 

At  one  County  Fair,  Dennis  remembers, 
he  played  with  the  Prentice  band  all  morn- 
ing, took  time  off  that  afternoon  to  catch 
the  feature  ball  game  between  Prentice 
and  Phillips,  and  was  back  at  his  slide 
trombone  that  evening  to  blare  away  until 
they  shut  off  the  lights  at  the  Fair.  That 
job  netted  him  an  even  five  bucks. 

Stanley  Morner's  multiple  interests  ex- 
panded even  more  when  the  family  moved 
to  Marshfield.  He  was  16  then,  a  huge 
hulk  of  a  kid.  He'd  had  three  years  at 
Prentice  High  and  it  seemed  more  or  less 
like  the  end  of  the  world  when  his  dad 
decided  to  take  the  job  as  office  manager 
of  a  veneer  door  company  at  Marshfield. 

The  house  in  Marshfield  was  more  mod- 
ern and  citified.  But  the  only  way  the 
larger  town  changed  Stan  was  to  plunge 
him  into  more  activity.  He  missed  the  woods 
somuch  that  every  holiday  heranrightback, 
carrying  his  shotgun  or  fishing  rod  (as  he 
still  does  clear  from  Hollywood — when  he 
gets  the  chance)  but  where  he  had  been 
a  ten  dollar  whiz  at  Prentice,  Tuff  grew 
into  a  fifty- dollar  sensation  at  Marshfield's 
McKinley  High.  He  also  grew  out  of  the 
belligerent  tag  of  his  boyhood.  "Tuff"  van- 
ished and  he  became  strictly  Stan.  After 
all,  a  senior  in  high  school  has  to  have  some 
dignity.  And  right  away  Stan  Morner  laid 
claim  to  fame  as  he  never  had  even  at 
Prentice. 

He  made  every  athletic  team  there  was 
to  make,  collecting  enough  "M"  sweaters 
that  year  to  keep  his  mother's  moths  happy 
for  years.  There  was  baseball,  of  course, 
basketball,  and  two  new  big  town  sports 


GALE  STORM,  STARRING  IN  "SWING  PARADE  OF  1946"  A  MONOGRAM  PICTURE 


BE  LIKE 


Have  hands  whose  softness  is  charming. 

It's  easy,  with  Gale  Storm's  hand  care— Jergens  Lotion. 

Personal  Hand  Care  of  the  Stars,  7  to  I,  is  Jergens  Lotion 

NOW — PERFECTED  EVEN  FURTHER.     Thanks  to  wartime 
studies  in  skin  care,  this  famous  Jergens  Lotion 
is  even  more  effective  now. 

For  protection  I    Women  say  this 
postwar  Jergens  protects  even  longer. 

For  softening  and  smoothing.     They  say 
this  even  finer  Jergens  makes  the  hands 
even  smoother  and  softer. 

Those  2  ingredients,  so  special  for  skin-tending 
that  many  doctors  use  them,  are  included  in 
this  f iner-than-ever  Jergens  Lotion.  Now 
on  sale^-- same  bottle — still  10(£  to 
$1.00  (plus  tax).     None  of  that 
oiliness  ;  no  sticky  feeling. 

"Rn  Ihe  Softest:  Q<Uabk  ffamKs 


JERGENS  LOTION 


Now  more  Effective  than  ever — thanks  to  Wartime  Research 


Clogged  pore  openings  say  so  plainly 
•  ••Your  beauty  care  is  wrong! 


Don't  let  blackheads,  stubborn  dirt  or  dry, 
aging  "top  skin"  hide  the  natural  radiance 
of  your  complexion.  Exquisite  cleansing 


is  this  simple:  once  a  week,  Edna  Wallace 
Hopper  White  Clay  Pack.  And,  every 
day,  Homogenized  Facial  Cream. 


Prentice  hadn't  gone  in  for  much — football 
and  track.  He  kept  up  with  his  singing, 
under  a  Mrs.  William,  made  the  Glee  Club, 
where  he  soloed.  The  period  of  voice 
changing  suspense  had  safely  passed  with 
Stan  Morner.  Instead  of  losing — as  some 
predicted — the  clear  boyish  tenor  that 
all  Price  County  knew,  he  emerged  from 
the  cracking  process  with  a  firm,  manly 
young  tenor  that  was  better  than  ever. 

He  took  up  dramatics  and  debating.  Stan 
had  appeared  in  dozens  of  amateur  play- 
lets before,  around  Prentice,  cast  mainly 
because  he  was  handsome  and  could  sing 
like  a  thrush.  Later,  he  joined  the  de- 
bating club,  but  Stan  wasn't  cut  out  for 
an  orator.  The  trouble  was  he  couldn't 
hold  himself  in.  When  he  got  going  on  the 
rostrum  he  jabbered  away  so  fast  the  audi- 
ence and  judges  got  dizzy. 

The  coach  impressed  this  on  Stan  and  he 
knew  his  fault  but  couldn't  stop  once  he 
started.  He  had  an  idea.  First  debating 
contest,  he  told  his  adoring  sister  Dorothy 
to  sit  in  the  front  row.  "I'll  watch  you," 
said  Stan,  "out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye 
and  if  I'm  talking  too  fast,  you  wink.  Then 
I'll  slow  down."  Dorothy  agreed. 

When  Stan  started  his  speech  she  started 
winking  and  she  never  stopped.  He  was 
rattling  off  his  arguments  like  a  tobacco 
auctioneer.  He  saw  Dorothy  batting  her 
eyelids  like  a  butterfly's  wings  but  he 
couldn't  do  a  thing  about  it.  The  fifteen- 
minute  speech  ended  in  a  fast  five.  Every- 
body near  her  felt  so  sorry  for  that  poor 
Morner  girl  with  the  unfortunate  tic,  or 
St.  Vitus  dance,  or  whatever  it  was.  As 
for  the  Marshfield  Debating  Team — it  lost 

Dorothy  Morner  was  starting  Marshfield 
High  about  the  year  Stan  was  finishing. 
For  a  while  she  couldn't  understand  why 
she  was  so  popular  with  all  the  girls, 
Juniors  and  Seniors  who  ordinarily  scorned 
freshmen.  But  the  light  didn't  take  long  to 
dawn.  "Tell  us  about  Stan,"  the  girls  urged. 
Dorothy  could  have  run  a  bustling  date 
bureau  except  for  one  item:  She  knew  her 
brother,  Stan.  He  didn't  have  much  time 
for  girls.   Never  had. 

Maybe  it  had  something  to  do  with  the 
first  advance  Tuff  Morner  made  to  one  of 
the  fair  sex.  She  was  a  spunky  little 
moppet  in  pigtails,  in  first  grade.  He  was 
just  trying  to  be  friendly  and  help  her  home 
with  her  books.  But  she  thought  he  was  try- 
ing to  snitch  them.  She  picked  up  a  big  rock 
and  let  him  have  it— right  on  the  noggin. 
Blood  ran  down  over  his  eyes  and  blinded 
him.  To  this  day  Dennis  Morgan  carries 
the  scar,  under  his  thick  curls,  of  that  early 
adventure  in  sweet  romance. 

along  came  lillian  .  .  . 

But  truthfully,  Tuff  Morner  never  felt 
one  lone  pang  of  romance  until  one  May 
day,  while  still  living  in  Prentice,  he  made 
a  trip  down  to  Marshfield.  On  the  corner 
by  the  bank  a  tall,  pretty  girl  was  smiling 
vivaciously  as  she  sold  Buddy  poppies  to 
the  passing  citizens  on  a  War  Veteran's 
benefit  day.  Her  name,  which  Stan  didn't 
know,  was  Lillian  Vedder,  and  her  father, 
Dr.  Harry  Vedder,  was  Marshfield's  leading 
physician  and  surgeon.  Stan  didn't  meet 
her,  or  even  approach  to  buy  a  poppy.  He 
just  stared  awkwardly.  But  he  couldn't 
get  her  face  out  of  his  mind. 

The  next  summer,  when  he  moved  to 
Marshfield,  he  took  a  vacation  job  in  a 
lumber  mill  and  one  day  ran  a  nail  into 
his  foot.  They  sent  him  over  to  Dr.  Ved- 
der's  house,  and  after  he  was  treated,  and 
limped  down  the  porch  steps,  Stan  thought 
he  saw  a  lace  curtain  move.  He  had  no 
idea  why  until  he  saw  the  girl  who'd 
made  his  heart  pound  that  spring  Poppy 
Day.  She  was  in  his  class  at  McKinley 
High.  She  was  a  senior,  too.  Her  name 
was  Lillian  Vedder.  Lillian  was  the  first 
sweetheart  Stan  Morner  ever  had — and  the 
only  one.    She's  Mrs.  Dennis  Morgan,  of 


Only  a  clean  skin  is  lovely 
and  young-looking  . . . 

so  start  this  marvelous  Twin  Treatment  care  today! 


Once  a  week  .  .  .  this  "blushing  beauty"  Mask! 
<  

Spread  White  Clay  Pack  over  clean  face  and  neck.  Relax 
while  it  "lifts  up"  tired,  lax  tissues.  Helps  to  loosen 
blackheads  and  cleanse  pore  openings.  Wash  off  when 
dry  (about  8  minutes) . 

Now  see  how  your  complexion  glows  with  a  fresher, 
livelier  bloom  —  awakened  by  White  Clay  Pack's  gende 
blushing  action.  Your  skin  seems  firmer,  finer  in  texture 
—  free  from  unlovely  "top  skin".  And  your  fresher, 
smoother  complexion  takes  make-up  with  utter  flattery. 
Clearly  you  look  younger,  prettier.  And  here's  what 
you'll  do,  every  day,  to  help  protect  that  charm  . . . 


Daily  .  .  .  protection  for  fresh 
underskin  clarity 


To  get  the  most  glamorizing  results  from  your  weekly 
White  Clay  Pack,  follow  this  daily  beauty  care  with 
Homogenized  Facial  Cream.  This  rich,  blush-pink  cream 
cleanses  and  lubricates  superbly  —  helps  to  soften  rough, 
dry  skin. 

Pat  on  with  upward,  outward  strokes  — light-as-feather 
pats  around  your  eyes  where  tiny  lines  show.  (See  diagram). 
For  extra  lubrication,  apply  a  thin  film  at  night.  Watch 
your  skin  reveal  a  brighter,  smoother  freshness  that's  so 
ready  for  make-up  —  and  for  compliments! 


Twin  Treatment 

for  a  lovelier,  younger  look 


course,  today.  She  was  the  reason,  back 
then,  that  Stanley  Morner  went  to  Car- 
roll College. 

At  graduation,  Stan  managed  the  Senior 
Prom,  bought  a  special  pair  of  orange  col- 
ored pointed  shoes  for  the  occasion,  a  new 
tie  and  sat  out  every  dance  he  didn't  dance 
with  Lillian.  He  wasn't  the  valedictorian 
of  the  class  (although  he  never  flunked  a 
subject  in  his  life),  but  for  only  a  year's 
stay  at  McKinley  High,  no  graduating  senior 
had  more  honors  after  his  name  in  the  class 
book— Glee  Club,  Debating,  Football,  Bas- 
ketball, Track,  Hi-Y.  Maybe  it  was  signifi- 
cant that  in  the  face  of  all  these  honors, 
the  verse  picked  to  sum  up  Stan  Morner 
was  this: 

"He  ceased,  but  left  so 
Charming  on  their  ear 
His  song,  that  listening 
Still  they  seemed  to  hear  .  .  ." 

The  melody  of  Stan  Morner  was  what 
lingered  on. 

Stan  was  supposed  to  go  to  Lawrence 
College,  in  Appleton,  Wisconsin,  his 
mother's  alma  mater.  He  could  have  gone  to 
Lawrence  College,  Wisconsin  University  or 
Northwestern  on  a  scholarship.  He  picked 
Carroll  College  in  Waukesha.  There  was 
only  one  real  reason.  Lillian  Vedder  was  go- 
ing on  to  Carroll.  It  was  a  Presbyterian  col- 
lege and  her  grandfather  was  a  Presbyte- 
rian minister.  Stan  had  teetered  between 
the  Baptist  and  Presbyterian  denominations 
all  his  young  life.  But  at  that  point  his  re- 
ligion was  Lillian.  When  Carroll  offered 
him  a  scholarship  he  took  it. 

romantic  interference  .  .  . 

The  Morners  moved  to  Park  Falls,  Wis- 
consin, that  summer  after  Stan's  gradua- 
tion, where  Frank  Morner  found  a  better 
business  opportunity.  But  Stan  barely 
learned  the  names  of  the  streets  before  he 
was  down  at  Waukesha  and  a  Carroll  Col- 
lege frosh.  The  "job"  they'd  promised  to 
find  him,  so  he  could  work  his  way  through 
and  play  football,  turned  out  to  be  washing 
dishes  in  a  Chinese  restaurant.  Next  came 
a  Greek  restaurant,  same  job,  same  wages, 
but  easier  hours.  Stan  didn't  mind  the 
suds,  although  it  seemed  he  never  got 
through.  Lillian  and  Stan  enrolled  in  the 
same  classes:  Shakespearean  drama,  mod- 
ern drama,  dramatic  stage  direction,  the 
Workshop.  Stan  carried  on  his  voice  les- 
sons in  the  music  department  under  Clar- 
ence Shephers  and  of  course,  he  couldn't 
stop  playing  football.  He  made  the  Var- 
sity at  tackle,  and  all  the  time  Stan  Mor- 
ner was  at  Carroll  the  team  lost  only  two 
games.  One  particular  triumph  Dennis  re- 
members with  a  wickedly  reminiscent 
chuckle  was  the  Lawrence  game.  That  was 
a  pretty  lopsided  victory  for  Carroll  College 
that  year.  Because — well,  the  running  star  of 
the  Lawrence  eleven  was  a  Marshfield  boy 
and  an  old  beau  of  Lillian  Vedder's  who 
still  had  hopes.  Did  he  get  bottled  up  that 
day!  Weighing  195  then,  Stan  Morner  was 
a  cork,  too,  at  tackle,  when  he  wanted  to  be. 

Because,  by  now,  young  as  they  were, 
Stan  and  Lillian  had  an  "understanding," 
as  they  said  in  those  days,  instead  of 
"going  steady."  Stan  lived  at  his  Beta  Pi 
Epsilon  fraternity  house  and  Lillian  stayed 
at  the  college  girls'  dorm.  But  every  spare 
minute  of  the  day  and  night  they  were 
together  somewhere,  on  or  off  the  Carroll 
campus. 

The  first  play  Lillian  and  Stan  did  to- 
gether at  school,  "The  Goose  Hangs  High," 
had  a  kissing  scene,  in  which  another  char- 
acter was  supposed  to  interrupt  and  throw 
the  lovers  into  a  tizzy.  Unfortunately  for 
Lillian  and  Stan,  the  part  of  this  intruder 
fell  to  a  certain  guy  who  loved  nothing 
better  than  to  tease  and  torment.  Through- 
out rehearsals  he  arrived  on  cue  every 
time.    But   the   opening  night  of  "The 


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perspiration-stopping  ingredient 
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Goose,"  when  Lillian  and  Stan  went  into 
their  clinch — well — they  kissed  and  they 
kissed  and  finally  started  looking  des- 
perately toward  the  wings.  No  intruder 
arrived.  Finally  the  audience  began  to 
clap  and  whistle  and  only  then,  his  joke 
off,  did  the  breaker-upper,  with  a  wink  to 
the  house,  enter.  After  the  show  Stan 
chased  him  all  around  the  campus,  hell  for 
leather,  but  he  really  wasn't  as  sore  as  he 
made  out. 

top  man  .  .  . 

So  at  Carroll  College,  as  at  Prentice  and 
Marshfield  Highs,  Stan  Morner  was  strictly 
a  ball  of  fire.  Stan  sang  Sundays  in 
church  and  at  funerals,  too.  He  got  a  fee. 
He  was  a  professional.  The  local  movie 
house,  the  Park  Theater,  began  to  feature 
the  golden  voiced  college  tenor,  Mr.  Stan- 
ley Morner,  in  brief  concerts  between 
reels.  One  yellowed  ad  Dennis  still  has 
announces  grandly  that  there  will  be  "A 
special  musical  number,  "The  Indian  Love 
Call'  featuring  Stanley  Morner,  with 
unique  stage  effects."  On  top  of  everything 
else,  Stan  took  time  out  twice  to  win  the 
Wisconsin  state  championship  in  the  At- 
water  Kent  radio  singing  contests — a  na- 
tion wide  radio  talent  search  back  around 
1930.  At  the  finals  in  Milwaukee  for  the  ten 
midwestern  states,  Stan  stopped  off  on  his 
way  back  from  Lawrence  College  where  he 
had  just  played  Carroll's  big  game  in  a 
snowstorm.  He  sang  "Ah,  Moon  of  My  De- 
light" and  rejoined  the  team.  On  the  train 
one  of  his  teammates  started  razzing  him. 
"Look  who's  in  the  newspaper — old  'Moon' 
Morner!"  He'd  won  second  place  for  the 
whole  Midwest,  right  off  the  cuff  like  that. 

Stan  Morner  and  Lillian  Vedder  gradu- 
ated together  from  Carroll  College  in  1931 
That  summer  Stan  travelled  on  a  Chautau- 
qua tour  all  through  the  Midwest  states 
with  the  Carroll  College  Glee  Club,  and 
Lillian  went  home  to  Marshfield.  They  had 
marriage  definitely  in  mind  by  then  but 
there  was  the  small  business  of  making 
a  living.  They  made  plans  to  wait.  Stan 
would  go  to  Milwaukee  and  get  a  job  that 
fall.  Lillian  accepted  an  offer  to  teach 
school  in  a  small  Wisconsin  town,  Shawano. 

In  September,  Stan  packed  his  clothes 
and  left  Park  Falls  for  Milwaukee.  He 
made  the  rounds  of  the  big  lumber  com- 
panies because  didn't  he  know  lumber? 
In  spite  of  all  his  singing  and  act- 
ing triumphs,  it  still  didn't  occur  to  Stan 
Morner  that  you  could  make  a  living  that 
way.  With  his  conservative  thinking  and 
his  dad's  advice,  the  lumber  game  seemed 
to  offer  the  best  chance  for  him  to  become 
a  solid  citizen  and  marry  Lillian. 

jazzing  up  the  graveyard  .  .  . 

Luckily  for  a  lot  of  people,  including 
Dennis  Morgan  (although  it  didn't  seem  so 
then) — there  weren't  any  jobs  in  Milwaukee 
even  for  a  guy  who  knew  his  stuff  like 
Stan  did.  There  was  a  blighting  thing  on 
called  the  Great  Depression,  then  wallow- 
ing in  its  lowest  ditch.  Bewildered,  Stan 
walked  one  day  over  to  WTMJ,  the  Mil- 
waukee Journal's  radio  station.  He  had  a 
friend,  Russ  Winnie,  who  was  chief  an- 
nouncer there.  Right  away  his  Atwater 
Kent  publicity  paid  off.  Russ  landed  him  a 
solo  spot  on  a  musical  program  for  a  start- 
er and  then  offered  steady,  a  staff  announc- 
er's job.  Stan  grabbed  it. 

For  the  first  six  months  Stanley  Morner 
worked  the  graveyard  shift  at  WTMJ.  He 
announced  the  hotel  bands  that  played 
nightly  dance  music.  He  gave  out  with 
the  weather  reports.  He  read  poetry  in 
between  organ  recitals.  Sometimes  he  sang 
a  number  to  fill  in. 

One  day  Russ  Winnie  said,  "You're  quite 
an  athlete,  Stan.  Think  you  can  announce 
sports?"  Stan  knew  all  sports  and  all  about 
them.  "Sure,"  he  replied  confidently. 
"Okay,"  said  Russ    "Take  over  the  In- 


dianapolis-Milwaukee  game  this  afternoon 
and  make  it  live." 

Stan  sent  Lillian  a  wire  to  listen  in  that 
afternoon.  He  was  pretty  happy  about  the 
break.  Sports  announcers  around  Mil- 
waukee got  about  as  famous  as  the  players. 
It  was  definitely  a  break.  And  down  in 
Shawano,  Lillian  Vedder  rushed  from  her 
classes  to  her  radio  in  time  to  hear  Stan 
tossing  personality  around  recklessly  over 
the  air.  Maybe  it  was  too  reckless,  because 
in  his  enthusiasm,  Stan  was  burning  up  the 
air  waves — and  getting  himself  in  a  jam 
about  every  other  minute. 

It  was  one  of  those  games,  to  start 
with — a  wild  one — score,  18  to  12.  But  that 
was  only  half  the  reason  Stan  Morner  got 
off  the  beam.  He  was  trying  to  give  it 
too  much  red  hot  pepper. 

"There  it  goes — there  it  goes!"  he'd  yell 
into  the  mike,  "Out  of  the  park  for  a 
homer!"  Then  "N-o-o-o-o-o,  the  fielder 
caught  it.  He's  out." 

love's  not  blind  .  .  . 

Or  "He's  sliding,  he's  sliding — he's  safe 
at  home  to  put  Milwaukee  out  in  the  lead!" 
And  a  few  seconds  later,  "No,  that's  wrong. 
The  catcher  tagged  him  out."  He  got  the 
score  all  balled  up,  the  players'  names  and 
positions  mixed.  He  was  pretty  awful. 
Even  Lillian,  who  loved  him,  could  tell 
that. 

But  Stan  learned,  even  sports  announc- 
ing. He  helped  out  Russ  Winnie  around 
WTMJ  for  over  a  year  while  Lillian  taught 
English  at  Shawano.  But  Stan  was  restless. 
He  wanted  to  get  married.  He  needed 
money.  There  was  no  radio  future  for  him 
in  Milwaukee  worth  sticking  around  for. 
That  he  could  see.  Chicago  was  the  big 
radio  town  and  the  World's  Fair  was  get- 
ting started  there. 

Stan  found  Chicago  rocking  and  rolling 
with  a  boom  in  the  amusement  world.  The 
Fair  had  busted  the  town  wide  open.  Any- 
body who  could  entertain  the  huge  crowds 
pouring  in  was  set,  and  once  he  opened  his 
throat,  Stan  Morner  had  no  trouble.  He 
landed  a  job  at  once  singing  on  the  stage 
of  the  Chicago  Theater.  Then  the  State 
Lake.  The  Fair  itself.  A  friend  at  the 
State  Lake  introduced  him  to  Vernon  Buck, 
who  led  the  orchestra  in  the  famous  Em- 
pire Room  at  the  Palmer  House,  Chicago's 
greatest  hotel.  A  good  looking,  golden 
voiced,  manly  guy  like  Stan  Morner 
couldn't  miss.  After  a  week  he  had  a 
contract  in  his  hand — six  weeks  (he  later 
stayed  forty-eight  straight)  at  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars  a  week. 

Up  out  of  Stan  Morner's  subconscious 
all  of  a  sudden  popped  the  scene  back  in 
Prentice.  His  dad  counting  the  water 
crinkled  greenbacks  on  the  bed  after  the 
bank  burned  down.  He  heard  his  dad's 
words, 

"When  you  like  something  you're  usually 
good  at  it,  too!" 
And  his  own,  "I  like  to  sing." 

decision  .  .  . 

Why,  sure!  Why  not  make  his  living, 
found  his  future  on  what  he  really  liked, 
what  he  was  good  at?  Why  not  sing,  and 
act  and  entertain?  Stan  Morner's  lingering 
doubts  flew  away  like  dusty  moths  out  of 
a  closet.  He  raced  for  the  nearest  phone 
and  told  the  operator.  "Get  me  Shawano, 
Wisconsin,  and  hurry  please!"  In  a  minute 
the  voice  he'd  missed  all  these  months  was 
on  the  wire.  "Lillian,  darling,"  sputtered 
Stan  Morner,  still  talking  too  fast  and 
with  no  sister  to  wink  him  down.  "I've 
got  a  contract  singing  at  the  Empire  Room. 
I'm  in  the  money.  Let's  get  married." 
But  Lillian  understood  every  word  he 
said.  And  of  course  she  answered  "Yes!" 

(Dennis  Morgan's  life  story  will  be  con- 
cluded in  the  April  issue  oi  MODERN 
SCREEN.) 


Picture  of  comfort !  How  can  baby  help 

"looking  pleasant"  in  that  downy  soft  cocoon  of  a  North 
Star?  You  see,  a  baby  blanket  by  North  Star  turns  out  to  be 
something  pretty  special — wonderfully  fine  virgin  wools, 
woven  and  double  napped  with  the  same  skill  and  care  lav- 
ished on  regular  sizes.  So  baby  gets  an  airy-light  treasure  of 
a  blanket,  warm  and  petal-soft  as  only  virgin  wool  can  be. 
Wash?  Beautifully.  Wear?  Years  and  years. 
Really,  just  about  the  most  welcome  gift  ever 
.  .  .  for  your  baby  .  .  .  any  baby. 


IRIS  (pictured)  is  woven  of  fine 
virgin  wools,  42x60  inches  (that's 
five  feet) ,  in  Baby  Blue,  Baby  Pink, 
White  . .  .  with  matching  binding 
on  all  four  sides.  Price  $9.50. 


NOD  is  knitted  of  soft, selected  virgin 
wools.  Ends  bound  in  rayon  satin 
ribbon  to  match  Baby  Blue  or  Baby 
Pink.  42x60  inches.  Price  56.95. 


FREE!  "Sleep,  Baby,  Sleep". . .  an  engaging,  informative  booklet  on  baby's  sleep 
problems,  nursery,  layette.  North  Star  Woolen  Mill  Co.,  274-A,  South  Second 
Street,  Minneapolis  1,  Minn. 


BOTH  DELIGHTFUL  FOOD  AND  CHARMING 

GUESTS  MAKE  "THE  PLAYERS,"  THIRD  IN  OUR  SERIES  OF 

HOLLYWOOD  RESTAURANTS,  A  PLACE  TO  ENJOY! 


REVIEWING  "THE  PLAYERS 


Deanna  Durbin,  one  of  the  favorite 
customers,  practically  lived  at  "The 
Players"  before  her  recent  marriage! 


■  Director-producer  Preston  Sturges'  restaurant,  "The 
Players,"  we  rate  an  A  production!  The  scene  is  a  huge 
old  house  with  many  large  rooms  and  an  open  terrace 
facing  Sunset  Boulevard.  Off  the  terrace  there  is  the 
"Flotilla  Room"  with  walls  lined  with  paintings  of  sailing 
ships.  (Even  bringing  all  these  paintings  from  his  home 
to  the  restaurant  didn't  make  a  dent  in  Sturges' 
collection!) 

Then  there  is  the  Blue  Room  with  a  view  of  the  city's 
lights  at  night — to  get  to  this,  oddly  enough,  customers 
have  to  pass  through  the  busy  kitchen.  The  Play  Room, 
beside  the  Blue  Room,  has  a  night-clubbish  look,  a 
dance  floor  and  a  smooth  orchestra. 

The  cast  of  Hollywood  movie  characters  in  whose 
honor  the  restaurant  was  named  is  a  large  one.  They 
add  definite  glamor  to  the  surroundings,  autograph 
its  many  lampshades  and  give  tourists  something 
to  write  home  about.  Mr.  Pillet,  the  manager,  says  only 
Katharine  Hepburn  and  Constance  Bennett  have  not 


Throuqh  the  portals  of  this  charming 


BY  NANCY  WOOD 

eaten  at  "The  Players."  Garbo  once  stayed 
an  unprecedented  three  hours,  due  to  a 
blackout!  Otherwise,  once  every  week  or 
so  you  will  see  Lana  Turner,  Judy  Gar- 
land, Deanna  Durbin  and  Felix  Jackson, 
Dottie  Lamour,  Veronica  Lake,  Sonny 
Tufts,  Hedy  Lamarr,  Angela  Lansbury, 
Ross  Hunter,  Bill  Eythe,  Alan  and  Sue 
Ladd,  Charlie  Chaplin,  Jackie  Cooper,  etc. 
One  time  two  hundred  Hollywood  Some- 
bodies congregated  there  as  the  guests 
of  a  Texas  oil  millionaire  who  went  mad 
over  Oxtail  Parisienne  and  spent  $3,000 
getting  screen  celebrities  to  feast  on  it! 

The  food  is  excellent,  the  menu  varied, 
with  French  phrases  sprinkled  liberally 
throughout,  and  those  customers  who 
didn't  bone  away  at  their  French  vocabu- 
lary in  school  have  to  order  by  pointing 
and  hoping!  Most  of  the  stars  haven't  any 
specialty,  but  prefer  to  experiment  with 
delicacies  offered  "a  la  carte." 

Here,  with  minor  changes,  are  two  of 
"The  Players' "  best  recipes: 

ONION  SOUP  AU  GRATIN 

3  tablespoons  sweet  butter 

3  medium  onions,  finely  sliced 

2  quarts  plain  consomme  or  water 
2  teaspoons  salt  or  to  taste 
Dash  of  pepper 

1  cup  canned  tomatoes,  chopped,  or  tomato 
juice 

6  to  8  slices  toasted  rolls,  buttered 

4  tablespoons  grated  Italian  cheese 

Melt  butter  in  soup  kettle,  add  sliced 
onions  and  cook  over  very  low  heat  until 
onions  are  golden  brown.  Add  consomme 
or  water,  salt  and  pepper  and  cook  10  or 
15  minutes  until  onions  are  tender.  Add 
tomatoes.  (If  consomme  is  being  made  by 
adding  1  beef  bouillon  cube  per  cup  of 
water,  or  8  cubes  in  all,  add  at  this  point 
and  stir  until  dissolved.)  Place  soup  in 
earthenware  casserole.  Lay  buttered 
toasted  roll  slices  on  top,  sprinkle  with 
cheese  and  brown  under  hot  broiler  or  in 
oven.    Serve  very  hot.    Serves  6  to  8. 

LAMB  KIDNEYS  SAUTE  TURBIGO 

9  Iamb  kidneys 

%  cup  butter  or  fortified  margarine 
Light  sprinkling  of  salt  and  pepper 
1  cup  sliced  fresh  or  canned  mushrooms 

1  chopped  shallot  or  half  small  onion, 

minced 

2  or  3  tablespoons  sherry  or  red  wine 
Y2  clove  garlic 

2  tablespoons  flour 

1  cup  canned  bouillon  or  2  bouillon  cubes 

with  1  cup  hot  water 
6  small  pork  sausage,  optional 

Remove  skin  from  kidneys,  wash  and  dry 
them.  Cut  each  kidney  in  2  pieces  if  small, 
4  pieces  if  large.  Sprinkle  with  salt  and 
pepper.  Melt  2  tablespoons  butter  in  sauce- 
pan and  when  hot,  add  kidneys.  Saute, 
stirring  the  kidneys  quickly  in  the  hot  fat 
for  about  5  minutes.  (Overcooking  makes 
kidneys  tough.)  Remove  kidneys  from 
pan.  Add  another  tablespoon  butter  to  pan 
and  the  sliced  mushrooms.  Cook  slowly 
over  low  heat  for  about  6  minutes.  Add 
chopped  shallot  or  minced  onion  and  wine. 
Cook  slowly  a  few  minutes  longer.  Make 
a  brown  sauce  this  way:  Rub  small  sauce- 
pan with  garlic.  Melt  2  tablespoons  butter 
and  remove  from  heat  while  stirring  in 
flour  and  bouillon  or  water,  which  should 
be  added  gradually.  Replace  over  heat 
and  cook,  stirring  constantly  until  mixture 
bubbles.  (If  water  and  bouillon  cubes  are 
used,  add  bouillon  cubes  at  this  point  and 
stir  until  dissolved.)  Combine  brown  sauce 
mushrooms,  and  kidneys  and  reheat  care- 
fully, but  do  not  let  mixture  boil.  Add 
more  salt  and  pepper  if  needed.  Add  broiled 
sausages,  if  desired.  Serve  with  boiled  po- 
tatoes or  vegetables.  Serves  3. 


FELS-NAPTHA 

CHAD 

DUAr 

k 

n 

Br  ifflii  11 

\~f~t 

W   '"'  **■  — "w  --_ 

Yes —  the  nation's  long-standing  order  for 
Fels-Naptha  Soap  is  being  filled.  Cars  of  this 
badly-needed,  civilian  laundry  soap  are  rolling  to 
all  parts  of  the  country. 

You  won't  have  to  'do  with  something  else' 
much  longer.  You  won't  have  to  shut  your  eyes  to 
"Tattle-Tale  Gray."  Shirts  and  sheets  and  towels 
will  come  out  of  the  wash  the  way  they  should — 
dazzling  white  and  sweet. 

As  so  many  women  have  learned  during  recent 
war-time  years — to  keep  a  house  and  a  family 
really  clean,  there's  nothing  like  good,  mild  soap 
and  gentle  naptha — Fels-Naptha  Soap! 

Fels-Naptha  Soap 

BAN/SHES  ^TATTLE -TAL£  GRAY' 


WATCH  JOHNNY  COY! 

(Continued  from  page  37) 


long  feature  dance  for  "Blue  Skies,"  and 
when  he  was  through  he  came  back  over, 
puffing  a  little,  to  the  admiring  Johnny. 
"How'd  you  like  me  to  give  you  a  step, 
Johnny?"  Fred  offered.  "Just  sort  of  to 
wish  you  luck?  It  goes  like  this,"  he 
began,  slipping  into  a  step — and  that's 
where  I  tip-toed  out. 

Even  before  Fred  Astaire  clinched 
the  case,  I  knew  Johnny  Coy  was  a  comer. 
They  could  have  changed  "Bring  on  the 
Girls"  to  "Bring  on  Johnny  Coy"  for  my 
Victory  Bonds.  The  minute  Johnny's  ma- 
chine gun  taps  and  ballet  bounces  got  go- 
ing— who  needed  any  girls?  There  was 
something  special,  too,  in  his  cocky  ques- 
tion-mark eyebrows  and  his  springy, 
spunky  personality  that  matched  his  magic 
slippers — and  it  never  wavered  for  a  sec- 
ond through  "That's  the  Spirit"  and 
"Duffy's  Tavern." 

two-bit  alarm  .  .  . 

My  sales  resistance  slipped  another  hitch 
when  fifteen  hundred  pro  dance  teachers, 
headed  by  Arthur  Murray,  tagged  Jet- 
propelled  Johnny  as  the  top  screen  tapper 
of  1945.  Fifteen  hundred  dance  masters 
couldn't  be  wrong.  Came  next  that  sure 
fire  signal  when — plunk— Johnny  Coy 
bounced  right  up  in  the  middle  of  Modern 
Screen's  Poll.  And  then,  well,  I  went  to  a 
Hollywood  party  and  got  to  talking  with  a 
fellow  who's  pretty  handy  with  his  feet 
named  Gene  Kelly.  He  told  me  a  story. 

It  was  away  back  when  Gene  had  just 
come  up  from  Pittsburgh  and  his  home 
town  dancing  school  to  crash  the  Big  City. 
But  Gene  wasn't  doing  much  crashing. 
The  Big  Noise  from  the  Smoky  City,  at 
that  point,  was  barely  a  squeak,  Gene  ad- 
mitted. Making  the  rounds  of  the  iron- 
hearted  agents,  Gene  got  nowhere  fast  and 
was  wide  open  for  any  kind  of  a  cakes- 
and-coffee  job.  One  day  he  tied  into  an 
agent,  who  said  the  usual,  "Sorry,  pal." 
But  he  had  an  idea.  "Look,"  he  told  Kid 
Kelly,  "I've  got  a  hot  young  Canadian  kid 
on  my  list.  He  wants  to  study  more  danc- 
ing, so  why  don't  you  take  him  on?  That's 
your  racket,  isn't  it,  teaching?" 

"Sure,"  said  Gene.  He  likes  to  teach 
anyway  and  he  figured  he  could  pick  up 
a  few  dollars  to  help  out  at  the  Automat, 
while  he  chased  that  break  up  and  down 
Broadway. 

Of  course,  the  Canadian  kid  was  Coy. 
"What  happened  then?"  I  asked  Gene. 

He  chuckled,  "Oh,  after  the  first  lesson 
— I  quit." 

"How  come?" 

"Very  simple,"  Gene  laughed.  "I  couldn't 
teach  that  kid  anything.  He  knew  as  much 
as  I  did!  And  by  the  way,  Hedda,"  mused 
Gene,  "that  reminds  me.  I've  never  col- 
lected for  that  first  lesson  yet.  I  think 
I'll  give  Johnny  Coy  a  ring!" 

That's  about  the  reason  that  made  me 
hustle  my  bustle  to  Paramount  for  a  close- 
up  of  the  boy  Coy.  I  found  Johnny  on  a 
big  rehearsal  stage — tracked  him  right 
down  in  jig-time  just  by  listening  to  that 
drum-fire  of  flying  feet.  The  little  cutie 
he's  picked  to  be  his  partner  in  "Ladies' 
Man,"  Dorothy  Babbs,  was  trying  vainly 
to  keep  up  with  him  in  the  dizzy  routine. 
On  the  sidelines,  Miriam  Franklin,  the 
girl  who  had  the  same  hectic  headache  in 
"Duffy's  Tavern,"  was  sympathizing.  When 
Dorothy  collapsed  with  an  exhausted 
squeal  right  in  the  middle,  Miriam  mused, 
"That  Coy's  a  killer.  He  starts  out  with 
soft  shoe  and  winds  up  like  a  two-bit 
alarm!"  I  saw  what  she  meant.  Billy  Dan- 
iels, Paramount's  dance  director,  grinned. 
100  "What  am  7  doing  here?  You  can't  teach 


a  dancer  like  that  anything,  Hedda,"  he 
said.  They  tried  it,  Billy  said,  in  "Duffy's 
Tavern,"  and  it  ended  up  with  Johnny 
Coy  teaching  the  dance  teacher!  "He's  a 
worrier,  that  one,"  smiled  Billy. 

When  Johnny  Coy  was  rehearsing  his 
"Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home"  dance 
for  "Duffy's  Tavern,"  he  got  stuck  for  a 
certain  step  that  just  wouldn't  work  out. 
He  and  Billy  tr^ed  a  dozen  or  more,  but  not 
one  was  quite  right.  Billy  went  home  that 
evening  as  relaxed  as  an  old  shirt;  in  fact, 
he  had  some  friends  in  for  an  evening  of 
fun.  Johnny  Coy — well — along  about  mid- 
night Johnny  stopped  tossing  and  turning 
and  sat  up  in  bed  like  a  bee  had  stung 
him.  "I've  got  it!"  he  cried  to  his  four 
walls.  He  hopped  out  of  the  covers,  flung 
an  overcoat  over  his  pajamas  and  jumped 
into  his  jalopy. 

Minutes  later  Billy  heard  a  bang  on  his 
door  and  opened  it.  In  burst  Johnny.  He'd 
raced  clear  from  Hollywood  to  Beverly 
Hills  in  his  night  clothes.  He  didn't  even 
see  the  guests.  "Billy,"  he  cried,  "I've  got 
it!  Look,"  and  he  whipped  off  his  coat 
and  went  into  the  dance  in  his  pajamas, 
right  in  the  hall.  "How's  that?"  he  asked. 

"Fine,"  agreed  Billy.  "Absolutely  okay." 

"I  thought  so.  Thanks,"  panted  Johnny. 
"G'night" — and  he  whizzed  out  the  door, 
raced  back  to  bed  and  slept  like  a  top! 


PASSION  FOR  FASHION 

Golly,  how  you  envy  those  tall, 
Bacall-ish  gals  who  look  so  elegant 
in  the  severest  sports  clothes.  Or  may- 
be deep  inside  you're  really  the  frilly 
type,  but  with  your  hips — in  frills 
you're  a  jrump.  "Well,  relax,  sister; 
your  problem's  solved!  Whether  you're 
tall,  short,  tubby,  or  bean-pole-ish — 
whether  you  prefer  tweeds  or  tassels 
— you  can  find  the  styles  most  flatter- 
ing to  your  figure  in  Modern  Screen's 
fashion  charts,  "Sportswear  That  Flat- 
ters" and  "Date  Dress  Data."  They're 
yours  on  request.  Turn  to  page  22  for 
details. 


When  you  meet  Johnny  Coy  in  the  quiv- 
ering flesh  you  can't  help  vibrating  to  the 
high  voltage  he  sparks.  He's  a  ball  of  fire, 
a  hunk  of  U-235.  That  mighty  atom  busi- 
ness fits  him,  too,  because  he's  small,  about 
five  foot  eight,  but  packing  plenty  power. 
He's  Scotch  (real  name's  Ogilvie)  and  you 
can  tell  it  by  the  bushy  brown  brows  that 
curve  alertly  up  over  his  bright  blue  eyes 
and  the  curly,  thick  mop  of  chestnut  hair 
that  won't  say  "Uncle"  to  any  comb  or 
hair-goo  made.  He's  got  freckles  and  a 
funny  frank  smile  and  he  talks  in  a  husky, 
mixed  Canada-New  York  accented  voice 
that's  almost  as  staccato  as  his  tapping 
toes.  But  the  toes  are  what  Johnny  prefers 
to  talk  with. 

"Jake"  the  kids  called  Johnny  Ogilvie 
up  in  Montreal,  where  he  was  born  and 
where,  when  he  was  eight  years  old,  a 
frisky  aunt  came  over  from  Scotland  to 
visit  one  time,  let  down  her  Glengarry  and 
did  the  Highland  Fling,  right  in  the  kitch- 
en. Jake  couldn't  eat  his  oatmeal  until 
she  taught  him  how.  That  did  it.  He 
started  flinging  himself  around  the  house 
and  scaring  his  six  sisters  half  to  death, 
and  to  make  it  more  weird,  the  kid  Coy 
took  up  bagpipes  and  skirled  and  blew 
while  his  skirts  flew  (gosh,  that's  poetry) . 
The  result  of  all  this  kind  of  Celtic  carry- 
ing on  was  that  when  he  was  still  in 


knickers  he  became  a  big  Highland  Fling 
operator  around  the  Maple  Leaf  belt, 
flinging  himself  around  in  Montreal,  Wind- 
sor, Toronto,  Ottawa,  Lachine  and  points 
Canadian  and  collecting  cups  like  a  bus 
boy  at  Childs.'  You  know  how  many  medals 
and  cups  (including  one  ten-gallon  gold 
one)  Johnny  has  lying  around  his  folks 
place  in  Montreal  today?  Over  fifteen  hun- 
dred! And  three  sets  of  bagpipes  to  boot! 
He's  still  a  solid  sender  on  the  squeal 
bags,  but  thank  goodness  he  left  those  at 
home!  I'll  take  Benny  Goodman. 

He  was  only  twelve  when  he  took  off 
to  New  York  for  the  annual  Caledonian 
games,  a  shindig  that's  pretty  hot  stuff  if 
you're  a  Scot.  Johnny  could  promote  all 
this  traveling  around  because  his  dad  was 
a  conductor  on  the  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way and  could  wangle  passes.  The  one 
down  to  New  York  was  a  pass  on  to  show 
business,  the  way  it  turned  out.  Because 
Jake  wrapped  the  Highland  Fling  crown  of 
Canada  and  the  United  States,  too,  right 
up  in  his  kilties.  That  triumph  persuaded 
his  folks  to  let  him  quit  high  school  and  go 
after  a  career.  He  studied  briefly  at  home 
and  then  at  a  tender  fourteen  came  back 
down  to  New  York,  stayed  with  an  uncle 
and  aunt  and  did  nothing  but  dance — eight 
hours  a  day  for  months — with  typical  Coy 
concentration.  His  teacher,  Ernest  Carlos, 
smoothed  the  rough  edges  and  by  the  time 
Johnny  was  fifteen  he  was  busting  all  the 
child  labor  laws  of  New  York  State  by 
coming  on  with  the  girls  at  the  Frolics 
Club,  upstairs  above  the  old  Winter  Gar- 
den on  Broadway,  and  tapping  out  a  spe- 
cialty in  the  floor  show.  Joe  E.  Lewis  was 
the  emcee  there  and  between  shows  he 
used  to  haul  Johnny  around  to  the  tables 
to  meet  the  famous  guests — people  like 
Cary  Grant,  Bea  Lillie,  Jimmy  Durante. 
Ted  Lewis.  "Meet  my  grandchild,"  Joe 
would  crack. 

That  Ted  Lewis  is  a  sharp-eyed  talent 
picker  from  away  back  and  all  he  needed 
was  a  quick  look  at  Johnny  to  get  an  idea. 
When  he  left  the  Frolics,  Johnny  was 
traveling  with  Ted  on  his  first  vaudeville 
road  show.  And  looking  back,  Jake  Coy 
thinks  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  happened — even  though  it  almost 
cost  him  his  neck.  He  got  the  starry-eyed 
illusions  about  show  business  knocked — 
and  I  do  mean  knocked — out  of  him  early 
enough  to  save  a  lot  of  later  heartbreaks— 
and  by  a  guy  who's  a  master  at  that  sort 
of  thing,  temperamental  Ted. 

It  happened  in  Pittsburgh.  Johnny  had 
a  number  he  ended  by  whirling  off  the 
stage  in  one  of  those  spinning-top  turns 
that  made  me  dizzier  than  usual  in  "Bring 
on  the  Girls."  There  was  supposed  to  be 
a  man  waiting  in  the  wings  to  catch 
gyrating  Johnny  and  keep  him  from  slam- 
ming into  the  curtain  wire.  Well,  this 
time  there  wasn't.  Johnny  bumped  into  the 
taut  wire  and  bounced  back  on  the  stage 
right  on  his  sofa.  It  knocked  him  silly,  but 
what  was  even  worse,  Ted  Lewis,  high  hat 
and  all,  called  him  everything  he  could 
think  of  right  there  before  the  footlights 
(and  Ted  has  a  vocabulary).  Then,  also 
right  on  stage,  he  yelled,  "You're  fired!" 
And  Johnny  was,  no  foolin'. 

If  that  didn't  convince  Johnny  eager 
that  show  business  was  not  all  a  box  of 
bon-bons,  other  things  in  his  early 
rambles  did.  To  wit:  He  landed  a  job  as 
chorus  boy  in  a  new  Broadway  show 
called  "Keep  Off  the  Grass"  with  Jimmy 
Durante  (another  guest  at  the  Frolics) 
and  Ray  Bolger,  who  can  bend  his  bones 
around  somewhat,  too.  The  customers 
(Continued  on  page  103) 


Dinner  may  still  be  hours  away, 
but  you  know  it  will  be  a  success  —  you're  having  Schlitz. 

Serving  Schlitz  to  your  guests  is  like 


THE  BEER  THAT  MADE  MILWAUKEE  FAMOUS 


can  make  you  seem  older  than  you  really  are! 


If  you  look  pale  and  listless— if  you  seem  to  be  slowing 
down  — a  deficiency  of  the  blood  may  be  to  blame 


SO  MANY  people  look  older  than 
their  years— colorless,  worn,  weary. 
They're  only  faded  photographs  of 
their  former  selves.  Yes,  and  these 
people  may  find  the  cause  is  a  Border- 
line Anemia.  Women  and  children  es- 
pecially are  subject  to  Borderline 
Anemia  — a  ferro-nutritional  deficiency 
of  the  blood  — but  many  men,  too,  are 
its  victims! 

Your  blood— and  your  blood  alone- 
carries  oxygen  and  releases  energy  to 
every  organ,  every  muscle,  every  fibre. 
Your  blood  is  your  "supply  line"  of  vi- 
tality and  drive.  So  if  there  is  a  defi- 
ciency in  your  blood  — if  the  red 


blood  cells  aren't  big  enough  and 
strong  enough  and  healthy  enough, 
you  just  can't  hope  to  feel  vigor- 
ous, "alive"!  Borderline  Anemia 
means  that  the  quality  of  your  ffi 
blood  is  below  par,  that  the  red  9 
blood  cells  can't  do  their  important  I 
job  right. 

Take  Ironized  Yeast  to  Build  Up 
Blood,  Energy 

Continuing  tiredness,  listlessness  and 
pallor  may,  of  course,  be  caused  by 
other  conditions.  Always  be  sure  to 
consult  your  physician  regularly.  But 
when  you  have  a  Borderline  Anemia, 


BORDERLINE  ANEMIA 

—a  ferro-nutritional  deficiency 
of  the  blood  —  can  cause 
TIREDNESS  •  LISTLESSNESS  •  PALLOR 


Energy-Building  Blood.  This  is 
a  microscopic  view  of  blood 
rich  in  energy  elements. 
Here  are  big,  plentiful  red 
cells  that  release  energy  to 
every  muscle,  limb,  tissue. 


Borderline  Anemia. Thousands 
have  blood  like  this;  never 
know  it.  Cells  are  puny, 
irregular.  Blood  like  this 
can't  generate  the  energy 
you  need  to  feel  and  look 
your  best. 


when  you  find  yourself  envying  others 
their  youthfui  vitality  and  their  glow- 
ing good  looks,  take  Ironized  Yeast 
Tablets.  When  all  you  need  is  stronger, 
healthier  red  blood  cells  —  Ironized 
Yeast  Tablets  will  help  you  build  up 
your  blood  and  your  energy.  At  all 
drugstores. 


IMPROVED  CONCENTRATED  FORMULA 

Ironized  Yeast 


TABLETS 


(Continued  from  page  100) 
obeyed  the  warning — and  more.  They  kept 
off  not  only  the  grass  but  the  mat  in  front 
of  the  box-office  window.   It  closed  pronto 
and  Johnny  was  out  on  his  youthful  ear. 

He  landed  a  job  with  Phil  Spitalny  and 
toured  around  for  a  couple  of  years  with 
Phil's  orchestra.  Then  in  Omaha  one 
night,  somebody  busted  into  Phil's  dress- 
ing room,  walked  away  with  $20,000  and 
assorted  valuables.  So  what  should  hap- 
pen to  Johnny  and  the  other  members  of 
the  troupe  who  happened  to  be  in  the 
vicinity  that  night— but  that  the  cops 
should  lug  them  down  to  the  pokey  and 
grill  them  for  five  straight  days  as  sus- 
pects of  the  whodunit!  Kid  Coy  began  to 
take  a  dim  view  of  show  business.  In  a  job 
—out  of  a  job.  With  Eddie  Duchin,  with 
Larry  Clinton,  with  this  and  that  band, 
night  clubs,  yep,  and  honkey-tonk,  too. 

hoofer's  showcase  .  .  . 

The  point  is — Jake  Coy  went  through 
the  mill  before  he  was  half  grown,  but  the 
only  time  he  ever  got  faint  hearted  and 
decided  to  chuck  dancing,  it  wouldn't 
work.  That  happened  in  Chicago,  when 
he  was  with  piano  patting  Eddie  Duchin. 
There  was  a  mixture  of  reasons.  A  pretty 
Abbott  dancer  who  worked  at  the  Palmer 
House  with  Oh,  Johnny,  Oh,  was  one.  The 
war  in  Europe  was  another.  One  night 
Johnny  tossed  over  show  business,  bag 
and  baggage.  He  took  a  job  in  a  Chicago 
factory  to  be  near  the  girl.  When  that 
went  poof!  he  hustled  home  across  the 
border  and  joined  up.  Four  months  with 
the  Canadian  First  Engineers  and  they 
handed  him  a  medical  discharge  for  a 
hearing  deficiency.  He  borrowed  money 
and  left  Montreal  for  New  York.  That 
was  the  only  stretch  since  he  was  14  that 
he  wasn't  dancing.   And  it  didn't  last  long. 

But  on  this  second  trip  to  the  States, 
Johnny  Coy  found  the  going  even  rougher 
at  first.  His  folks  couldn't  send  him  money 
when  he  was  in  a  jam,  like  before.  You 
couldn't  send  Canadian  cash  across  the 
border  and  Johnny  was  really  on  his 
own.  He  didn't  have  any  luck  with  jobs, 
either,  and  finally  settled  for  cheap  clubs 
in  tank  towns  around  New  England.  Took 
$30  a  week  for  his  art,  too,  when  he'd 
never  made  less  than  $150.  So  he  got 
seasoned  some  more.  He  got  booted  out 
of  his  cheap  Manhattan  hotel  for  two 
weeks  unpaid  rent,  for  instance.  He  rode 
all  night  on  poverty  circuit  busses,  ate  at 
Acme  lunches  and  Ma's  places,  slept  in 
boarding  house  dumps  where  he  washed 
and  ironed  his  own  clothes  and  put  his 
pants  under  the  mattress  at  night. 

Then  one  day  a  call  came  from  Monte 
Proser,  who  runs  the  famous  Copacabana 
in  New  York,  and  happy  days  were 
there  again  for  Johnny.  He  opened 
with  the  Copacabana  road  show  at  the 
Book-Cadillac  in  Detroit.  Pretty  soon 
came  another  call  from  Monte  yank- 
ing our  boy  Coy  back  to  home  base 
at  the  Copa  itself  to  replace  the  Berry 
Brothers  in  the  show.  That's  when  life 
began  the  beguine  for  Jake  Coy.  He  had 
a  Grade -A  showcase  on  Broadway  and 
that's  all  he  needed. 

Johnny  stayed  at  the  Copacabana  for 
twenty-five  weeks.  He  was  a  hit  from  the 
time  he  tapped  his  first  toe.  All  the  shahs 
of  show  business  came  and  saw  and  mar- 
veled, but  it  was  a  gal  from  Texas  who  did 
something  about  it.  Mary  Martin  had  a 
new  musical  on  the  fire,  "Dancing  In  The 
Streets" — and  didn't  I  tell  you  that  once 
you  see  Johnny  in  action  you  put  "dance" 
and  "Coy"  together  like  ham-and-eggs 
forever?  Everything  was  Jake  as  far  as 
Mary  was  concerned,  to  put  the  "Dance" 
in  "Dancing  In  the  Streets." 

Three  weeks  in  Boston  proved  that 
"Dancing  In  The  Streets"  should  be  saved 
for  Thanksgiving  dinner,  and  even  though 


the  whole  cast,  including  Johnny,  offered 
to  work  for  nothing — because  they  were 
nuts  about  Mary — she  said  "Don't  be 
silly"  and  that  was  that.  It  never  saw 
Broadway.  But  Weatherford,  Texas'  pride, 
was  completely  Coy-conscious  by  then, 
and  those  Texans  certainly  believe  in  ac- 
tion. She  called  Johnny,  who  was  back  in 
New  York  and  as  we  say  "at  liberty." 
They  met  for  lunch  at  Twenty-One  with 
Mary's  mate,  Dick  Halliday,  a  Hollywood 
story  shark.  He  knew  about  a  jockey 
part  in  "Salty  O'Rourke,"  the  Alan  Ladd 
picture,  that  was  then  getting  started. 
"You're  the  jockey,"  said  Mary,  with  that 
no-back-talk  tone  of  voice,  "and  when 
Buddy  DeSylva"  (who  was  then  Para- 
mount's  big  boss  in  Hollywood)  "comes  to 
town  tomorrow  I'm  going  to  tell  him  so! 
Once  you  get  to  Hollywood,"  prophesied 
Martin,  "and  tap  one  toe,  you're  off  to  the 
races.  Stick  around  and  I  will  leave  you 
know." 

That's  how  Johnny  met  his  best  Holly- 
wood friend  and  backer-upper,  Buddy 
DeSylva.  With  all  the  experience  he's 
had  on  Broadway  and  in  Hollywood  both, 
Buddy  didn't  have  to  look  twice  to  make 
up  his  mind,  "You're  too  big  for  the 
jockey  part,"  he  told  Jake,  "but  let's  make 
a  test  anyway — just  for  ducks."  It  was 
one  of  those  funny  New  York  screen 
tests,  which  always  pop  up  to  haunt  stars 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

One  July  night 
Dennis  Morgan 
sang  for  us  at  the 
Red  Cross  Rec 
Hall  for  hospital 
patients.  The  heat 
was  terrific,  and 
after  his  first  song 
he  pulled  off  his 
coat  and  unbut- 
toned his  shirt  col- 
lar. At  that  point, 
several  GIs  called  out,  "Take  it  off!" 
And  believe  it  or  not,  before  a  large 
group  of  astonished  nurses  and  GIs, 
he  yanked  off  his  shirt  and  continued 


singing 


Pvt.  L.  A.  Thompson 
Ft.  Knox,  Kentucky 


forever  after.  But  Johnny  tapped  through 
Gene  Kelly's  Broadway  hit  part  of  "Pal 
Joey"  and  it  was  good  enough  to  send 
a  Paramount  contract  airmailing  along  in 
a  few  weeks. 

Paramount  loaned  him  out  right  after 
"Bring  On  the  Girls,"  not  having  any 
dancing  parts  handy  then.  He  went  over 
to  Universal  to  make  "That's  the  Spirit" 
and  "On  Stage,  Everybody"  with  Peggy 
Ryan.  There's  a  studio  chief  at  Universal 
who's  got  a  personality  like  a  deep  freeze 
and  a  face  as  flinty  as  Dick  Tracy's.  This 
chilly  character  scares  all  new  players  into 
a  state  of  paralysis  when  they  come  up 
on  his  carpet  the  first  time  just  by  giving 
them  the  icy  glare  and  slicing  their  egos 
to  bits  with  cutting  remarks.  Until  John- 
ny came  along  he'd  never  been  known 
to  crack  anything  resembling  a  grin. 

The  minute  Jake  Coy  walked  into  his 
sanctum,  Mister  Refrigerator  went  to  work 
"I  just  saw  your  test,"  he  snapped. 

"Oh,"  beamed  Johnny,  turning  on  the 
heat.    "Did  you?    How'd  you  like  it?" 

"May  I  say,"  frosted  this  fellow,  "that 
the  best  thing  you  can  do  with  that  is 
to  take  it  out  and  burn  it!" 

"I  just  did,"  came  back  Coy.  "I  tried 
to  thaw  it  out  after  it  came  back  from 
you — and  you  know  what?  The  damn 
thing  caught  on  fire  and — Whoosh!" 


The  human  iceberg  not  only  grinned, 
he  actually  laughed  out  loud  and  he's  been 
a  reformed  character  ever  since. 

And  there's  another  thing  about  dancers 
and  Hollywood.  They  have  to  sit  on  op- 
posite ends  of  the  sofa  and  get  warmed  up 
before  anything  happens.  Gene  Kelly 
stuck  around  M-G-M  quite  a  spell  before 
they  did  right  by  him,  and  of  course  the 
report  of  Fred  Astaire's  first  screen  test 
is  a  Hollywood  classic;  I've  forgotten  the 
exact  words,  but  it  was  something  like 
this:  "Fred  Astaire.  Average  height,  skin- 
ny, getting  bald.  Stage  experience.  He 
also  dances."  Johnny  Coy  fell  under  the 
same  hoodoo.  He  sat  around  Paramount 
six  months  waiting  for  a  look  at  a  camera 
lens.  When  one  finally  came  up  in 
"Bring  on  the  Girls,"  the  director,  Sidney 
Lanfield,  shook  a  firm  head.  He  wanted 
no  part  of  Johnny  Coy  and  it  was  only 
Buddy  DeSylva's  plugging  that  gave 
Johnny  that  chance  to  show  his  stuff. 

Johnny  went  at  his  first  Hollywood  job 
as  he  always  had  everything.  Paramount 
gave  him  three  months  to  perfect  his 
numbers,  but  Johnny  had  them  pat  in 
three  weeks.  He  was  so  eager  to  show 
Buddy  DeSylva  his  routine  that  he  pole 
vaulted  on  the  piano  (like  he  did  in  the 
film)  so  ambitiously  that  he  sailed  clear 
.over  it  and  wrecked  an  ankle,  starting 
the  picture  on  crutches! 

He  trains  like  a  fighter  when  he  makes 
a  picture — gives  up  his  cigarettes  and 
pipe  and  hits  the  sack  with  the  chickens. 
He  loses  eight  or  ten  precious  pounds 
and  wears  out  four  pairs  of  dance 
slippers  before  he's  satisfied  with  a  fea- 
ture routine.  He's  poison  to  the  studio 
slug-a-beds  and  more  than  once  he's  ham- 
mered on  the  Paramount  gates  for  the 
night  guard  before  the  day  man  came  on. 
He's  got  an  alarm  clock  mind  which  he 
can  set  to  wake  him  up  at  any  given 
hour  and  he  keeps  a  big  blackboard  in 
his  bedroom  which  he  chalks  up  each 
night  with  the  next  day's  schedule. 

He'll  dance  anywhere  and  any  time  if 
he's  appreciated.  The  only  time  I  ever 
caught  Jake  being  half-way  Coy  was  at 
the  Press  Photographer's  Ball  this  year. 

That  was  a  hay-foot,  straw-foot  affair 
and  Johnny  came  in  levis  and  cowboy 
boots.  Jack  Benny  spotted  Jake  from  his 
master-of-ceremonies  mike  and  called  for 
a  number.  I  saw  Johnny  whisper  some- 
thing to  Buck  Benny  and  then  Jack's  re- 
ply came  booming  out  from  the  mike. 
"Listen,  Coy,"  he  said,  "don't  give  me  that 
stuff.  High  heels,  my  eye.  You  can 
dance  in  anything!"  And  he  could,  through 
a  fast  "Tea  For  Two"  chorus,  as  plenty  of 
stars  there  that  night  can  tell  you.  But 
even  Jack  Benny  didn't  know  what  John- 
ny Coy  knew — that  with  the  unfamiliar 
shoe  stilts  he  might  very  well  have  put 
himself  out  of  action  for  weeks. 

just  molly  and  he  .  .  . 

He  lives  in  a  tiny  Hollywood  apart- 
ment with  his  sis,  Molly,  who  came  out 
from  Canada  to  darn  his  socks  and  look 
out  for  the  care  and  feeding  of  Johnny. 
She's  inclined  to  get  a  little  put  out  when 
Jake  pulls  a  Coy  quirk — such  as  skipping 
his  dessert  and  then  eating  it  right  be- 
fore he  tucks  in.  But  mostly  Jake  and 
Molly  stay  jolly  and  it's  his  hope  eventu- 
ally to  bring  to  Hollywood  what  unat- 
tached members  of  the  family  he  still  has 
in  Montreal.  It  took  two-and-a-half 
years  for  his  mother  to  see  "Bring  on  the 
Girls"  in  Montreal  after  he'd  been  writ- 
ing her  about  it,  and  Jake  would  like  to 
lighten  the  suspense. 

But  mostly  it's  just  a  clambake  around 
somebody's  house,  where,  as  Johnny 
grinned  to  me  in  Durante's  words,  "Every- 
body tries  to  get  into  the  act!"  Those 
kids  run  through  their  specialties  for 
hours  on  end,  whether  it's  dancing,  de-  103 


P  A   R   F   U  M 


(SUIVEZ-MOI) 

The  fcuiy/i€z*tc4, 
£c&t£&  a*ut  £a4tb 


Parfumll  to  $15 ... 
Toilet  Water  $1,  2.50,  4.50 
Bubble  Foam,  Bath  Pow- 
der, Sachet,  Face  Powder, 
each  $1  . .  .Talc  554  ... 
At  your  favorite  drug  and 
department  store. 

{all  prices  plus  taxes) 

Also  in  devil-may-care 
"Nonchalant" 


ORDINARYCOMB  lets 
hair  strands  slip  through. 


atVeacou^tS 


104        MM.  Proc.  Pat.  No.  2.196.816  Dl  ADEM ,  I  NC. ,  DEPT.  D-3     LEOMINSTER,  MASS.  .HAIRTAINER  Tr«d.  M»rk  R.».  D.S.P.t.Off. 


claiming,  patter  or  pantomime.  Once, 
Johnny  got  so  lost  in  the  party  routine 
that  he  stayed  and  stayed.  When  he 
came  out  to  his  jalopy  to  drive  his  date 
home,  it  wouldn't  start.  "Funny,"  he 
thought.  He  hopped  out  and  lifted  the 
hood,  and  believe  it  or  not,  the  motor  was 
gone!  Whole  darned  thing.  While  he  was 
making  the  floor  bounce  inside,  the  motoi 
snatchers  had  calmly  gone  about  dis- 
mantling the  heap's  insides.  And  ever 
though  that  clanky  operation  had  taken 
place  only  a  few  yards  from  the  open  win- 
dow, Coy  never  heard  a  tinkle.  But  nc 
wonder,  the  way  he  was  massaging  those 
floor  boards. 

Johnny's  dodged  Cupid  successfullj 
since  he  came  to  Hollywood  but  if  he 
has  a  warm  spot,  it's  for  pretty  anc 
talented  Ann  Blythe,  the  girl  who  acted 
right  up  to  Joan  Crawford  in  "Mildrec 
Pierce."  He  goes  to  see  her  all  the  time 
ever  since — well,  here's  the  story: 

One  day  Johnny  picked  up  the  morn- 
ing paper  to  read,  to  his  dismay,  about  £ 
tragic  accident.  A  rising  young  Holly- 
wood actress  had  broken  her  back.  He 
didn't  know  the  actress,  but  he  knew  hov. 
he'd  feel  if  that  happened  to  him.  He 
went  right  down  to  the  florist's  and  sen 
flowers  and  a  note,  doing  his  best  to  rela\ 
cheer  and  courage.  He  knew  the  gir 
wouldn't  know  him  from  Adam,  but  jus 
the  same  he  felt  good  doing  what  he 
did.  She  sent  back  a  note  of  thanks  anc 
later  when  she  got  better,  Jake  called  ir 
person  and  they've  been  friends  evei 
since.  Since  Ann  is  up  and  about  now  anc 
walking  again,  Johnny's  the  devoted  bo} 
friend.  But  the  point  of  my  story  is:  Jake 
Coy  didn't  look  up  the  girl  he  admire; 
because  she  was  gorgeous  and  glamorous 
He  was  spurred  by  deeper  motives — be- 
cause she  was  a  damsel  in  distress.  It': 
the  kind  of  thing  stars  do  when  they'r< 
people,  too.  And  when  one  acts  that  wa? 
at  24,  as  Jake  Coy  did,  he's  got  a  gooc 
headstart  being  a  real  person  the  res  I 
of  his  days — no  matter  what  flattering  o 
flattening  surprises  the  future  packs. 

That's  why  in  my  little  red  book  Jake' 
the  McCoy.  Or  maybe  you'd  say  Jake' 
the  Coy.  At  any  rate — Coy's  my  boy! 


DIARY  OF  A  CHAMBERMAID 

(PRODUCTION) 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


but  during  the  shooting  of  the  pictur 
consumed  almost  three  dozen  entire  rose; 
petal  by  petal.  Wife  Goddard  was  con 
cerned  for  her  husband's  digestive  systen 
and  insisted  that  the  rose  petals  be  pu 
through  a  scientific  analysis.  It  turned  ou 
to  everyone's  amazement,  that  rose  petal 
have  more  vitamin  D  than  spinach  . . .  Hur 
Hatfield  changed  type  from  the  elegar 
Dorian  Gray  to  an  honest,  romantic  youn 
character  who  gets  beautifully  maule 
in  a  tangle  with  Francis  Lederer.  .  . 
Burgess  Meredith  was  in  the  middle  of 
love  scene  with  his  wife  when  Snoopy, 
squirrel  actor,  took  a  large  chunk  out  c 
Meredith's  ear  ...  To  complete  the  serie 
of  catastrophes,  Hatfield's  mother  visite 
the  set  wearing  a  hat  with  a  veil  whic 
caught  fire.  Quick  thinking  by  Franc: 
Lederer  prevented  serious  burns  when  tb 
actor  made  a  grab  at  the  flaming  top  piec 
and  tossed  it  across  the  room  .  .  .  Hurd 
favorite  scene  was  the  one  where,  proppe 
up  in  bed  and  swaddled  in  a  full-lengt 
nightgown  of  brocaded  silk,  he  is  serve 
champagne  by  Paulette.  During  rehearss 
Paulette  burst  into  semi-hysterics.  "Yo 
look  just  like  Marlene  Dietrich  in  one  < 
her  bedroom  scenes!"  she  howled. 


FROM  MOTHER,  WITH  LOVE 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


the  way  mother  was  acting,  that  it  was 
the  Paramount.  He  said  so,  pointedly.  "Lis- 
ten, Tootie,"  he  said,  "This  is  just  Spring 
Lake.  This  isn't  Broadway." 

"Broadway  will  come  later."  Marguerite 
Haymes  sounded  very  certain.  "Now  that 
I  know  he's  got  it." 

"Oh,  for  Gosh  sake,  what's  this  'it'  you 
keep  talking  about?" 

His  mother  smiled  suddenly,  the  gay 
smile  that  was  so  like  Dick's.  "Nobody  in 
the  world  can  define  it,  Bob.  What  it  means 
is  that  when  a  performer  does  his  act, 
there's  something  inside  him  that  reaches 
out  to  people.  It's  a  very  special  quality, 
and  I  believe  Dick  has  it." 

A  terrific  burst  of  applause  came  along 
then,  and  made  Bob  stare  around  in 
startled  surprise.  Everybody  was  yelling 
and  applauding,  and  Dick,  the  ham,  was 
taking  bows  like  crazy.  "Well,"  said  Bob, 
"Barnum  was  right."  But  the  gleam  of 
pride  in  his  eyes  gave  him  away. 

His  mother  patted  his  shoulder.  She  un- 
derstood Bob,  just  as  she  understood  Dick. 
The  three  of  them  were  pals,  and  a  lot 
closer  than  most  families.  She  wouldn't 
have  let  anyone  in  the  world  know  how 
proud  she  was  of  that.  It  was  tough,  bring- 
ing up  a  couple  of  sons  without  a  father, 
and  sometimes  she'd  worried  herself  silly 
over  it.  But  now — 

Dick  was  back  at  the  table,  breathless. 
"Hey,  Tootie,  how  did  I  do?"  The  words 
were  offhand,  the  tone  intense.  Dick  knew 
he'd  get  an  honest  answer.  He  always  did. 

"You  were  good,  Dick,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Very  good." 

Dick  let  out  a  rebel  yell  in  an  only 
slightly  toned-down  version,  and  clapped 
Bob  on  the  back.  "I  made  it,  kid!  Toots 
said  I  did  okay.  Hold  down  the  table  while 
I  dance  with  her,  will  you?" 

They  danced  well  together,  his  arm  hold- 
ing her  lightly,  as  he  hummed  the  tune 
along  with  the  orchestra. 

"Margie  .  .  .  you  are  my  inspiration, 
Margie.  .  .  ."  He  stopped  humming  and 
said  in  astonishment,  "Hey,  what  goes? 
You're  crying!" 

"Not  really."  She  blinked  quickly  and 
smiled.  "Dick,  you  wouldn't  remember 
what  I  do  about  this  song.  It  happened 
when  you  were  only  two-and-a-half." 

music  soothes  .  .  . 

When  Dick  was  two-and-a-half,  Mar- 
guerite Haymes  and  her  handsome  English 
husband  left  their  Argentine  ranch  and 
came  to  New  York.  Little  Dick  was  an 
easy  child  to  take  on  a  trip.  He  loved  shows 
of  all  kinds — movies,  vaudeville,  anything 
— and  his  mother  used  to  take  him  to  them 
often.  One  afternoon,  Marguerite  took  him  to 
Loew's  State.  On  the  stage,  a  baritone  sang 
"Margie,"  and  Dick  eyed  him  in  solemn 
wonder.  That  evening  after  dinner,  Mar- 
guerite was  washing  dishes  while  her  hus- 
band dried  them.  Dick,  in  his  high  chair, 
was  "helping"  too — drying  spoons  indus- 
triously, and  only  now  and  then  dropping 
one.  Suddenly  he  began  to  sing  in  his  high, 
childish  voice.  He  sang  the  first  four  bars 
of  "Margie"  perfectly,  every  note  correct. 
Dick's  parents  stared  "at  each  other  in 
amazement. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned,"  his  father  said. 
"I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't 
heard  it  myself. 

Marguerite  raised  a  delicate  eyebrow, 
trying  to  control  her  bursting  maternal 
pride.  "Remember  what  I  said  when  Rich- 
ard was  born?" 

Mr.  Haymes  chuckled.  "Definitely,  old 
girl.  You  said  he  was  yelling  on  key.  You 
said  'I  have  given  birth  to  a  singer.'  You 


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^V%1nte  Mask 

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quickly 


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■  v 


Her  1-Minute  Mask  makes  Doreen  Drexel  even  lovelier! 

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were  pretty  dramatic  about  it." 

"I  may  have  been  dramatic,  but  I  was 
also  right!" 

Of  course  she  was  right.  Now,  dancing 
with  Dick  fourteen  years  later,  she  knew 
it,  as  she  told  him  the  story. 

"  'Margie,'  huh?"  he  grinned  at  her  teas- 
ingly.  "Guess  we'll  have  to  make  'Margie' 
my  special  song  for  you,  since  you're  such 
a  sentimental  gal." 

When  Dick  was  little  he  may  have  looked 
like  an  angel  but  he  didn't  always  act  like 
one.  Sometimes  Marguerite  would  go  up- 
stairs after  he'd  gone  to  bed,  and  find  him 
gnawing  on  a  sandwich  which  he  had 
snitched  from  the  refrigerator. 

"Richard,  you  know  you  aren't  sup- 
posed to  do  that." 

Dick  would  give  her  a  look  of  wide- 
eyed  innocence.  "I  had  to  get  it  for  the 
elves,  mother." 

"For  the  what? 

"The  elves.  The  ones  that  come  out  of 
the  glass  door  knob." 

She  would  struggle  between  laughter 
and  irritation.  "You  know  perfectly  well 
there  are  no  such  thing  as  elves!" 

"There  are,  too.  I  lie  here  and  look  at 
the  door  knob  and  it  gets  bigger  and  big- 
ger and  pretty  soon  a  whole  troop  of  elves 
comes  out,  and  you  know  what?  They're 
always  hungry.  So  I  go  and  get  a  sandwich. 
And  look!  it's  all  gone." 

just  a  softie  .  .  . 

It  was  always  hard  for  Mrs  Haymes  to 
discipline  the  boys.  "I  just  won't  do  it,"  she 
decided.  "I'll  send  them  away  to  school 
where  they'll  have  men  teachers  to  disci- 
pline them.  Then  when  we're  together  on 
vacations,  we'll  just  have  fun." 

So  the  boys  went  to  schools  in  France 
and  schools  in  Switzerland.  Dick  became 
an  expert  skier  and  swimmer,  and  learned 
to  speak  French  as  well  as  Spanish  and 
English.  He  was  a  carefree  kid,  who  didn't 
take  his  studies  any  too  seriously.  His 
mother  was  doing  a  concert  tour  of  Europe, 
and  every  once  in  a  while  she  would  get 
a  plaintive  letter  from  one  of  his  profes- 
sors complaining  of  his  behavior. 

As  she  read  the  letter  in  far-off  London, 
Irish-born,  emotional  Marguerite  choked 
back  a  sob  of  loneliness.  They  ought  all  to 
be  together  again.  They  needed  each  other. 
And  the  boys  were  Americans — they  should 
be  together  again.  And  so  the  Haymes 
family  came  home. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  college,  Toots,"  he 
told  her,  after  that.  "What's  the  sense  of 
wasting  all  that  time  and  money  when  I 
want  to  be  a  singer?  How  about  you  teach- 
ing me  singing,  instead?  You  know  you're 
the  best  teacher  in  New  York." 

"You  and  your  Irish  blarney.  But  I'll 
teach  you  everything  I  can,  Dick,  if  you'll 
really  work." 

"I'll  work.  And  here's  another  thing.  I 
want  this  to  be  on  a  strictly  business  basis. 
I'll  pay  you  for  the  lessons." 

Gravely,  Marguerite  agreed.  Of  course, 
she  put  the  money  in  the  bank  for  Dick, 
but  he  didn't  know  that.  He  studied  piano, 
too,  and  wrote  some  music  himself.  They 
went  to  Hollywood  for  a  while.  Dick  was 
eighteen  and  he  organized  his  own  band. 
It  was  quite  a  band.  Dave  Street  was  in  it, 
and  Buddy  Raye,  Martha's  brother.  Dick 
conducted,  and  sang.  He  played  in  a 
few  western  pictures,  too,  but  nobody  saw 
a  potential  star  in  him. 

His  mother  decided  to  go  back  to  New 
York,  where  her  own  career  was  beckon- 
ing. She  wanted  Dick  to  go,  too.  But  she 
knew  if  she  came  right  out  and  said  for 
him  to  go  East  with  her  and  Bob  he  just 
wouldn't  do  it.  So,  being  a  smart  woman, 
she  used  the  indirect  approach. 

"By  the  way,  Dick,"  she  said  with  as- 
sumed casualness  one  morning,  "Bob  and 
I  are  leaving  for  New  York  Thursday." 

"Thursday!"  Dick  stared  at  her.  "This 


dcd  a  very  £ma&C~ 


I  chose  Holmes  & 
Edwards  because 
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with  two  blocks  of 
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and  handles  of  the 
most  used  spoons 
and  forks. 


"Ill  si 


CJj-^MIt 


iri  sTduii  iimi 


Copyright  1946.  Internolionol  Silver  Co..  Holmes  &  EdwOrdl  Div„ 
Meridon,  Conn.  In  Conodo.  The,  T.  Eaton  Co.,  ltd.  °Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off 


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is.  Monday.  When  did  you  decide  this?"  I 
"Just  now."  Marguerite  was  airy.  "You 

know  it  never  takes  me  long  to  make  up 

---  ~:-  -I   Anyway.  B:'t  ar.d  I  jzz 

the  new  Cadillac  and  driving  East." 
Dick's  howl  of  protest  raised  the  roof,  j 

"You  and  a  thirteen-year- old  kid  are  go-  ! 

ing  to  drive  East  alone?  Over  my  dead  j 

body!" 

Be  sensible,  dsrrur.g   1  :u  -u-:e  -ere. 
and  you  loathe  New  York     There's  no 
reason  why  you  shouldn't  stay  here  by  j 
yourself.  Bob  and  I  will  get  on  fine." 

TH  drive  you  East,"  Dick  announced  \ 
with  finality.  "And  no  arguments,  please." 

His  mother  gave  in  with  sweet  reason- 
ableness, and  a  secret  gleam  in  her  eye. 
"Of  course,  dear,  if  you  insist.'"*' 

So  they  were  in  New  York  again.  Dick 
had  the  promise  of  a  job  with  Bunny 
Berigan's  band,  but  you  can't  live  on 
promises.  He  went  to  work  as  a  page  boy 
at  Radio  City.  They  were  living  in  Green- 
wich, Connecticut,  and  Dick  used  to  drive 
back  and  forth  to  work  in  his  little  Plym- 
outh. He  hated  eating  in  New  York  res- 
taurants and  even  though  it  was  late  in 
the  evening  when  he  got  through  work, 
he'd  head  for  Greenwich.  When  he  came 
in  the  driveway,  he  would  toot  his  horn. 
His  mother  would  get  the  left-overs  from 
dinner  out  of  the  refrigerator,  and  by  the 
time  Dick  was  washed  up,  a  piping  hot 
meal  would  be  ready  for  him. 

'Tootie,  you're  wonderful"  he  used  to 
say  appreciatively.  "You're  the  most  won- 
derful woman  Jn  the  world." 

"Youll  change  your  mind  on  that  one 
of  these  days." 

He'd  give  her  a  gamin  grin.  "I  wonder 
what  lucky  girl  will  get  you  for  a  mother- 
in-law,  Toots?"  But  he  didn't  have  much 
time  for  girls  these  days.  He  was  too  in- 
tent on  a  career,  too  determined  to  succeed. 

His  "inter  had  ::  g:  c  =  :k  the  Cras: 
on  business  that  summer.  Bob  was  in  camp. 
Lurk  stuck  autund  Nev.-  York  through  the 
sweltering  summer,  living  in  a  furnished 
room,  hoping  something  would  break.  One 
night,  his  mother  called  him  up  arid  he 
sounded  definitely  doleful.  She  said,  "Dick, 
I  want  you  to  come  out  here.  You've  staj'ed 
in  New  York  long  enough." 

'"Gosh!  California!  That  would  be  some- 
thing. When  should  I  come?" 

"Right  now.  Stop  at  camp  and  pick  up 
Bob.  Go  to  the  kennels  and  get  the  dog. 
How  much  money  will  you  need?  Would 
a  hundred  dollars  get  you  here?" 

"With  bells  on" 

mother's  instinct  .  .  . 

She  wired  >irm  a  hundred.  That  was 
Tuesday  night  Wednesday  afternoon,  he 
sent  her  a  telegram  saying  ^Starting  now, 
::  —  r.le:e  with  3:t  ar.d  d:g."  It's  three 
thousand  miles  from  New  York  to  Holly- 
wood. Marguerite  went  away  for  the  week- 
end to  a  ranch  «p  in  the  hills.  She  planned 
to  go  back  to  Hollywood  Monday,  but 
come  Sunday  p.  m.  she  got  a  funny  feeling. 
The  ::ker  guests  kidded  her  unnr-eraiinlly. 

"Listen,  are  you  crazy?  Those  boys  are 
probably  just  about  getting  to  Chicago. 
Di:k  -rdl  wire  y;u  rra~  there  tor  rr.;re 
dough,  and  they'll  breeze  in  some  time 
next  week 

"You  don't  know  Dick."  Marguerite  spoke 
--: s:ti"  el"  .'.her.  r.e  starts  ::r  strr.ewhere. 
he  doesn't  fool  around." 

She  went  back  to  Hollywood  that  night 
Five  minutes  arter  sr.e  get  in.  the  phtne 
rang.  An  outraged  voice  said,  "Where  have 
you  been?  And  where  are  these  Shelton 
at  at  intents  yen  re  living  in:  We've  driven 
all  over  looking  for  them"  It  was  Dick. 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  boys  came  in, 
tired  but  very  pleased  with  themselves. 

"Fll  bet  you  think  we're  broke." 

"Aren't  you?" 

''Not  exactly."  He  fished  a  billfold  from 
his   pocket,   produced   fifty-five  dollars, 


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and  laid  it  casually  on  the  table.  "Here's 
your  change,  Toots." 

"You  mean  the  two  of  you  came  all  the 
way  from  New  York  on  forty-five  dol- 
lars?" It  was  incredible. 

"Ah,  we're  smart.  The  first  night  we 
stayed  at  a  hotel,  but  it  was  too  much 
trouble.  After  that,  we  slept  in  the  car, 
and  stopped  at  roadside  stands  for  sand- 
wiches. And  here  we  are." 

You  know  that  feeling  you  get  when 
someone  you  love  does  something  that 
makes  you  awfully  proud?  A  sort  of  choked 
breathlessness?  Marguerite  had  it  then. 
So  many  kids  would  have  done  things 
differently.  She  said,  "Look.  Take  this 
money  and  go  down  and  buy  yourselves  a 
good  beach  outfit.  Tomorrow  we'll  go  to 
Santa  Monica,  so  I  can  show  off  my  sons 
to  my  doubting-Thomas  friends." 

It  wasn't  so  long  after  this  that  Dick 
got  his  big  break.  A  job  singing  with  Harry 
James'  band.  Dick  and  Harry  were  friends 
in  the  deepest  sense,  apart  from  their  work. 
There  was  a  complete  confidence  in  each 
other's  abilities  and  future.  But  in  the 
meantime  there  wasn't  much  dough.  After 
a  while,  Dick's  mother  got  a  little  worried 
about  the  situation. 

"Dick  honey,  I  know  you  like  Harry  a  lot, 
and  he's  been  nice  to  you,  but  do  you  think 
you're  getting  anywhere?" 

Dick  eyed  her  reproachfully.  "Listen, 
Tootie,  one  of  these  days  Harry'll  have  the 
number  one  band  in  the  country." 

"Just  the  same,  I  don't  think  this  ar- 
rangement is  so  good." 

Dick  grinned.  "I  admit  Vm  not  getting 
rich.  Every  time  I  get  paid,  Harry  borrows 
the  dough  back  the  next  day.  But  I'm  learn- 
ing a  lot,  and  what's  dough,  anyway?" 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  Dick  met  a  girl. 
Funny  how  he  knew  right  away  that  he 
wanted  to  marry  this  girl.  The  band 
was  playing  the  Paramount,  and  on  the 
same  bill  were  the  Samba  Sirens  from  the 
Copacabana. 

"Sirens,  huh?"  Dick  said  as  he  walked 
into  rehearsal  the  first  day.  "If  there's  any- 
thing I  hate,  it's  a  bunch  of  dumb  dames 
from  a  night  club."  He  stared  scornfully  at 
the  Samba  Sirens  who  were  practicing  a 
dance  routine.  "Get  a  load  of  that  blonde, 
second  from  the  end.  She  isn't  even  in  time 
with  the  music.  Look  at  her!  Just  look.  .  .  ." 
His  voice  trailed  off,  as  he  kept  looking. 
After  that,  it  was  love. 

A  week  before  the  wedding,  Dick  said, 
"You  know,  honey,  I  want  kids." 

"Of  course.  So  do  I." 

let's  make  it  last  .  .  . 

"But  those  kids  have  got  to  have  a  square 
deal.  No  divorce  in  my  family.  We're  going 
to  get  married,  and  we're  going  to  stay 
that  way.  So  don't  say  I  didn't  warn  you." 

There  have  been  times  since  when  it 
looked  as  if  he  might  be  wrong.  But  if 
other  people  mind  their  business  and  don't 
gossip,  usually  these  times  blow  over. 

Dick  hates  gossip,  anyway.  It's  almost 
an  obsession  with  him. 

Joanne  and  his  mother,  who  are  great 
friends,  will  be  sitting  around  talking  about 
hairdos  and  stuff.  Maybe  Joanne  will  say, 
"I  saw  so-and-so  in  the  commissary  to- 
day. I  don't  like  her  with  her  hair  parted 
in  the  middle,  do  you?" 

Dick,  overhearing,  protests,  "Now  do 
you  really  care  how  she  wears  her  hair? 
The  girl's  working  in  a  picture,  and  they 
probably  tell  her  how  to  wear  it.  Anyway, 
darling,  you  worry  about  your  hair  and 
let  her  worry  about  hers." 

Joanne  smiles  at  him.  She  knows  him 
too  well  to  get  mad.  "You're  right,  Dickie 
Sorry." 

He  comes  over,  then,  and  rumples  hei 
hair.  "You're  sweet.  I  love  you,  or  have  1 
mentioned  that?" 

He's  been  mentioning  it  ever  since  thai 
first  day  at  the  Paramount.  He's  beer 


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proving  it,  too.  Like  the  way  he  gave  up 
the  job  with  Harry  James,  because  Joanne 
was  expecting  a  blessed  event.  He  went  to 
work  for  Benny  Goodman  for  more  money, 
and  then  left  him  because  the  band  was  go- 
ing to  be  on  the  road  at  the  wrong  time.  The 
wrong  time  being  when  Joanne  went  to 
the  hospital  to  have  the  baby.  Dick  just  had 
to  be  around  for  that,  job  or  no  job.  It 
looked  like  no  job  for  awhile,  then  Tommy 
Dorsey  offered  him  a  contract,  replacing 
Sinatra.  The  Dorsey  thing  turned  out  to  be 
a  series  of  one-night  stands,  too.  Anyway, 
on  one  occasion,  Dick  called  the  manager 
and  said,  "Sorry,  chum,  I  can  dot  bake  the 
show  today.  I'b  in  bed,  and  I  feel  awful." 

"Listen,  Dick,  quit  playing  games,  and 
get  on  the  job." 

"This  is  do  game.  This  is  hell,  I  tell  you." 
Dick  huddled  the  blankets  around  his 
lean  form  and  took  time  out  to  sneeze. 

"And  I  tell  you,  if  you're  not  down  here 
at  eight  o'clock,  you're — " 

"Fired,"  Dick  finished,  and  hung  up. 
Then  he  took  three  aspirins,  and  went 
to  sleep.  He  was  strangely  happy.  Some- 
thing else  would  turn  up.  Something  better. 

You  know  what  the  "something  better" 
turned  out  to  be:  A  contract  with  Decca 
records,  a  radio  show,  and  then  Hollywood. 
You  can't  say  it's  success  beyond  his 
wildest  dreams,  because  you  don't  know 
how  wild  the  Haymes  dreams  can  get!  And 
let  me  tell  you  something  else.  It's  not  a 
bit  of  a  surprise  to  a  pretty  blonde  woman 
who  has  been  listening  to  him  sing  "Margie" 
since  he  was  two-and-a-half  years  old.  It's 
just  what  she  figured  on  all  along,  and 
mothers  have  a  way  of  being  right! 


FOR  PETE'S  SAKE 

(Continued  from  page  31) 


buy  Pete's  number  for  seventy-five  cents — " 

"But  it's  not  in  the  book.  How  does  the 
first  person  get  it?" 

"Oh,  we  have  our  spies,"  said  the  child, 
and  hung  up. 

Sometimes  the  bell  rings.  Sir  Sidney 
discovers  four  little  girls  on  the  doorstep. 
Could  they  please  have  a  photograph  of 
Pete?  One  is  a  thing  so  high — Sir  Sidney's 
hand  levels  off  at  about  four  feet.  He's 
frankly  incredulous. 

"Surely  you're  not  interested  in  men?" 

"Of  course  I  am,"  she  assures  him 
earnestly.  "Your  Pete's  my  dreamboat — " 

After  a  preview  one  night  they  got  home 
at  11 — minus  Peter,  who'd  gone  off  with 
some  friends.  A  group  of  youngsters,  who'd 
walked  from  the  theater,  waited  at  the 
curb,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  Pete. 

"He  won't  be  in  for  hours,"  Lady  Law- 
ford  told  them,  "so  run  home  like  good 
children.  I  don't  know  the  man  I'd  walk 
twenty  yards  to  see — " 

One  curly-headed  worshipper  lifted  eyes 
like  a  doe's.  "But  you're  not  fifteen,"  she 
breathed.  "And  we're  not  Pete's  mother — " 

Sir  Sidney  eyed  his  wife  gravely. 
"There,"  he  said,  "you  have  two  un- 
answerable facts — " 

Peter's  very  much  at  home  in  America — 
bats  the  latest  slang  around,  knows  who 
played  sax  with  Duke  Ellington  in  what 
year,  holds  his  own  and  to  spare  with  his 
ribbing  Hollywood  pals.  Yet,  even  apart 
from  the  accent,  you'd  never  fail  to 
spot  Peter  as  an  Englishman — from  the 
touch  of  ceremony  in  his  manners,  an  added 
deference  with  women  and  older  people,  a 
more  formal  courtesy.  He's  the  kind  of  boy 
who  remembers  that  Nancy  Sinatra  might 
be  lonely  while  Frank's  away,  and  asks  her 
out  to  dinner.  But  it  doesn't  have  to  be 
Nancy  Sinatra — 

A  girl  of  14  lives  across  the  street  Her 
mother  and  Peter  have  exchanged  neigh- 


ONE  MOTHER  TO  ANOTHER 

There  were  difficulties  during  the  war  in  supplying 
mothers  with  a  complete  variety  of  prepared  baby- 
foods.    Happily,  these  days  of  scarcity  are  almost 
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When  baby  looks  like  this... 

It  means  food's  on  the  way  — and  it  better  be  good!  Enjoy 
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Every  step  is  laboratory  checked.  Be  sure  to  get  Gerber's 
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Baby  Cereals,  Pre-cooked,  rich  in  iron 
Serve  Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and  Gerber's  Strained  Oat- 
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Remember,  it  is 

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program  with  your  doctor 

erber's 

FREMONT,  MICH.  OAKLAND,  CAL 

Cereals      Strained  Foods      Chopped  Foods 


J  5  kinds  of  Strained 
Foods,  8  kinds  of 
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©  1946,  G.  P.  C. 


Address:   Gerber  Products  Co.,   Dept.   DE3-6,   Fremont,  Mich 


My  baby  is  now    months 

old;  please  send  me  samples  of 

Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and  Name  

Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal. 

Address  City  and  State.. 


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borly  calls.  At  breakfast  one  morning,  Lady 
Lawford  said:  "Great  excitement  in  the 
house  opposite.  The  little  girl  is  about  to 
graduate — " 

"When?"  Peter  asked,  and  the  subject 
was  dropped.  But  for  Miss  Fourteen  the 
excitement  of  graduation  day  was  height- 
ened to  the  bursting  point.  Pinned  to  her 
shoulder  was  a  beautiful  corsage  which 
had  come  that  morning  "With  best  wishes 
from  your  neighbor,  Peter  Lawford." 

Lady  Lawford's  always  been  the  family 
disciplinarian.  Once  she  overheard  a  friend 
putting  that  good  old  chestnut  to  Peter. 
"Whom  do  you  like  best,  your  father  or 
mother?" 

"Well,  of  course  I  like  daddy  best.  He 
never  says  no — " 

Did  she  change  her  tactics?  Does  Gi- 
braltar move?  She  was  quite  content  to 
have  Peter  like  his  daddy  best,  and  con- 
tinued to  do  her  duty  as  she  saw  it. 

The  latch  key  represents  one  of  her  rare 
compromises.  When  they  settled  in  Holly- 
wood, Peter  was  18.  Other  boys  had  latch 
keys,  he  pointed  out. 

curfew  .  .  . 

"I'm  sorry,  Peter.  Other  boys  do  all  sorts 
of  things  you  weren't  brought  up  to  do.  At 
18,  you  don't  race  about  the  streets  till  God 
knows  what  hour  of  the  morning.  Take 
this  latch  key  of  mine,  but  I  expect  you  to 
be  in  by  midnight — " 

At  first  the  key  would  slide  into  the  lock 
at  midnight.  Then  it  happened  more  and 
more  frequently  that  he'd  phone.  "Hello, 
Babes.  I'm  having  a  marvelous  time.  Mind 
if  I  don't  get  home  till  a  bit  later?" 

Once  he  arrived  with  the  dawn.  Going 
out  for  the  paper,  his  mother  found  him 
on  the  mat  and  got  really  mad.  "Where 
have  you  been  all  night?" 

"On  the  picture,"  he  grinned.  "By  the 
time  they  decided  to  work  through,  it  was 
too  late  to  call.  I  didn't  want  to  wake  you 
up—" 

Presently  he  was  sort  of  forgetting  to 
give  the  key  back,  and  wondering  how  long 
he  could  get  away  with  it.  He  even 
hinted  as  much — 

"Oh  well,  I  was  young  once  myself,  be- 
lieve it  or  not — " 

Peter  hugged  her.  "Mother,  you're  an 
astounding  woman — " 

It's  the  only  "no"  Lady  Lawford  ever 
reneged  on.  Once  a  playmate  of  Peter's  was 
heard  dishing  out  advice:  "Why  don't  you 
asked  her  again?  My  mother  says  no  too, 
but  when  the  time  comes,  she  gets  soft- 
hearted— " 

"You  don't  know  my  mother,"  said 
Peter  darkly.  "I've  even  tried  being  sick, 
and  that's  no  good." 

She  believed  in  the  Biblical  injunction 
of  sparing  the  rod  and  spoiling  the  child. 
It  wasn't  easy.  It's  never  easy  not  to  spoil 
an  only  child.  But  it's  better  for  the  child. 
When  Peter  was  impossible — rude  to  his 
governess,  let's  say — it  was  Mother  who 
meted  out  punishment,  whacked  his  hand 
with  a  ruler.  This  hurt  his  dignity  more 
than  it  hurt  his  hand,  but  there  was  worse 
to  come. 

With  his  passion  for  the  theater,  Gala 
Night  at  Monte  Carlo  was  heaven  to  Peter. 
Every  Thursday  he  was  allowed  to  have 
dinner  with  his  parents  at  the  Casino,  and 
sit  up  for  the  first  show.  When  Mother 
said,  "You  can't  go  to  the  Gala.  You'll  stay 
at  home  and  have  soup  and  custard  by 
yourself,"  it  was  like  the  voice  of  doom. 

In  desperation,  he'd  even  appeal  to 
Daddy.  "Will  you  ask  Mother  if  I  can  go?" 

But  no  matter  how  Daddy  felt  about  it, 
he'd  back  Mother  up.  "I'm  sorry,  Peter. 
When  you  mother  says  no,  the  door  is 
shut — " 

v"  Then  he'd  stand  there,  looking  at  her 
with  the  eyes  of  a  bloodhound,  and  she'd 
think:  "I  can't  bear  it.  I've  got  to  kiss  him 
and  take  him  along — " 


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She  never  did,  though — never  even  let 
him  suspect  any  hint  of  weakening. 

"Goodnight,  Peter,"  she'd  say.  "Pity  you 
didn't  care  enough  about  the  Gala  to 
behave." 

But  discipline  was  one  thing,  and  ex- 
pression of  your  individuality  quite 
another.  It  was  his  mother  who  encouraged 
Peter  in  his  love  of  acting  and  wrestled 
with  Sir  Sidney  to  let  Peter  play  the  part 
he  was  offered  in  England  at  the  age  of 
seven.  And  though  the  performance  was  a 
smash  hit,  Sir  Sidney  remained  unrecon- 
ciled, hoping  the  boy  would  forget  the  whole 
business  as  they  spent  the  next  years 
traveling  around  the  world.  But  Peter  was 
as  likely  to  forget  acting  as  breathing. 

They  were  on  a  ship,  homeward  bound 
from  Australia,  when  he  came  hurtling 
into  the  stateroom  one  day.  "Daddy,  there's 
a  prize  for  pairs.  Let's  go  in  a  couple!" 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?" 

"It's  a  father-and-son  contest,  you  have 
to  wear  costumes,  we  might  win  a  prize — " 

This  time  Daddy  said  no.  "I  can't  make 
a  fool  of  myself,  even  to  please  you — " 

"Then  will  you.  Mother?" 

"But  you  said  it  was  father-and-son — " 

"Well,  it's  mother-and-daughter  too, 
and  I  can  make  myself  up  to  look  like  a 
girl-" 

He  was  always  fooling  around  with  wigs 
and  makeup.  In  Tahiti  he'd  insisted  on 
buying  a  lot  of  native  junk,  so  they  dressed 
as  Tahitian  girls,  and  the  waiter  who'd 
served  them  throughout  the  voyage  failed 
to  recognize  Peter.  "Where  did  you  get 
the  little  girl?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

They  won  first  prize.  As  they  stepped 
up  to  receive  it,  Peter  took  matters  into 
his  own  hands.  "Thank  you  very  much 
but  just  a  moment,  sir" — and  he  whipped 
off  his  wig.  "I'm  not  a  girl,  I'm  a  boy — " 

"You  can  carry  a  joke  just  so  far,"  he 
explained  later.  "If  you  let  people  think 
you're  really  a  girl,  it's  no  longer  a  joke — " 

To  Lady  Lawford,  religion  is  a  living 
thing.  Without  stuffing  preachments  down 
the  throat  of  her  son,  she  taught  him  to 
think  of  God  as  a  friend.  Every  morning 
they  read  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  together 
— Peter  used  to  call  it  putting  on  his  armor 
for  the  day.  And  he  never  missed  church 
without  a  very  good  reason. 

Though  food  for  the  spirit  and  mind  came 
first,'  that  didn't  mean  that  the  body  wasn't 
important.  Peter  took  to  sports  as  natural- 
ly as  to  acting.  He  was  barely  old  enough 
to  stagger  when  he  appeared  on  the  tennis 
court  where  his  father  was  playing  and  an- 
nounced, "Je  veux  jouer — I  want  to  play." 
Till  he  was  five,  incidentally,  he  spoke 
only  French.  Since  neither  knew  a  word 
of  English,  he  and  his  governess  got  lost 
on  their  first  walk  in  London.  Luckily, 
Peter  remembered  the  name  of  his  father's 
club  in  Pall  Mall,  where  they  turned  up 
eventually.  After  that,  he  had  a  label  tied 
to  his  coat  till  he  learned  English. 

rootin'  tootin'  shootin'  .  .  . 

By  the  time  he  turned  eight,  he  was 
playing  tennis  with  his  dad  every  day.  He 
had  to  stand  on  a  box  when  Sir  Sidney 
started  teaching  him  billiards,  and  his  ac- 
curacy with  a  rifle  made  him  unpopular 
at  English  fairs.  One  day  he  was  shooting 
for  China  cups — six  shots  for  sixpence. 
After  winning  eleven  cups  on  his  first 
two  tries,  he  appeared  for  a  third.  The 
woman  flew  into  a  rage.  "Get  away  from 
'ere  now,  I've  'ad  enough  of  you — " 

Whatever  his  prowess,  Peter  never  had  a 
chance  to  acquire  a  swelled  head.  On  the 
mantel  of  their  living  room  stands  a  silver 
cup  which  he  won  on  the  Conte  di  Savoia. 
But  it's  less  a  symbol  of  triumph  than  a 
warning  that  pride  goeth  before  a  fall. 

Deck  tennis  tournaments  had  been 
scheduled  aboardship,  and  Peter  wanted 
to  play  with  the  grownups. 

"Put  your  name  down  if  you  like,"  said 


She  locks  her 


one  in  one_s/^ 


eare 


—  But  fingers  like  a  lily,  Willie, 
don't  come  from  peeling  spuds! 

It's  a  hep  housewife  who  knows  how  to  keep  her 
hands  on  the  lovely  side  of  life  in  spite  of  daily  hard 
housework.  Pacquins  Hand  Cream,  of  course!  This 
fragrant  cream  helps  guard  against  redness,  dryness, 
and  roughness.  Use  it  faithfully. ..  see  for  yourself 
how  much  smoother,  softer  your  hands  look! 


Doctors  and  nurses  know  that  30  to 

40  scrubbings  a  day  will  leave  their  hands  dry  and 
rough  as  sandpaper.  That's  why  so  man}'  of  them 
use  Pacquins,  which  was  originally  formulated  for 
their  professional  use.  Pacquins  Hand  Cream  is  so 
wonderfully  effective  because  it  is  super-rich  with 
humectant .  .  .  the  ingredient  that  helps  parched, 
taut  skin  feel  softer,  smoother,  and  more  pliant. 


HAND  CREAM 

Creamy  -  smooth  ...  not  sticky,  not 
greasy.  More  hands  use  Pacquins  than 
any  other  hand  cream  in  the  world! 


AT     ANY  DRUG 


DEPARTMENT 


OR     TEN-CENT  STORE 


and  so  easy  to  use! 

mfwF^j&Jr      W o m e n   w ho  use 
^HRtfflj/P^        tampons  should 

MHgpi*^  learn  about  FIBS. 

2*    Because  FIBS  have 
those  smooth,  gen- 

Bk...  ^jffiul  ''N  tapered  ends  that 
tell  you  at  a  glance 
insertion    must  be 

both  easy  and  comfortable. 

FIBS  are  the  tampons  that  are  "quilted" 

■ — a  feature  fastidious  women  are  quick  to 

appreciate.  This  "quilting"  prevents  tiny 

cotton  particles  from  clinging  to  delicate 

internal  membranes. 

i  Besides,  quilting  makes  a  very  real  con- 
tribution to  your  comfort — keeps  FIBS 
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which  could  otherwise  cause  pressure,  irri- 
tation, difficult  removal.  No  other  tampon 
is  quilted! 

Next  time  you  buy  tampons 
be  sure  to  ask  for  FIBS*! 


Dad.  "You'll  be  knocked  out  in  about  three 
minutes  but  go  ahead,  it'll  do  you  good — " 

To  everyone's  astonishment,  he  went 
straight  through  to  the  finals.  The  oppos- 
ing finalist  was  a  Prussian,  expert  and 
very  sure  of  himself. 

"Goodbye,  Peter,"  said  Mother.  "Here's 
where  you  get  mashed  up  and  thrown 
overboard — -" 

"Well,  anyway,"  he  scowled,  "I'll  give 
him  a  run  for  his  money — " 

The  German  beamed  at  his  young  op- 
ponent, then  turned  to  the  audience.  "Be- 
fore I  put  this  young  gentleman  out  of 
his  misery,  I  should  like  to  demonstrate 
the  intricacies  of  a  certain  shot,  which  is 
always  the  winning  shot.  If  you  take  the 
quoit  thus  and  do  so  with  it — "  Followed 
a  good  five  minutes  of  brilliant  tossing  and 
twirling  and  showing  off.  Then:  "Are  you 
ready,  young  man?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Peter,  and  proceeded  to 
win  three  straight  games.  The  ship  went 
wild,  and  his  parents  wouldn't  have  been 
parents  if  they  hadn't  been  secretly  tickled. 
But  Mother  was  a  little  worried  about  how 
all  of  this  might  affect  Master  Peter's  ego. 
When  she  went  down  to  kiss  him  good- 
night, her  speech  was  all  ready. 

"You  know  you  did  have  a  great  ad- 
vantage over  him,  Peter.  You're  12,  and 
can  jump  like  a  flea.  At  40,  it's  not  so  easy 
to  run — " 

"But  he's  had  more  experience — " 

"That's  true.  But  you  know  why  they 
made  all  the  fuss,  don't  you?  Not  because 
they  loved  you  particularly,  but  because 
the  man  was  so  arrogant  he  made  a  fool 
of  himself.  That's  what  happens  when 
people  brag.  Remember  that,  will  you, 
Peter?" 

"I  will,"  said  Peter,  grinning  straight  up 
at  her.  "But  you  know  something,  Mother? 
I  think  I'd  have  beaten  him  even  if  he 
hadn't  bragged." 

english  ethics  .  .  . 

Among  the  English,  class  differences  are 
more  in  evidence  than  with  us.  But  Lady 
Lawford  has  an  independent  mind.  She 
didn't  want  a  child  molded  to  pattern.  She 
felt  that  the  better  he  understood  his  fellow 
men  of  all  kinds  and  classes,  the  better 
off  he'd  be.  That's  why  Peter  never  went 
to  an  orthodox  British  school,  most  of 
whose  boys  are  drawn  from  the  same  social 
level,  but  studied  with  tutors  and  was 
allowed  to  play  with  any  child  who  came 
along,  provided  he  was  clean. 

One  of  his  favorite  Monte  Carlo  play- 
mates was  a  boy  whose  father  kept  a  shop 
on  the  boulevard.  The  others  called  him 
Crapaud,  or  Little  Frog,  and  they  spent 
their  afternoons  rolling  trains — a  game 
played  with  miniature  motor  cars. 

One  day  Lady  Lawford  heard  Crapaud 
shrieking  his  head  off.  "What's  wrong? 
What  have  you  done  to  Crapaud?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Peter.  "It's  only  that 
I'm  going  to  search  him — " 

"But  you're  not  a  policeman.  You  can't 
search  a  boy  who's  a  friend  of  yours — " 

"Well,  I  have  a  suspicion.  And  if  I  have 
a  suspicion,  I'd  like  to  verify  it." 

"What  have  you  lost?" 

They  all  started  babbling.  They'd  all  lost 
everything.  There  wasn't  a  single  train  left 
to  roll.  They  were  so  vehement  and  so  sure 
they'd  been  wronged,  that  she  finally  had 
to  agree  to  let  Peter  search. 

His  suspicions  were  well  founded.  He 
opened  Crapaud's  voluminous  blouse,  and 
out  fell  the  trains.  After  restoring  them 
to  their  owners,  he  pronounced  sentence. 
"It's  all  right  for  you  to  come  back  to- 
morrow, Crapaud,  but  every  time  before 
you  go  home,  we  will  search  you."  Then 
he  flung  a  protective  arm  round  his  friend's 
shoulders.  "Crapaud  doesn't  mean  it, 
Mother.  It's  an  illness — " 

To  his  mother,  this  display  of  under- 
standing was  worth  more  than  a  thousand 


Latin  prizes.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was 
pleased  to  discover  that  he  didn't  carry 
forbearance  to  excessive  lengths. 

They  were  living  in  flats  in  Mayfair.  One 
of  the  pages — bellhop  to  you — took  an  ac- 
tive dislike  to  Peter.  Whenever  Peter  ran 
down  the  corridor,  he'd  stick  out  a  leg 
and  trip  the  younger  boy  up.  Peter  men- 
tioned it  to  his  mother,  who  received  the 
news  coldly. 

"You  know  I  can't  stand  tale  bearing. 
You're  not  a  baby,  Peter.  Ask  him  why  he 
does  it,  and  get  out  of  it  your  own  way — :' 

One  evening  the  hall  porter  stopped  her 
as  she  came  in,  and  asked  her  to  step  into 
the  office,  he  had  something  to  show  her. 
The  something  was  a  page,  considerably 
larger  and  older  than  Peter,  his  head 
bound  up  and  both  his  knees  bandaged. 

"Poor  boy,  what  happened  to  him?" 

"This,"  said  the  porter  with  dignity,  "is 
Master  Peter's  work — " 

She  could  well  believe  it.  Boxing  les- 
sons had  made  Master  Peter  handy  with 
his  fists.  He  was  summoned  to  the  scene. 
"Peter,  I'd  like  to  know  what  all  this  is 
about." 

"I  warned  him,  Mother.  I  told  him  if 
he  went  on  tripping  ne  up,  I'd  beat  him 
so  his  own  mother  wouldn't  know  him.  I 
complained  to  you  once,  and  you  said  I 
was  to  work  it  out  myself.  Well,  I  worked 
it  out  myself — " 

"Did  you  trip  him  up,  young  man?"  she 
asked. 

"Yus.  'E's  a  narsty  little  boy — " 
"Why  don't  you  like  him?" 
"  'E's  got  too  many  gramaphone  rec- 
ords— " 

"That's  silly,"  said  Peter.  "When  you're 
off  the  job,  why  don't  you  come  in  and 

listen?" 

So  the  boys  shook  hands,  and  the  Law- 
fords  took  their  departure.  The  last  word 
on  the  subject  floated  after  them  down  the 
hall.  "Gorblimey!"  crooned  the  victim. 
"Can  'e  fight!" 

today  he  is  a  man  .  .  . 

All  that's  behind  him  now,  and  so  are 
the  days  of  parental  guardianship.  With 
the  ceremony  of  the  signet  ring  and  the 
latch  key,  he  became  his  own  man.  "Sane, 
white  and  21,  darling,"  his  mother  pro- 
claimed, "and  out  from  under  my  thumb. 
But  I'm  still  very  interested  in  you  as  a 
friend — " 

As  a  friend,  she  saves  dinner  for  him  if 
he's  going  to  be  late,  and  sews  his  buttons 
on.  But  her  main  job  is  done.  Peter's  free 
as  a  bird.  No  pressures  are  exerted.  Beyond 
"Did  you  have  a  good  time?" — no  questions 
are  asked.  That's  a  matter  of  principle  and 
also  of  enlightened  self-interest.  She  can 
find  no  excuse  for  a  snooping  parent. 

"If  there's  something  you  feel  you  must 
know,  come  straight  out  with  it.  Other- 
wise, shut  up,  and  if  you  shut  up,  you  get 
told  a  great  deal  more.  Start  probing  with 
what-did-she-say?  and  what-did-you-say? 
and  your  child's  going  to  resent  the  assault 
on  his  privacy.  Whether  he  says  so  or  not, 
he's  bound  to  feel  that  it's  none  of  your 
business.  And  it  isn't — " 

Peter,  grown  up,  shows  a  tendency  to 
turn  the  tables  on  his  parents.  There's  a 
touch  of  the  paternal  in  his  attitude.  He 
calls  them  Babes  or  Children,  and  kisses 
them  on  top  of  the  head.  Even  with  his 
father  that's  easy,  since  he  tops  Sir  Sid- 
ney's six  feet  by  two  inches  and  a  bit.  They 
find  this  habit  both  endearing  and  comi- 
cal, but  control  their  amusement. 

Spotty  also  comes  in  for  a  kiss  on  the 
head  in  greeting  or  parting.  Peter  thinks 
of  him  less  as  a  dog  than  as  a  fourth  mem- 
ber of  the  family.  His  feeling  for  animals 
never  had  to  be  cultivated.  As  a  child,  he 
traveled  round  the  world  with  a  cage  of 
canaries.  One  day,  as  he  set  them  on  a 
window  ledge  to  give  them  sunlight,  the 
wind  blew  a  door  shut  and  knocked  them 


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Name. 


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113 


This  active,  busy  shopper 
Is  modern  as  can  be, 

Relying  on  Meds'  comfort, 
Meds'  real  security! 

So  convenient,  too!  Meds  internal 
protection  means  quick  changing, 
easy  disposal  and  complete  freedom 
from  all  odor  and  chafing.  A  gen- 
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into  your  handbag— and  no  one  the 
wiser!  "Next  time,"  do  try  Meds! 

•  Meds  alone  have  the  "SAFETY- 
WELL"— designed  for  your  extra 
protection. 

•  Meds  are  made  of  real  COTTON  — 
soft  and  super-absorbent  for  extra 
comfort. 

•  Meds  expand  quickly  and  adapt  them- 
selves easily  to  individual  needs. 

FOR  10  IN  APPLICATORS 


Note  special  design  of  Meds  applicators.  Firm, 
114  smooth,  easy  to  use,  completely  disposable. 


to  the  grass  below.  The  birds  were  unhurt, 
but  the  cage  was  broken,  and  Peter  ran 
a  temperature  for  a  week.  The  canaries 
watched  over  his  convalescence.  "You're 
all  right,  dears,"  he  kept  telling  them. 
"You'll  have  a  new  house — " 

Now  there's  Spotty,  and  the  neighbor- 
hood sparrows  to  whom  he  throws  crumbs 
every  morning,  and  a  stray  cat  who  fol- 
lows him  in  every  night  and  sleeps  on  his 
bed.  At  five  the  cat  wants  out.  His  mother 
hears  Peter  at  the  door.  "I'll  never  have 
you  in  my  bed  again,  never — " 

Next  night  he's  back.  "I  thought  you 
said  you  wouldn't  have  the  cat  in." 

"Oh  well,  it's  cold  out — " 

surprise  package  .  .  . 

He  loves  to  surprise  them.  Sir  Sidney 
had  a  blue  blazer  he  was  very  fond  of.  Just 
before  going  off  on  location  for  "Lassie," 
Peter  heard  Dad  say  he  was  sorry  the 
blazer'd  gone  shabby.  So  he  came  home 
from  Canada,  hauling  a  huge  bundle — 
material  to  make  a  new  blazer  for  Dad 
and  a  suit  for  Mother. 

He  makes  festive  occasions  of  their  birth- 
days, as  they  used  to  make  festive  oc- 
casions of  his.  On  the  night  before  Dad's 
last  birthday,  he  called  Mother  in  to  show 
her  the  gifts — a  beautiful  wallet  and  a 
pair  of  gold  cuff  links  with  the  Lawford 
crest.  "Shall  I  give  him  the  wallet  in  the 
morning  and  the  cuff  links  at  night? — sort 
of  spread  the  gravy — ?"  He  was  so  excited, 
he  could  hardly  tie  the  blue  ribbons  up 
again. 

They  dined  at  Chasen's.  There  was  a 
huge  birthday  cake,  kindness  of  Dave 
Chasen.  Seeing  the  cake,  Bill  Grady, 
M-G-M's  casting  director,  sent  over  a 
bottle  of  imported  champagne.  Peter  pro- 
duced the  cuff  links — 

"We  English,"  Sir  Sidney  says,  "are  like 
turtles.  The  more  we  feel,  the  farther  we 
pull  our  heads  in.  I  remember  swallowing 
very  hard,  and  saying  thank  you  very 
much,  and  feeling  wholly  inadequate. 
However,  Peter  didn't  seem  to  mind — " 

At -22,  he's  not  what  you'd  call  a  home 
body.  On  his  rare  dateless  evenings,  he 
either  talks  on  the  phone  for  hours  or 
says,  "Let's  go  to  a  picture."  After  dress- 
ing for  a  big  night,  he  appears  for  inspec- 
tion. "How  do  I  look?" 

"Awful,"  says  Mother. 

She  may  be  kidding,  and  again  she  may 
not.   "Really  awful?"  he  asks. 

"So  awful,  I  can't  stand  the  sight  of  you." 
That  means  he's  all  right. 

If  they're  still  up  when  he  comes  in — 
and  they  read  in  bed  till  all  hours — he'll 
tap  at  the  window  in  spite  of  his  latch 
key.  "Come  and  let  me  in,  Mother — "  Then 
he  sits  at  the  end  of  the  bed,  munching 
cookies,  drinking  milk — a  quart  of  milk 
is  just  a  sip  to  Peter — telling  them  who  was 
at  the  Mocambo  or  what  his  friend,  Keenan 
Wynn,  said.  He  doesn't  go  into  long  dis- 
sertations about  the  girls  he  takes  out. 
"She's  nice — "  or  "She  dances  beauti- 
fully— "  or  "Never  again,  she's  a  pain-in- 
the-neck."  He  has  two  pet  pains-in-the- 
neck — showoffs  and  girls  who  are  super- 
conscious  of  their  careers. 

they  knew  what  they  wanted  .  .  . 

Sometimes  all  three  have  been  to  the 
same  preview,  only  the  Children  get  home 
earlier.  For  one  thing,  they  don't  have  to 
inch  their  way  through  fans.  Peter  still 
finds  it  hard  to  believe  what  he  sees.  Be- 
tween pleasure  and  bewilderment,  he  looks 
from  parent  to  parent.  "Isn't  it  wonderful 
that  they  like  me?" 

When  he's  gone,  Lady  Lawford  turns  to 
her  husband.  "This  is  just  the  way  we 
wanted  him,  isn't  it?" 

The  English  are  like  turtles.  Sir  Sid- 
ney's head  goes  way  in  but,  before  it  dis- 
appears, the  smile  on  his  face  is  a  nice 
thing  to  see. 


Now  We  Both 
Have  Lovely 

/Blonde //air/ 


Since  Using  This 
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Mothers  and  daughters  stay  young  together 
when  sunny  golden  curls  are  gloriously 
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poo that  helps  keep  light  hair  from  darken- 
ing and  brightens  faded  blonde  hair,  is  so 
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VOGUE  PRODUCTS 


1151  Seward  Street 
Hollywood  38,  Calif. 


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SENTIMENTAL  GENTLEMAN 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


squirming  infant  to  the  mother.  John  fell 
into  conversation  and  discovered  that  the 
gir.  had  beer,  'jr.abie  :o  ge:  reservations, 
so  was  planning  to  remain  on  deck  all 
night  with  her  two  cubs.  It  was  midsum- 
mer, so  the  weather  was  warm,  but  the 
danp-ess  ::'  any  body  ::  water  a:  night 
isn't  recommended  by  physicians  for  main- 
high  r.eai:h  in  children. 

Stepping  outside.  John  explained  to  his 
pal  that  he  had  given  up  their  bunk, 
"Sorry  that  I  didn't  have  rime  to  ask 
you  if  it  was  okay,  but  I  knew  that 
you'd  agree  with  me  in  thinking  those 
kids  couldn't  sleep  on  deck,"  he  said. 

So  he  and  his  friend  absorbed  the  dew, 
sunk  low  in  their  coat  collars,  until  the 
sun  came  up. 

This  bit  of  bygone  history  tells  some- 
thing very  real  and  enlightening  about 
John  Hodiak:  it  shows  him  to  be  unselfish, 
certainly,  and  e%_en  more  gallant  than  Sir 
Walter  who  merely  gave  up  a  cloak. 

Everyone  in  Hollywood  knows  that  John 
is  devoted  to  his  parents,  his  bro"thers  and 
his  sister  (who  is  really  his  cousin,  Mary, 
but  who  was  adopted  by  his  parents  when 
she  was  a  small  child).  But  few  people 
know  much  about  these  parents. 

First  of  all — they  have  a  delicious  sense 
of  humor.  In  John's  current  picture,  "The 
Dark  Corner,"  he  is  required  to  wear  a 
makeup  department  black  eye.  Ordinarily 
he  wears  no  makeup  at  all,  so  one  evening 
— in  his  rush  to  get  out  to  the  home  he 
bought  for  his  parents  in  the  San  Fernando 
Valley — he  failed  to  remove  the  shiner. 

Mrs.  Hodiak,  beaming  at  her  son  when 
he  entered,  abruptly  changed  expression. 
Pushing  a  cry  back  with  the  palm  of  her 
hand,  she  finally  managed  to  say,  "Oh. 
Johnny,  what  happened?" 

John  kept  a  straight  face.  "Nothing  that 
can  be  helped,"  he  said  severely.  "I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  it." 

"You  fought  with  someone,"  surmised  his 
distressed  mother.  "It  must  hurt  you. 
Please  let  me  put  something  on  your  poor 
eye.   My  poor  Johnny." 

John  couldn't  keep  up  the  pretense;  he 
began  to  grin  and  confessed  the  hoax.  Said 
his  mother,  "Now — we  can  have  fun  with 
your  father.  I  will  go  in  the  other  room 
and  tell  him  confidentially  that  something 
is  wrong  with  you,  but  you  will  not  tell  me. 
Then  we  will  see  what  your  father  does." 

who  hit  my  boy?  .  .  . 

His  mother  slipped  into  the  living  room, 
busied  herself  long  enough  to  give  her  hus- 
band the  proper  impression  of  suppressed 
secrecy,  and  then  murmured,  when  he  de- 
rr.ar.z~z.  to  know  what  was  going  on  in  hi; 
own  house,  ''Something  is  wrong  with 
Johnny.  I  think  he  has  been  in  a  big  fight, 
but  he  won't  tell  me.  See  what  you  can 
find  out.  Papa." 

Mr.  Hodiak  came  charging  into  the 
kitchen,  peered  at  his  son,  -  and  roared. 
''Who  cid  this  to  you?  And  what  did  you 
do  to  him?    Did  you  see  a  doctor?" 

H  was  too  much  for  John.  He  laughed, 
.-erear-.^r.  the  aha::-  gave  rise  to  a  series 
of  gentle  family  jokes. 

A.r.:t- t-r  of  John's  rare  practical  jokes 
had  a  somewhat  more  noisy  reception  when 
he  was  working  with  Lucille  Ball  in  'Time 
For  Two."  For  several  weeks,  the  com- 
pany worked  with  a  group  of  dummies. 
At  first,  the  cast  found  themselves  backing 
into  the  manikins  and  apologizing;  they 
found  themselves  attempting  to  greet  the 
dummies  in  the  morning,  and  refer  to  them 
during  conversation  with  a  living  actor. 

Finally  everyone  had  become  so  ac- 


WHY  CAN'T  MARRIAGE 
BE  LIKE  THE  MOVIES? 


The  movies  usually  wind  up  with  a 
happy  ending.  But  Bill  and  Joan  couldn't 
seem  to  patch  up  their  troubles.  She 
didn't  realize  that  their  fights  were  her 
fault!  She  thought  she  knew  about  femi- 
nine hygiene.  She  didn't  know,  thouah, 


that  "now-and-then"  care  isn't  enough! 
Later,  at  her  doctor's,  she  learned  the 
truth  when  he  warned,  "Never  be  a 
careless  wife."  He  recommended  that 
she  always  use  "Lysol"  brand  disinfect- 
ant for  douching. 


Like  a  movie  romance  come  true  — 

that's  how  their  marriage  is  now!  Joan 
blesses  her  doctor  for  that  advice  .  .  . 
uses  "Lysol"  in  the  douche  always.  How 
right  the  doctor  was  when  he  said 
"'Lysol'  is  a  proved  germ-killer .  It 


cleanses  thoroughly  yet  gently."  Just  fol- 
low directions— see  how  well  "Lysol" 
works!  It's  far  more  dependable  than 
salt,  soda  or  other  homemade  solutions. 
So  easy  to  use,  economical,  too.  Try  it 
for  feminine  hygiene. 


Cheek  these  facts  with  your  Doctor      deeply  into  folds  and 

crevices  to  search  out 
^^^^^         Proper  feminine   hygiene       germs.  Proved  germ-lciller 
Ms^^^.      care  is  important  to  the       — uniform  strength,  made 
Mm               happiness  and  charm  of      under  continued  labora- 

■  I       ■     every  woman.  So.  douche      tor?  control  .  .  .  far 

■  ■    thoroughly  with  correct       more  dependable  than 
».t    M    "Lysol"  solution  ...  al-       homemade  solutions. 
P€  m     wavslPowe^c.eanse,-       ^"S'loIuTionYs  nL 

Lysol  s  great  spreading      irritating,  not  harmful  to 
power  means  it  reaches      vaginal  tissues.  Follow  I 

easy  directions.  Cleanly 
odor  —  disappears  after 
use;  deodorizes .  More 
women  use  "Lysol"  for 
feminine  hygiene  than 
any  other  method.  (For 
FREE  feminine  hygiene 

Wf       Lehn  Fink 
J&v  Fifth 

York  22.  N.  Y.) 

Copjrignt.          bj"  Leim  &  Fmk  Procaine  Corp. 

For  Feminine  Hygiene  use  ^SlXfdOt? 

L  always! 

''LYSOL"  is  the  registered  trade-mark  of  Lehn  &  Fink  Products  Corporation  and  any  use  thereof 
in  connection  with  products  not  made  by  it  constitutes  an  infringement  thereof. 


US 


"I  LOST  29 

Now,  Tim  Says 
I'm  a  Having 
Beauty 


Yet  only  a  few  weeks  ago  I 
thought  I  couldn't  hold  him!" 
Writes  Betty  Wilson,  formerly 
of  Des  Moines  and  now  a 
Hollywood  Studio  Receptionist 

New  Loveliness 
Awaits  You  in 
21  Exciting  Days 

The  next  21  Days  may 
prove  to  be  the  most  im- 
portant days  ol  your  life. 
Happiness  can  then  be 
yours  as  you  achieve  Top 
to  Toe  Beauty.  Alluring 
Body  Contours.  Radiating 
Make-Up.  Charm,  Poise, 
and  a  Glamorous  Person- 
ality. All  this  can  be  at- 
tained right  in  your  own 
home,  in  your  spare  moments.  Not  by  just  reading  a 
book  .  .  .  but  by  Daily.  Step  by  Step.  Home  Course 
Instruction.  Personalized  to  your  very  own  Problems. 
You  acguire  the  basis  lor  a  Lasting  Beauty  ...  for 
Today  and  the  Years  ahead.  The  wonder  ol  it  all.  is 
not  only  the  improvement  in  your  appearance  but 
the  reflection  of  your  assured  Self-Confidence. 

Ji oil  if  wood  Me  duty  Cxperti 

Guide  You  .  . .  Groom  You  . . . 
Personalize  Your  Instruction 

This  Hollywood  "Short  Cut"  to  Beauty  and  Success 
was  prepared  for  you  by  Leading  Hollywood 
Beauty  Experts.  You  will  find  an  answer  to  Your 
Every  Problem.  Detailed.  Highly  Illustrated  and 
Simple  to  Follow.  Yoi  Personal  and  Individual 
Problems  a  Hollywood  Beauty  Expert  can  be  con- 
sulted for  guidance..  Filmarte  Beauty  brings  You 
Glamour.  Slenderness',  Make-Up.  Skin  Care,  Hair 
Styling,  Color  Harmony,  Accessory  Coordination, 
Posture,  Poise  and  a  Pfcoper  Reducing  Diet,  the  daily 
routine  ol  Famous  Hollywood  Beauties.  Day  after 
Day.  for  21  Days.  Hollywood  will  Discover  You, 
"Type"  You,  Groom  You,  and  Coax  You  until  your 
Hidden  Beauty  becomes  your  Natural  Beauty.  Your 
Self-Improvement  need  no  longer  be  neglected,  for 
lack  of  proper  guidance. 

Money  Is  No  Object . .  Send  None 

ENROLL  TODAY  . . .  NOW  . . .  ENJOY  SUCCESS.  If 
you  Delay,  life  may  pass  you  by.  Place  your  Beauty 
Problems  in  the  hands  of  Hollywood  Experts.  Fill  in 
coupon  below  . . .  but  Send  No  Money. 


Melore 

SEND 

NO 

MONEY 

colter 


6808  Sunset  Blvd.  •  Hollywood  28,  Calif. 

Yes,  I  too,  would  like  to  achieve  the  same  results  as  shown  by 
Betty  Wilson.  Please  accept  my  enrollment  and  send  me  the 
Personalized  FILMARTE  BEAUTY  Home  Course.  When  de- 
livered by  Postman,  I  will  pay  $2B95  plus  postage.  If  I  am  not 
satisfied  within  Ten  Days,  I  will  return  Course  and  receive  an 
immediate  refund. 

Name  

Street  and  Number  . 

City- 


L 


(PLEASE  PRINT— ENCLOSE  PHOTO  IF  AVAILABLE) 
YOU  SAVE  C.O.D.  COSTS  AND  POSTAGE  IF  YOU 
ENCLOSE  CHECK  OR  MONEY  ORDER 


customed  to  their  silent  partners  that  even 
a  human  being,  immobile  on  the  set  for  a 
few  minutes,  was  likely  to  be  used  as  an 
extemporaneous  hat  stand. 

One  sequence  in  the  picture  required 
Lucille  Ball  to  slither  into  a  darkened  room, 
looking  warily  over  her  shoulder  the  while, 
and  snatch  a  book  from  the  hands  of  one 
of  the  dummies.  This  particular  scene  had 
been  rehearsed  at  great  length  because 
much  of  the  dramatic  action  of  the  picture 
hinged  upon  a  proper  projection  of  the 
plot  elements  in  that  sequence.  Finally, 
the  perfect  take  was  achieved,  but  the 
director  did  not  tell  Lucille.  "We'll  do  it 
just  once  more — for  luck,"  he  said. 

Meanwhile,  John  had  been  decked  out  in 
a  costume  identical  with  that  of  the  dum- 
my, and  had  taken  the  dummy's  place.  As 
Lucille  tip-toed  into  the  room  and  reached 
for  the  book,  John  extended  a  muscular 
hand  and  gripped  her  arm.  Lucille  almost 
screamed  the  sound  stage  down. 

dream  house  .  .  . 

John's  purchase  of  a  valley  home  for  his 
family  was  a  dream- come -true.  The  lot  is 
180  by  153  feet;  constructed  on  this  gen- 
erous lot  is  a  six  room  house  and  a  triple 
garage  in  which  there  is  also  a  room  that 
was  once  the  previous  owner's  office.  It  is 
so  complete  that  John  plans  to  turn  it  into 
an  apartment  for  his  younger  brother  when 
he  comes  home  from  Okinawa. 

On  the  grounds  are  nine  walnut  trees 
and  a  small  grove  of  lemon,  grapefruit, 
orange  and  apricot  trees.  Papa  Hodiak 
has  built  a  chicken  run  and  the  chickens 
provide  the  Hodiaks  and  their  neighbors 
with  three  dozen  eggs  a  week. 

Mr.  Hodiak  still  isn't  convinced  that  the 
famed  California  climate  is  serious  about 
all  the  sunshine.  On  both  Christmas  and 
New  Year's  Day,  he  sat  on  the  porch  in  his 
shirt  sleeves  for  an  hour  or  so,  reading 
his  paper.  Occasionally  he  would  squint 
at  the  flawless  sky  and  observe  to  John, 
"We'll  get  a  storm  pretty  quick,  I  think." 

As  far  as  the  Hodiaks  are  concerned, 
John's  success  is  no  more  than  loving  par- 
ents would  naturally  expect  of  a  dutiful 
son.  His  status  as  a  celebrity  doesn't  mean 
a  thing  around  the  house;  they  think  it  is 
nice  that  he  is  working  at  a  job  he  enjoys 
and  that  pays  well.  However,  he  might  as 
well  be  an  oil  man  or  a  broker  or  a  rail- 
road executive  for  all  the  glamor  his 
parents  see  in  John's  profession. 

With  Mary,  the  situation  is  different.  She 
is  as  much  a  picture  fan  as  John  is.  In  the 
family  they  tell  a  story  about  the  only  time 
John  was  ever  punished.  Seems  that  his 
teacher  notified  the  Hodiaks  that  John 
had  been  missing  from  school  for  eighty- 
five  out  of  the  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  days  in  the  spring  session. 

When  charged  with  this  heinous  crime, 
John  explained  that  he  had  only  been  at- 
tending the  movies.  It  was  his  habit  to 
peddle  tinfoil  or  other  bits  of  scrap  in 
order  to  get  admission  money,  then  to  sit 
through  six  and  eight  and  ten  shows. 
Douglas  Fairbanks  was  his  hero.  After 
having  seen  twenty  or  thirty  showings  of 
the  same  Fairbanks  picture,  John  would 
put  on  quite  a  show  himself  leaping  fences 
and  swinging  from  balconies. 

But,  to  go  back  to  the  school  skipping; 
when  John's  father  learned  the  truth,  he 
gave  John  the  beating  of  his  young  life. 
It  was  the  first  corporal  punishment  ever 
to  be  meted  out  in  the  Hodiak  family  and 
it  left  all  members  of  the  younger  gener- 
ation in  a  state  of  apprehensive  awe. 

Mary  Hodiak  hadn't  forgotten  the  inci- 
dent when,  years  later,  she  joined  John 
in  California.  "After  you  were  punished 
that  time,  for  spending  months  in  picture 
shows,"  she  reminisced,  smiling,  "I  didn't 
think  you'd  ever  again  be  much  interested 
in  movies." 

Answered  John,  "After  I  recovered  from 


1a* 


forcing 

1bo 


A  laxative.  f^^jS^^ 
proper  relief  ma ,  be       houid  work 

at  aU-  A,fv°fet  be  kind  and  gcnUe^ 
thoroughly,  " 


Medium. 


Bx-Lax81ves  a  thorough  acc^Bm 

Ex-Lax  is  g^' V  °"the  same  time. 
Uv  and  effectively  at  tn  __  u?t 

And  Ex-Lax  tastes ^goo  •  ,ca-s 
like  fine  chocolate  It  s  as  good 
Tst  widely  used  ^axatior,ch.ldteQ. 

for  grown-ups  as  direCted 
M  a  precaution  use  only 


IF  YOU  NEED  A  LAXATIVE 
WHEN  YOU  HAVE  A  COLD  — 

Don't  dose  yourself  with  harsh,  upsetting  pur- 
gatives. Take  Ex-Lax— the  chocolated  laxative! 
It's  thoroughly  effective,  but  kind  and  gentle. 


EX-LAX 

THE  HAPPY  MEDIUM  LAXATIVE 

lOc  and  25c  at  all  drug  stores 


MOTHERS 


SHOULD  baby  suffer  the  discomfort  of 
chafing,  diaper  rash  or  dry  eczema, 
just  apply  soothing,  medicated  Resinol 
to  relieve  fiery  itching  and  smarting. 
For  several  generations  many  mothers 
have  relied  on  this  gentle,  quick-acting 
ointment  for  baby's  skin  comfort.  Let 
their  experience  guide  you.  At  all  druggists. 

OINTMENT 

AND  SOAP 


RESINOL0 


the  embarrassment  and  the  sensation  of 
having  squatted  on  a  hot  stove,  I  decided 
that  an  actor  had  to  suffer." 

On  the  day  of  Mary's  arrival  in  Holly- 
wood, John  took  her  to  Romanoff's  for 
luncheon.  They  saw  Orson  Welles  in  the 
patio,  and  Mary  had  barely  caught  her 
breath  after  she  and  John  were  shown  to 
their  table,  before  she  identified  Gail 
Patrick  at  a  nearby  table,  and  Joan  Ben- 
nett across  the  aisle.  George  Jessel,  20th 
Century  producer,  joined  the  Hodiaks  for 
a  few  minutes  conversation,  then — after 
luncheon — Mary  spotted  Edward  G.  Robin- 
son in  the  patio  at  the  table  just  vacated 
by  Mr.  Welles.   It  was  a  great  day. 

During  the  period  when  the  family  was 
growing  up  in  Detroit,  the  children  used  to 
complain  about  being  crowded,  but  now 
that  they  have  all  the  land  the  average 
family  could  use— they  are  still  crowded. 
In  the  ranch  house  (to  which  they  will 
add  a  new  wing  as  soon  as  building 
materials  are  available)  are  living  the 
senior  Hodiaks,  Mary,  John's  sister  Ann 
and  her  husband,  and  their  son. 

John  was  also  a  member  in  good  stand- 
ing until  he  finally  found  an  apartment. 
Reason  for  needing  the  apartment  was  that 
the  drive  to  and  from  the  valley  each  day 
took  up  too  much  time  from  John's  al- 
ready crowded  life.  At  first  he  was  prom- 
ised a  spot  in  one  of  Fred  MacMurray's 
buildings,  then  Red  Skelton  came  home 
from  the  Army  and  had  absolutely  no 
place  to  stay,  so  John  resigned  in  Red's 
favor.  John  knew  where  he  could  get 
shelter,  which  gave  him  an  advantage  over 
the  I-Dood-It  boy. 

A  few  weeks  later,  Lloyd  Nolan  had  the 
staggering  experience  of  being  notified 
by  a  tenant  that  the  tenant  was  quitting 
Southern  California  in  favor  of  New  York, 
so  he  turned  the  apartment  over  to  John. 

There  was  only  one  catch  in  this  bliss- 
ful state  of  affairs:  The  apartment  was  un- 
furnished, and  there  just  isn't  any  fur- 
niture in  Los  Angeles.  John's  friends  rose 
to  the  occasion.  One  family,  planning  to 
store  its  patio  furniture,  turned  the  white 
wrought-iron  equipment  over  to  John  in- 
stead, so  his  dining  room  is  done  in  early 
barbecue  period. 

Another  group  of  friends  supplied  a  box 
spring  and  a  mattress,  which  had  to  be 
set  on  the  floor,  as  there  was  no  footed 
frame  to  hold  them.  A  wag  promptly 
patronized  a  local  second-hand  store  to  the 
extent  of  a  rocking  chair,  early  packing 
crate  style,  and  one  of  those  Roaring 
Twenties  wicker  lamps  which  a  latter  day 
trick-up  artist  had  painted  white. 

As  soon  as  John  has  some  time  free 
from  a  current  program  that  has  him 
pencilled  in  every  day  of  a  54-day  shooting 
schedule,  he  intends  to  go  shopping.  Don't 
get  the  impression  that  one  day  or  one 
week  will  enable  John  to  equip  his  new 
apartment  with  any  degree  of  complete- 
ness, because  John  is  the  sort  of  shopper 
who  starts  out  with  the  finest  intentions 
in  the  world,  and  winds  up  with  his  arms 
full  of  presents — for  other  people. 

art  collector  .  .  . 

One  afternoon,  John  was  told  that  he 
wouldn't  be  needed  for  three  hours.  In 
passing  an  antique  shop  on  La  Cienega,  he 
had  noticed  some  handsome  dry  point 
etchings,  so  he  hied  himself  there.  The 
etchings,  proved  to  be  all  that  he  had  sus- 
pected so — after  critical  delay — he  bought 
two.  (Incidentally,  Van  Johnson  is  also  an 
etching  collector,  boasting  one  superb 
specimen  of  Lionel  Barrymore's  work.) 

For  weeks,  he  gloated  inwardly  over  his 
purchase.  He  fancied  walls  on  which  they 
would  some  day  hang,  and  indulged  in  a 
little  amateur  interior  decorating,  using  the 
etchings  as  focal  points.  Then  a  friend  of 
his  happened  to  mention  the  fact  that  this 
friend's  fondest  dream  was  to  own  a  pair 


ARE  IGNORANCE  AND  FALSE  MODESTY 


Every  wife  should  know  these 
Intimate  Physical  Facts! 


There  comes  a  time  in  many  married 
women's  lives  when  their  husbands  start 
showing  an  insufferable  indifference.  And 
yet  the  wife  often  has  no  one  but  herself 
to  blame.  False  modesty  has  kept  her 
from  consulting  her  Doctor.  Or  she  very 
foolishly  has  followed  old-fashioned  and 
wrong  advice  of  friends. 

Too  many  married  women  still  do  not 
realize  how  important  douching  often  is 
to  intimate  feminine  cleanliness,  charm, 
health  and  marriage  happiness.  And 
what's  more  important — they  may  not 
know  about  this  newer,  scientific  method 
of  douching  with — zonite. 

No  other  type  liquid  antiseptic  tested  is 
SO  POWERFUL  yet  SO  HARMLESS 

No  well-informed  woman  would  think  of 
using  weak,  homemade  solutions  of  salt, 
soda  or  vinegar  for  the  douche.  These 
DO  NOT  and  can  not  give  the  germicidal 
and  deodorizing  action  of  zonite. 


Zom'te 

FOR  NEWER 

eminine  /it/yiene 


No  other  type  liquid  antiseptic-germicide 
for  the  douche  of  all  those  tested  is  so 
powerful  yet  so  safe  to  delicate  tissues. 

zonite  positively  contains  no  carbolic 
acid  or  bichloride  of  mercury;  no  creosote. 
zonite  is  non-poisonous,  non-irritating, 
non-burning.  Despite  its  great  strength — 
you  can  use  it  as  directed  as  often  as  you 
wish  without  risk  of  injury. 

Zonite  principle  discovered  by 
famous  Surgeon  and  Chemist 

zonite  actually  destroys  and  removes 
odor-causing  waste  substances.  Helps 
guard  against  infection.  It's  so  powerfully 
effective  no  germs  of  any  kind  tested  have 
ever  been  found  that  it  will  not  kill  on 
contact.  You  know  it's  not  always  pos- 
sible to  contact  all  the  germs  in  the  tract 
but  you  can  be  sure  that  zonite  im- 
mediately kills  every  reachable  germ  and 
keeps  them  from  multiplying. 

Buy  zonite  today.  Any  drugstore. 

J FREE! 
For  frank  discussion  of  intimate 
physical  facts — mail  this  coupon  to 
onite  Products,  Dept.  S-36,  370 
exington  Ave.,  New  York  17,  N.  Y., 
d  receive  enlightening  free  booklet 
ed  by  several  eminent  Gynecologists. 

;  


State . 


w»  KURLASH 


(Now  back  after  a  wartime  absence) 
Your  eyes  become  the  center  of 
attraction  with  this  magic  Eyelash 
Curler.  In  just  60  seconds,  Kurlash 
sweeps  your  lashes  skyward  —  makes 
them  appear  longer  and  eyes  larger, 
brighter,  more  appealing!  Easy  — 
Kurlash  needs  no  heat  or  cosmetics. 
Absolutely  safe  to  use  — as  lashes 
are  curled  against  rubber  cushion. 

At  drug  and  dept.  stores.  Still  $1.00. 

NEAT  EYE-BROW  CARE  .  .  .  Make 
grooming  easy,  safe  with  Profes- 
sional Twissors,  the  scissor-handle 
tweezer  — 50c. 

FOR  SHINING  LASHES  .  .  .  Impart 
dewy  sheen  to  lashes,  lids  and  eye- 
brows with  rich  oily-base  cream 
Kurlene  —  50c,  $1.00. 

KURLASH 

"Beautiful  Eyes  Have  W 

THE  KURLASH  COMPANY,  INC. 

Rochester,  N.  Y.    •    New  York  City 
Toronto,  Canada 


NEW  pure,  white  odorless* 

LOTION  s.<,y 
REMOVES  HAIR 


*1.  A  fragrant  white  lotion  without 
bad  clinging  depilatory  odor. 

2.  Painless  .  .  .  not  messy,  quick 
to  use.  As  simple  to  remove  as 
cold  cream. 

3.  No  razor  stubble.  Keeps  legs 
hair-free  longer.  Economical! 

4.  Does  not  irritate  healthy,  nor- 
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5.  Removes  hair  close  to  skin, 
leaving  skin  soft,  smooth, 
clean,  fragrant. 

Cosmetic  lotion  to 
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NAIR 


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Drug  and  Department  Stores 


118 


of  Willard  Nash  etchings. 

So  John,  the  gentleman  who  can't  resist 
the  impulse  to  indulge  in  a  gracious  gesture, 
gave  his  precious  etchings  to  this  friend 
for  Christmas.  Said  the  friend  in  thanks, 
"Gosh!  GOSH!  Look,  John,  any  time  you 
need  to  have  somebody  murdered — just 
call  on  me." 

Another  of  John's  traits  that  endears  him 
to  his  friends  is  his  habit  of  letter  writing. 
John  loves  to  write  notes.  Sunday  is  the 
day  set  aside  for  oddments  of  correspond- 
ence, and  John  is  known  to  have  settled 
himself  before  a  desk  at  one  p.  m.  and  to 
have  arisen  from  same  five  hours  later — 
with  one  letter  to  his  credit. 

His  problem  is  that  he  thinks  of  one  way 
to  tell  an  anecdote,  then — fast  on  the  heels 
of  the  first  idea — he  thinks  of  another. 
And  so  it  goes. 

To  get  a  letter,  composed  with  such  care, 
is  a  thing  that  happens  to  most  readers  once 
in  a  lifetime.  The  average  note  is  a  rare 
scribble  of  spontaneous  combustion;  John's 
letters  emit  a  steady  warmth.  One  friend 
has  saved  every  note  ever  ended  with  the 
Hodiak  signature  and  re-reads  his  letters 
on  occasion — a  gratifying  experience.  Even 
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HINTS  FOR  HAPPY  FACES 

(Continued  from  page  76) 


make  makeup  appear  blotchy. 

Begin  low  on  the  neck  and  powder  up- 
ward over  your  face,  leaving  the  nose  for 
the  last.  Use  a  soft  makeup  brush  to  dust 
off  any  extra  powder.  And,  to  save  your- 
self from  that  "lost-in-a-blizzard"  effect, 
be  sure  to  get  every  excess  particle  off 
eyebrows,  lashes  and  the  hairline. 

For  a  long  time  girls  in  the  movies  have 
been  using  more  than  one  shade  of  powder 
on  their  faces.  It  may  sound  a  bit  com- 
plicated, but  a  little  practice  is  all  that's 
needed.  The  effects  can  be  really  worth 
working  for.  A  darker  shade  "sinks"  a  too 
prominent  or  not-so-good  line,  plane  or 
feature,  and  a  lighter  (but  still  skin- 
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modeled  brow,  nose  or  chin  line  and 
"brings  out"  a  feature  that  is  particularly 
beautiful.  Of  course,  the  two  shades  of 
powder  must  vary  only  slightly  and  their 
edges  must  be  blended  carefully  so  that 
there  is  no  perceptible  line  of  demarcation. 

But  to  really  have  your  complexion 
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COMPLETE  CANDID  CAMERA  OUTFIT 


ALL  GOD'S  CHILLUN . . . 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


eerie  glow.  In  its  light,  a  dozen  white- 
clad  figures  moved  about.  One  of  them 
tilted  a  bottle  to  his  hps  and  drank.  He 
wiped  his  mouth  on  his  sleeve,  looked  at 
the  cross  and  laughed  harshly.  "That  ought 
to  scare  the  niggers  and  wops  and  sheen- 
ies,"  he  said  loudly. 

Frank  heard  the  words,  and  some- 
thing seemed  to  ignite  inside  him.  Rage 
slid  through  him,  and  he  took  a  tighter 
grasp  on  the  heavy  stick  he  was  carrying. 

"Let's  go,  gang!"  he  yelled. 

They  went,  and  the  Klan  was  caught 
completely  by  surprise.  They  fought  back, 
of  course,  but  their  superior  numbers 
weren't  enough  to  offset  the  grim  rage  of 
their  attackers.  Frank  himself  went 
straight  for  the  man  he  had  heard  speak. 
The  man  saw  him  coming,  a  thin  furious- 
eyed  demon,  and  raised  his  bottle  as  a 
weapon.  Frank  slammed  it  with  his  stick 
and  it  broke  in  the  air,  showering  them 
both  with  bits  of  glass.  He  struck  again 
and  this  time  there  was  a  resounding 
"thwack!"  as  the  stick  hit  the  man's  head. 
Around  him  there  were  yells  and  pro- 
fanity and  the  sound  of  other  blows.  Then 
Frank  caught  the  gleam  of  metal. 

"Scram,  fellows,"  he  yelled.  "They're 
gonna  start  shooting!" 

A  shot  followed  his  words,  but  the  gang 
were  already  running  for  cover.  In  about 
three  seconds  flat,  no  one  was  in  sight 
but  a  bewildered  and  furious  group  of 
Klansmen,  wondering  what  had  hit  them. 

Frank  brought  his  mind  back  to  the 
present,  away  from  all  the  other  incidents 
that  had  made  him  feel  the  way  he  felt 
today.  He  stepped  forward,  and  the  noise  of 
applause  stopped  as  if  someone  had 
closed  a  door. 

"I'm  glad  to  be  here,"  he  said.  His 
voice  was  low  but  it  reached  to  every  cor- 
ner of  the  enormous  room.  "I'm  especially 
glad  to  be  in  Gary  because  it's  really  a 
great  American  city.  It's  tops  in  its  war 
record,  and  I  know  you're  proud  of  that. 
You  should  be.  But  if  you're  not  careful, 
kids,  you're  going  to  mess  all  that  up.  You 
see,  the  thing  you're  doing  now  is  an  un- 
American  thing.  It's  picking  on  a  minority, 
and  that's  like  a  big  guy  picking  a  fight 
with  a  little  shrimp  that  doesn't  have  a 
chance.  See  what  I  mean?" 

His  gaze  flashed  around  the  audience,  and 
some  of  the  kids  wriggled  uncomfortably. 
"Besides,  you're  going  about  this  the 
wrong  way.  Go  back  to  school  first,  and 
settle  the  issue  afterward." 

just  stooges  .  .  . 

There  was  a  murmur  through  the  au- 
dience like  wind  through  a  field  of  wheat. 
But  Frank  wasn't  through.  "You  don't 
know  what  this  thing  is  all  about," 
he  told  them.  "Maybe  you've  never  stopped 
to  figure  it  out.  Or  maybe  calling  people 
names  like  'nigger'  and  'kike'  is  just  a 
game  to  you.  But  let  me  tell  you  this, 
straight  and  solid.  There  are  people  back 
of  you  who  have  figured  it  out,  and  they're 
using  you  kids  for  stooges." 

He  went  into  details  then.  Details  of  the 
way  this  issue  had  been  stirred  up  and 
used  as  a  political  football.  The  kids  sat 
there  spellbound,  but  backstage  all  hell 
broke  loose.  One  of  the  town  officials 
dashed  up  to  George  Evans,  Frank's  man- 
ager, who  was  standing  in  the  wings. 

"Is  he  crazy?"  he  yelled.  "He  can't  say 
those  things!" 

"He  is  saying  them,"  George  told  him. 
"And  what's  more,  he  can  prove  them. 
Look,  you  asked  Frank  to  come  here  and 
talk  to  the  kids,  didn't  you?" 

"Well-uh-yes,  of  course.  But  I  thought 


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he'd  just  sing  a  couple  of  songs  and  tell 
them  to  go  back  to  school." 

"And  you'd  be  the  big  shot  who  settled 
the  strike.  Sure.  But  when  Frank  agrees 
to  do  a  job,  he  does  it  thoroughly." 

"We'll  sue  him,"  the  big  shot  said  threat- 
eningly. "The  whole  town  will  sue  him." 

"I  doubt  it."  George  turned  back  toward 
the  stage.  Frank  was  still  talking,  his 
voice  deep  with  feeling.  "So,  because  we're 
all  Americans,  no  matter  what  color  our 
skin  is  or  what  church  we  go  to,  let's  say 
the  oath  of  allegiance  together." 

He  began  it,  and  gradually  they  joined 
in  until  the  rumble  of  young  voices  be- 
came as  one  voice.  Then  the  orchestra 
struck  up  the  Star  Spangled  Banner. 
Frank  led  the  singing,  and  as  he  looked  at 
the  serious  faces  before  him,  he  wondered 
if  he  had  made  them  see  even  a  little  of 
what  was  going  to  be  so  vitally  important 
in  the  years  to  come.  How  could  kids  like 
these  grow  up  happily  in  a  world  where 
people  said  "I  won't  stay  in  the  room  with 
a  black  man,"  or  "Til  have  nothing  to  do 
with  her.    She's  Jewish." 

Jewish.  The  word  always  brought  Mrs. 
Goldman  to  his  mind.  He  could  see  her 
now,  bending  over  the  big  kitchen  stove. 
Boy,  that  kitchen  had  been  something! 
When  Frank  came  home  from  school  in 
the  afternoon,  he  would  often  find  no  one 
at  home  and  the  larder  empty.  His  stomach 
would  be  empty,  too,  but  he  knew  what  to 
do  about  it.  He  would  streak  out  of  the 
house  and  around  the  corner  to  Mrs.  Gold- 
man's. He  would  ring  the  bell  expectantly. 
When  she  came  to  the  door,  puffing  a  little 
because  she  was  so  heavy  and  it  was  an 
effort  for  her  to  move  around,  there  he 
would  be. 

"Hello,  Mrs.  Goldman."  His  eyes  were 
eager  and  enormous  in  his  thin  face. 

"Why,  if  it  isn't  Frankie!  Come  right  in." 
She  would  lead  the  way  to  the  kitchen, 
and  there  would  be  those  wonderful  smells. 
She'd  say  tactfully,  "I  was  just  going  to 
have  a  bite  to  eat.  Maybe  you're  hungry 
after  all  that  hard  work  in  school.  Yes?" 

Definitely  yes.  Frank  ate  at  the  Gold- 
man's almost  as  much  as  he  did  at  home. 
If  he  cut  a  finger,  he  ran  to  Mrs.  Gold- 
man to  bind  it  up.  Many's  the  time  she 
saved  him  from  a  licking,  too.  One  day  she 
gave  him  a  little  gold  scroll,  with  writing 
on  it  in  Hebrew. 

"You  would  like  it,  Frankie?  I  don't 
know,  if  you  would  want  people  to  see 
you  have  it,  though.  They  might  think  you 
were  a  Jewish  boy."  Her  dark,  sad  eyes 
peered  at  him  uncertainly. 

Frankie  didn't  say  anything  but  "Thanks." 
Then  he  went  and  got  a  card  and  hung 
the  scroll  on  it,  around  his  neck.  The  next 
day  a  boy  looked  at  it  and  jeered.  "You're 
no  Yid.  What're  you  wearin'  a  Yid  thing 
for?" 

"It  belongs  to  a  friend  of  mine.  A  good 
friend!" 

"Aw,  no  Yid's  any  good!" 

man  of  action  .  .  . 

Black  rage  swelled  in  Frank's  heart. 
This  wise  guy  was  saying  Mrs.  Goldman 
was  no  good.  Frank  brought  a  punch  from 
way  back  in  the  hills,  and  connected.  The 
wise  guy  crashed  to  the  ground.  After 
that,  nobody  made  any  cracks  about  Yids 
when  Frank  was  around. 

There  have  been  plenty  of  times  when 
his  friendship  for  those  not  of  his  own  race 
has  put  Frank  in  embarrassing  positions. 
Positions,  that  is  that  might  have  em- 
barrassed some  people — they've  never 
bothered  Frank.  Maybe  he  goes  to  a  res- 
taurant with  Coke  and  Moke  who  were  on 
the  bill  with  him  at  the  Paramount.  Coke 
and  Moke  happen  to  have  black  skins, 
Frank  doesn't.  Is  that  any  reason  they 
shouldn't  eat  at  the  same  restaurant? 
Frank  doesn't  think  so,  and  if  the  restau- 
rant proprietor  does,  Frank  leaves. 


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Part  of  this  attitude,  of  course,  stems 
directly  from  Frank's  great  love  of  people. 
He's  got  a  big,  warm  heart  and  he's  a 
friend  to  anybody  that  needs  a  friend.  Take 
Dick  Stabile,  for  instance.  You  know  how, 
before  Dick  went  in  the  Coast  Guard,  he 
had  a  big  band  that  was  doing  fine.  When 
he  came  out  he  had  nothing  at  all.  So,  as  is 
apt  to  be  the  way  on  Broadway,  no  one 
remembered  him.  Oh,  they'd  say,  "Hi, 
Dick,  how's  the  boy?"  but  then  they'd 
hurry  off  in  the  other  direction.  One  day 
Dick  dropped  into  the  office  of  a  well 
known  booking  agent.  He  didn't  get  much 
of  a  tumble  from  either  the  agent  or  the 
Broadway  characters  who  kept  buzziatg  in 
and  out.  Until  the  door  opened,  and  a 
skinny  guy  in  a  loud  sports  jacket  came 
in.  Everyone  rushed  to  greet  him. 

lifesaver  .  .  . 

But  Frank  wasn't  listening.  He'd  spotted 
Dick  in  the  corner,  and  he  walked  right 
over  and  pounded  him  on  the  back.  "So 
you're  back  in  circulation,  kid.  Gosh,  it's 
great  to  see  you  around  again.  What  are 
you  going  to  do?" 

Dick  shrugged.  "I  don't  know,  Frank. 
It's  sort  of  tough  trying  to  get  started 
again." 

"Shouldn't  be  tough  for  a  guy  with  your 
talent.  How  would  you  like  to  get  a  band 
together  and  play  the  Wedgewood  Room, 
hey?" 

"Are  you  kidding?" 

"Nohow.  I'm  booked  in  there,  and  I,  can 
sell  'em  on  you.  Want  it?" 

For  a  minute  Dick  couldn't  speak.  He 
couldn't  even  swallow  the  crazy  lump  that 
was  in  his  throat. 

"Listen,  Frank,  if  you'll  do  that  for  me, 
I'll.  .  .  ."  He  stopped.  What  could  you  do 
to  repay  a  guy  who  starts  you  living  all 
over  again? 

Frank  said  brusquely,  "Forget  it,  bud. 
Skip  the  thanks."  He  has  a  positive  psy- 
chosis about  being  thanked  for  things. 
Hates  it.  "I'll  fix  it  up  and  let  you  know. 
Good  luck." 

So  when  Frank  opened  at  the  Waldorf, 
Dick  Stabile  opened,  too.  Maybe  that's 
why  in  all  the  kidding  that  went  on  dur- 
ing the  show  between  Frank  and  the  band, 
there  was  that  warm  undercurrent  of 
friendship.  It  made  you  feel  good,  just 
listening.  Frank  kidded  with  the  audience 
the  same  way,  there  in  the  Wedgewood 
Room.  He  achieved  the  same  gay  cama- 
raderie with  the  white  tie  and  tails 
crowd  that  he  did  with  the  bobby  sox 
brigade  at  the  Paramount.  During  the 
first  show,  he  grinned  at  them  cheerfully 
and  remarked  into  the  mike,  "Well, 
Hoboken's  come  to  visit  Park  Avenue 
again." 

When  the  Wedgewood  Room  engage- 
ment was  nearing  its  end,  Frank  said  to 
Dick,  "What  you  going  to  do  next,  boy?" 

"I  wouldn't  know,  Frank.  I've  had  a 
couple  of  offers,  but  they  didn't  amount  to 
much." 

"I  always  thought  I'd  make  a  good  agent. 
Maybe  this  is  a  fine  time  to  find  out." 

The  first  thing  Dick  knew,  Frank  had 
the  band  booked  into  the  Copacabana, 
which  is  very  nice  booking  indeed.  Frank 
has  so  much  confidence  in  people  that  he 
gives  them  confidence  in  themselves.  Like 
Buddy  Rich.  Frank  ran  into  him  one  night 
at  the  Four  Hundred  Club,  and  Buddy 
happened  to  mention  that  he  wished  he 
had  his  own  band. 

Frank  nodded  understandingly.  "I 
know  how  you  feel.  I  remember  how  it 
was  when  I  was  singing  vvith  bands —  I 
used  to  get  a  yen  to  be  on  my  own.  Why 
don't  you  try  it  out,  Buddy?  I'll  back  you." 

So  Buddy's  going  to  have  his  own  band, 
and  Frank  is  helping  both  financially  and 
with  advice.  He  loves  doing  it.  The  more 
he  can  do  for  other  people,  the  happier  it 
makes  him.  There  are  a  couple  of  guys 


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you  never  heard  of  who  can  testify  to  that. 
But  one  of  them  you  are  going  to  hear  of. 
He's  a  young  composer,  and  Frank  is  so 
convinced  he's  good  that  he  has  arranged 
to  make  recordings  of  all  his  music  for  a 
special  album.  And  when  someone  says 
"Frank,  you  just  don't  have  time  for  these 
things,"  Frank  says,  "Listen,  bud,  you've 
got  the  accent  in  the  wrong  place.  I've  al- 
ways got  time  for  these  things.  This  guy  is 
writing  real  American  music.  The  kind 
they'll  be  playing  when  you  and  I  are 
dead.  Anything  I  can  do  to  help  is  a 
pleasure." 

The  other  guy  is  a  young  soldier  who 
was  always  a  fan  of  Frank's.  He  was  badly 
wounded  and  will  never  walk  again.  The 
hospital  got  in  touch  with  Frank,  and  said 
they  knew  he  was  awfully  busy,  but  some 
of  the  boy's  buddies  had  offered  to  carry 
him  downtown  if  Frank  would  see  him. 
Would  he?  Darned  right  he  would!  The 
kid  was  carried  in,  and  he  looked  a  little 
pale  and  he  didn't  have  any  legs,  but  there 
was  an  awed  grin  of  happiness  on  his  face. 

pleased  to  meetcha  .  .  . 

"Gee,  Frank,  it's  great  to  see  you.  I 
really  get  a  bang  out  of  this." 

"Me,  too.  It's  swell  to  meet  somebody 
with  as  much  guts  as  you  have." 

"Listen,  I'm  lucky."  The  boy's  smile  was 
wholehearted.  "I'm  doing  all  right." 

"Sure  you  are.  What  you  gonna  do  when 
you  get  out  of  the  hospital,  kid?  Got 
something  lined  up,  hey?" 

Two  parallel  lines  of  worry  etched  them- 
selves on  the  pale  forehead.  "Something'll 
turn  up,"  he  said  gruffly. 

Frank  put  an  arm  around  his  shoulders. 
"Maybe  we'll  see  to  it  that  it  does.  How 
would  you  like  a  little  store  out  in  Jersey 
somewhere  that  you  could  run  without 
getting  around  much?" 

The  boy's  eyes  widened.  His  mouth 
worked.  "How  would  I — "  He  couldn't  go 
on.  You  could  see  that  this  anxiety  had 
been  gnawing  at  his  mind,  haunting  every 
hour  of  the  day.  "Frank,  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"I  mean  this.  I  think  maybe  some 
friends  of  mine  and  myself  could  stage 
a  little  benefit  performance.  When  we  get 
through  we  might  have  enough  dough 
to  fix  up  that  store  deal." 

Well,  when  they  got  through  they  had 
seven  thousand  dollars.  No,  I'm  not  kid- 
ding. They  really  did.  And  when  that  lad 
gets  out  of  the  hospital,  he'll  have  his  store. 
But  if  you  mention  the  incident  to  Frank, 
he'll  probably  cut  your  throat. 

With  all  these  demands  on  his  time  and 
on  his  voice,  it's  no  wonder  that  he  de- 
veloped laryngitis  while  he  was  at  the 
Paramount.  Five  shows  a  day  at  the  thea- 
ter, his  new  radio  program,  special  benefits, 
speeches,  the  Wedgewood  Room — well,  you 
get  the  idea.  He's  not  twins,  he's  just  one 
guy,  and  there's  a  limit  to  the  amount  he 
can  do.  But  there's  no  limit  to  Frank's 
heart.  It's  the  biggest  in  the  world  and 
that's  why  he  won't  give  up  these  "extra" 
things.  It's  also  the  reason  why,  when  the 
condition  of  his  throat  prevented  his  open- 
ing at  the  Wedgewood  Room,  they  got 
Danny  Kaye  to.  open  for  him. 

"I  wouldn't  have  done  it  for  anyone 
else,"  Danny  admits.  "I  had  things  I 
was  supposed  to  do  that  night.  But  I  love 
that  skinny  little  character!" 

Oh,  Frank  gets  appreciation.  Look  at 
all  the  awards  he's  been  presented  with  in 
the  last  year!  There  was  the  Carnegie  Hall 
Award  from  the  Common  Council  for 
American  Unity.  And  the  Philadelphia 
Award  for  work  in  cementing  group  re- 
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one  was  presented  to  him  at  Madison 
Square  Garden.  A  lot  of  celebrities  ap- 
peared on  the  program  that  night,  but 
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^Ci'y  Stole   I 


a  brief,  sincere  little  speech  accepting  the 
award,  and  then  sang  "The  House  I  Live 
In."  Sang  it  with  an  emotion  that  crept 
right  into  your  heart. 

Speaking  of  songs,  of  course  Frank's 
favorite  these  days  is  "Nancy  With  The 
Laughing  Face."  It's  published  by  his  own 
music  firm  which  has  several  other  hits  to 
its  credit,  including  "Saturday  Night"  and 
"There's  No  You."  "Nancy"  is  something 
special,  though.  Just  like  the  little  five- 
year-old  for  whom  it's  named. 

That  Sinatra  family  has  more  fun!  And 
from  simple,  everyday  things.  Teaching  the 
two  Nancys  to  swim,  for  instance.  Having 
barbecue  parties  in  the  backyard.  Then 
there  was  the  time  they  decided  to  get  one 
of  those  lurid,  cliff-jumping  serial  movies, 
and  show  one  chapter  each  Saturday  night. 
It  was  a  fine  idea,  only  when  they'd  shown 
chapter  one  and  left  the  heroine  dangling 
by  her  thumbs,  Frank  yelled  "I  can't 
stand  it!  I  gotta  see  what  happens  to 
that  babe!"  Everybody  else  felt  the  same 
way,  so  they  ended  by  showing  the 
whole  ten  installments  that  same  night, 
and  didn't  finish  till  four  in  the  morning. 

He's  a  kid  about  things  like  that,  but  in 
other  ways  Frank  has  matured  a  lot  in  the 
last  year.  He  isn't  just  a  singer  anymore — 
if  you  could  ever  refer  to  "The  Voice"  as 
"just  a  singer."  He's  a  man  with  a  serious 
purpose  in  life.  He  thinks  the  kids  under- 
stand why  he  makes  these  speeches  and 
does  his  best  to  get  the  issue  of  racial 
tolerance  before  the  public. 

"I'm  just  trying  to  use  what  influence 
I  have  in  the  right  direction,"  he  says 
honestly.  "The  next  few  years  are  going 
to  see  a  lot  of  changes.  We  want  them  to 
be  the  right  kind." 

The  fans  are  with  him.  You  should  have 
been  at  the  Paramount  for  his  closing  per- 
formance last  fall.  It  was  really  a  thing.  1 
don't  believe  anyone  who  was  there  will 
ever  forget  it.  Frank  was  pretty  tired,  be- 
cause the  last  month  had  been  tough.  But 
he  came  out  on  the  stage  at  midnight, 
ready  to  put  everything  he  had  into  that 
last  show.  The  house  was  absolutely  jam- 
packed.  The  minute  Frank  appeared,  there 
was  a  stir  at  the  back,  and  twenty  pretty 
little  girls  in  tan  dresses  with  red  buttons, 
came  marching  down  the  aisle.  They  were 
carrying  a  tremendous  wreath  of  carna- 
tions and  lettered  on  it  in  roses  were  the 
words  "Frankie,  we  love  you." 

he's  our  boy  .  .  . 

Frank  stood  there  staring,  for  once  taken 
completely  off  guard.  Before  he  could  do 
anything  but  gulp,  the  whole  audience 
rose  and  began  to  sing  "For  He's  A  Jolly 
Good  Fellow."  Then  they  sang  a  little 
parody  someone  had  written  on  "You'll 
Never  Know."  It  told,  quite  simply, 
how  the  fans  felt  about  Frank.  It 
said,  among  other  things,  "While  you're 
gone,  we'll  carry  on,  thinking  of  you, 
doing  as  you  would  want  us  to."  That  got 
Frank.  He  looked  down  at  them  and 
couldn't  speak  because  there  was  a  lump 
in  his  throat  as  big  as  the  moon.  It  gave 
a  guy  a  strange,  sort  of  scary  feeling  to 
realize  that  they  meant  those  words.  When 
he  did  speak,  his  voice  wasn't  his  own  at 
all.  He  said  "I  can't  tell  you  the  way  I 
feel.  I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for 
the  way  you've  helped  in  the  things  I 
really  care  about.  Keep  it  that  way,  kids. 
Keep  on  being  good  Americans  till  I  come 
back."  He  stopped  a  moment  and  all  the 
things  he  couldn't  say  were  in  his  eyes. 
Then  he  spoke  softly.  "God  bless  you  all." 

About  two  tons  of  confetti  came  down 
from  the  balconies,  and  the  audience  be- 
gan "Auld  Lang  Syne."  Everyone  was 
crying  a  little,  because  the  solemnity  of 
the  moment  did  that  to  you.  As  four  thou- 
sand voices  rose  in  the  old,  sweet  strains, 
Frank  whispered  again,  "God  bless  you 
all.  And  God  bless  America." 


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I  L'AMOUR  JEWELRY   CO..   Dept.  C-107 
I  545  Fifth  Ave..  New  York  17,  N.  Y. 

!  Send  the  Rings  checked  below.  Will  pay  postman  price. 
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using  facial  massage,  applied  with 

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and  a  stain  remover,  all  in  one. 

Keep  nails  nice.  Avoid  hangnails  orbrit- 
tleness.  Use  Manicare! 

Plus  tax 

Sold  by  leading  department  stores, 
k  drugstores  and  100  stores  J 


Sell  Everyday  Greeting  Cards 
New  2946  Assortments  Now  Ready  I 

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Birthdays,  Anniversaries,  Get- Well  and  Sym- 
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k  folders  f or  $1.  You  make  up  to50c  per  box. 

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cash  daily.  Send  65c  for  Sample  Every- 
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CHILTON  GREETINGS 

147  ESSEX  STREET 

Dept.  91-S,  Boston  It,  Mass. 


PORTRAIT  OF  HORD  HATFIELD 

(Continued  from  page  54) 


Michael  Chekhov — yes,  the  same  Chekhov 
who  did  such  an  entrancing  job  in  "Spell- 
bound" that  he  made  you  forget  even 
Bergman  for  a  while. 

With  the  Chekhov  Players,  Hurd  had 
won  prestige  and  experience  that  no 
money  could  buy.  Yet,  while  money  was 
far  from  being  his  ultimate  goal,  it  did 
have  its  uses.  So  he'd  taken  a  leave  of 
absence  from  art  for  art's  sake,  and  tack- 
led Broadway.  Net  result:  The  part  of  a 
sandwich  man  in  "The  Strings,  My  Lord, 
Are  False."  The  strings  proved  very  false 
indeed,  and  Hurd  crept  out  from  between 
his  boards.  His  agent  talked  vaguely 
about  a  Saroyan  play,  but  after  eight  years 
of  being  glued  to  the  grindstone,  his  nose 
suddenly  yearned  for  far  green  fields. 
Some  of  the  good  friends  he'd  made  in 
England  now  lived  in  Ojai.  He'd  go  there 
for  a  few  months. 

People  told  him  this  was  no  time  to 
leave  New  York  and  he  agreed,  but  logic's 
never  been  his  long  suit.  His  father  wrote 
from  Nova  Scotia:  "I'll  be  back  next  week. 
Wait  till  I  come — "  If  anyone  could  dis- 
suade him,  it  would  be  his  dad,  so  the 
thing  was  not  to  wait.  He  boarded  a  bus 
and  was  jolted  across  country. 

The  Hatfields  are  a  one-for-all  and  all- 
for-one  family.  In  the  old  days,  when 
something  exciting  happened,  Hurd  would 
get  his  parents  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  Mother 'd  trot  out  to  the  kitchen  to 
brew  coffee,  and  they'd  gab  till  dawn 
broke.  Since  "Dorian"  happened,  Hurd 
swears  his  father's  office  has  gone  to 
pieces.  The  secretaries  spend  more  time 
clipping  notices  than  typing.  He  gets  a 
terrific  boot  out  of  their  excitement.  It's 
like  enjoying  everything  three  times. 

He  was  born  in  Gseenwich  Village,  but 
the  place  he  loves  best  was  an  old  Rev- 
olutionary house  in  Morristown,  where 
they  lived  for  five  years. 

He  got  his  name  from  a  great  uncle, 
Major-General  Rukard  Hurd  of  World 
War  I.  Like  the  man  of  action  he  was, 
great-uncle  took  time  by  the  fetlock  and 
dispatched  a  silver  tray  before  the  baby 
was  born  "to  the  parents  of  the  future 
Hurd  Hatfield—" 

Dad  said:  "If  it  has  to  be  Hurd,  let's 
at  least  tack  a  William  in  front,  and  give 
him  a  chance  at  college."  This  they  did, 
but  somehow  the  Bill  never  took. 

right  combination  .  .  . 

He's  a  mixture  of  his  gay  Southern 
mother,  and  his  quiet,  book-loving  dad,  and 
the  two  strains  live  amicably  together 
within  the  son.  Sometimes  he  can't  get 
enough  of  people,  sometimes  he  can't  get 
enough  of  being  alone.  Comes  a  phase 
when  he's  got  to  go  dancing  every  night, 
and  another  when  the  thought  of  a  night- 
club sickens  him.  Being  an  individualist, 
he  indulges  both  moods.  He  blames  his 
happiness  on  his  parents,  who  gave  him 
companionship  without  trying  to  possess 
him  and  let  his  imagination  roam  free. 

Dad's  forgotten  that  he  once  hoped  Hurd 
would  be  a  lawyer  like  himself.  It  was 
just  a  shy  hope  that  died  a-borning.  Noth- 
ing was  ever  forced  on  their  only  child. 
But  he  grew  up  surrounded  by  books  and 
music,  and  to  these  he  took  naturally. 
Mother  gave  him  his  first  dancing  lesson, 
and  be  cut  his  literary  milk  teeth  on 
Dickens  and  Stevenson,  which  he  and  Dad 
read  aloud  to  each  other.  Gradually,  he 
began  to  concentrate  on  painting  and  writ- 
ing. In  evidence,  you  can  still  see  the 
mural  executed  in  his  senior  year  on  a 
wall  of  Lincoln  High  School. 

Suddenly  both  loves  were  shoved  into 


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the  background.  Entering  Columbia  at  17, 
he  planned  to  major  in  English  and  take 
drama  courses  on  the  side.  Instead  of 
which,  the  drama  took  hold  of  him  and 
wouldn't  let  him  go.  He  came  pretty  near 
flunking  his  beloved  English.  You  can't 
sit  all  night  rehearsing  and  munching 
sandwiches,  and  still  turn  in  themes.  They 
were  doing  "Cymbeline,"  with  Hurd  as 
one  of  Imogen's  brothers.  In  the  spring 
they  put  on  a  performance  for  profes- 
sionals at  the  Amateur  Comedy  Club. 

Two  scouts  were  present — one  for  the 
Surrey  Players,  one  for  the  Chekhov 
Drama  School  in  England.  Both  came 
backstage,  asking  to  see  the  flabbergasted 
Hurd.  As  he  got  through  stammering  re- 
grets to  the  first,  a  voice  behind  him  spoke. 
"Theez  boy  eez  Chekhov  mahterrrial — " 

He  turned  to  face  a  charming  Russian 
lady,  whose  name  —  Daykarhanova  —  he 
learned  to  pronounce  later.  At  the  mo- 
ment his  tempest-tossed  mind  wrapped  it- 
self desperately  round  the  name  of  Chek- 
hov, who'd  written  "Three  Sisters." 

"But  I  thought  he  was  dead,"  said  the 
student  of  literature. 

"Anton,  yes,  long  before  you  are  born. 
I  speak  of  Mikhail,  the  nephew.  Would 
you  like  to  study  with  heem  in  England?" 

Hurd  backed  away.  "I — don't  think  I 
can.  I  have  to  finish  college  first—" 

family  conclave  .  .  . 

They  talked  a  little.  She  said  she'd  send 
him  an  audition  notice  in  the  fall.  The 
Hatfields  swigged  coffee  that  night  till  it 
was  time  for  Dad  to  go  to  the  office.  It 
was  Dad's  opinion  that  Hurd  ought  to 
finish  college.  Mother  wasn't  so  sure.  .  .  . 

So  he  gave  the  audition  notice  a  regret- 
ful flip,  and  forgot  it  till  Mother  woke  him 
one  morning.  "Time  to  get  up.  You've 
got  to  be  down  there  by  nine — " 

"Down  where?" 

"At  that  woman's  place — you  know  I 
can't  pronounce  her  name.  For  the  audi- 
tion— " 

"But  I'm  not  going — " 

"Don't  be  foolish.  It  might  be  a  good 
contact  for  later  on.  Come  along,  I'll 
go  with  you — " 

She  waited  in  a  restaurant,  while  Hurd 
presented  himself  to  Madame  D.,  who  was 
more  charming  than  ever.  She  had  faith 
in  him — so  much  faith  indeed  that  she'd 
be  willing  to  recommend  him  without  an 
audition.  The  dazzled  Hurd  began  to  see 
college  go  glimmering.  To  steady  him- 
self, he  grabbed  hold  of  reality.  .  .  . 

"But  I  can't  afford  it — " 

Then  she  told  him  about  the  American 
scholarships — one  for  a  boy,  one  for  a 
girl.  If  she  could  get  him  a  scholarship, 
would  he  go? 

"Will  you  give  me  an  hour  to  discuss 
it  with  my  mother?" 

Mother's  first  reaction  was  to  burst  into 
tears  at  the  prospect  of  parting  with  her 
only  child.  Then  she  ordered  coffee,  while 
Hurd  phoned  his  dad.  Dad  didn't  think 
they  ought  to  be  hasty  about  it.  But  they 
had  to  be  hasty.  All  right  then,  if  Hurd 
was  set  on  it,  go  ahead — 

So  Hurd  called  Madame  D.  He'd  like 
very  much  to  go  if  she  could  get  him  a 
scholarship.  She  promised  to  cable  and 
let  him  know. 

For  the  next  five  days  he  drove  himself, 
his  parents  and  the  girl  at  the  office  crazy. 
Every  hour  on  the  hour  he'd  phone.  "Have 
you  heard  yet?"  The  girl  got  pretty  im- 
patient, but  that  didn't  stop  him.  He 
couldn't  pass  a  phone  booth  without  drop- 
ping his  nickel  in. 

By  the  fifth  day  his  spirits  had  begun  to 
flag.  There'd  been  time  for  ten  cables, 
maybe  he'd  better  quit.  But  here  was 
Radio  City  and  there  was  a  drugstore  and 
he  might  as  well  try  once  more —  Yes,  the 
cable  had  just  come.  Full  tuition  and 
living  expenses,  but  he'd  have  to  pay  his 


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own  fare — as  if  that  mattered! 

Fifteen  minutes  later  he  was  waltzing 
his  mother  round  the  house.  "I've  got  it, 
I'm  going,  I'm  going,  I've  got  it — "  Mother 
laughed  and  wept.  Dad  phoned  La 
Guardia,  a  friend  of  his  political  days,  to 
see  if  the  passport  could  be  hurried  up. 
Within  four  days,  the  hope  of  the  Hat- 
fields  was  waving  goodbye  from  the  tourist 
deck  of  the  Normandie. 

Hurd's  first  glimpse  of  Chekhov  brought 
a  pang  of  disappointment.  This  simple,  un- 
pretentious little  man  wasn't  his  idea  of 
what  a  great  actor  should  look  like.  But 
one  session  was  enough  to  turn  the  young 
skeptic  humble.  Behind  the  Russian's 
quiet  exterior  glowed  a  mind  of  brilliant 
imaginative  power,  from  which  Hurd  took 
fire.  Chekhov  drew  all  his  vague  yearn- 
ings together  and  directed  them  into  a 
single  purposeful  channel.  It  was  no  picnic. 
You  worked  like  a  mule,  and  went  to  bed 
exhausted.  But  little  by  little,  you  began 
to  see  where  you  were  headed.  When 
Chekhov  started  giving  Hurd  private  les- 
sons, it  was  like  the  Medal  of  Honor  to  a 
soldier.  Whatever  quality  he  has  as  an 
actor  today,  he  owes  to  his  teacher. 

With  the  rumble  of  war,  the  school  was 
uprooted  and  moved  to  Ridgefield,  Con- 
necticut. For  three  years  they  toured 
America.  Hurd  played  Aguecheek  in 
"Twelfth  Night,"  the  Duke  of  Gloucester 
in  "Lear,"  the  Joe  Jefferson  role  in  "Cricket 
on  the  Hearth."  Then  he  took  the  leave  of 
absence  that  landed  him  in  Ojai. 

"Don't  just  go,"  said  Iris  when  he'd  made 
his  appointment  with  Lewin.  "Do  some- 
thing for  him — " 

The  obvious  thing  to  do  was  Dorian 
Gray.  Chekhov  had  taught  them  to  im- 
provise. Hurd  ran  through  the  book,  pick- 
ing likely  scenes,  sticking  yellow  slips  in 
to  mark  the  place.  With  his  yellow  slips, 
he  presented  himself  to  Lewin. 

"Sit  down,  young  man.  Tell  me  about 
yourself — " 

What  could  he  tell?  That  he'd  played 
old  men  on  the  road?  And  a  flop  on 
Broadway? 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  show  you  first  what 
I've  prepared?" 

"Go  ahead—" 

God,  get  me  through  this,  prayed  Hurd, 
opening  the  book.  Don't  let  him  stop  me 
till  I've  done  a  couple  of  scenes — 

carried  away  .  .  . 

Mr.  Lewin  made  no  attempt  to  stop  him. 
For  half  an  hour  he  sat  there  and  never 
said  boo,  while  Hurd  did  scene  after  scene, 
making  up  words  and  action  as  he  went 
along,  stopping  when  he  ran  down  and 
going  on  to  the  next,  reaching  the  end  in 
such  an  emotional  blaze  that  he  hurled  the 
book  at  an  innocent  wall  where  no  por- 
trait of  Dorian  Gray  had  ever  hung.  Then 
he  collapsed,  sweating. 

A  funny  smile  on  the  other's  face  con- 
vinced him  that  he'd  made  a  fool  of  him- 
self. Defensively,  he  began  to  bristle. 

"Very  interesting,"  said  Lewin.  "Did 
someone  help  you  with  it?" 

Sounded  like  schooldays.  Did  someone 
help  you  with  your  theme? 

"No!"  he  snorted. 

"Well,  I'm  just  the  director.  Would  you 
mind  doing  it  again  for  Pan  Berman?" 

The  bristles  rose  higher.  "I  don't  think 
I  can.  None  of  it's  memorized."  Hell,  he 
might  as  well  bluff  'em — he  wouldn't  get 
the  part  anyway.  "Besides,  I  can't  hang 
around.  Got  to  go  east  to  do  a  Saroyan 
play."  The  Saroyan  play  had  opened  and 
died  and  been  buried  weeks  ago. 

"Just  a  minute.  I'll  be  right  back — " 
Hurd  hung  on  to  his  hands  to  keep  them 
from  shaking.  Lewin  reappeared.  "Mr. 
Berman  would  like  to  see  you — " 

The  producer  eyed  him.  "Hm.  Interest- 
ing face  for  Dorian."  Hurd  perked  up. 
"Would  you  run  through  a  couple  of  those 


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1?    any  time  within  30  days.   Money-back  guar- 
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EMPIRE  DIAMOND  CO..  Dept.  ST-384,  Jefferson,  Iowa 


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WITH  JOYOUS  SPEED 

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About  Ugly  Hair 


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wrist  every  few  days  and  you  need  never  see  a  super- 
fluous hair  on  your  face  again.  No  smelly  liquid  or 
possibly  injurious  wax  or  paste.  No  after  stubble — will 
not  irritate  the  skin  or  stimulate  hair  growth. 

Wonderful  for  arms  and  legs 

Hair  off  legs,  arms,  face  in  just  a  jiffy  or  double  your 
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r  ■  1 

Scott-Nelson  Co.,  Box  1 08-D 
116  S.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  3,  III. 

Please  send  me  a  CARESS  Home  Treatment  for 
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(If  you  send  cash  we  pay  postage.) 

Name   I 

Address   I 

City  State   I 


scenes    for    me,    if    you    don't  mind?" 

Hurd  looked  at  Lewin,  and  they  both 
grinned.  He  got  up  and  went  through  the 
fool  routine  again,  till  Berman  said  enough. 
The  producer  drummed  his  desk.  He 
stared  at  the  sun-dappled  wall  beyond  his 
window.  Then  he  turned  back  to  the 
waiting  couple  abruptly. 

"I  understand  you  live  in  Ojai,  Hurd. 
Could  you  move  down  here  where  we  can 
reach  you  more  easily?  We'd  like  to  test 
you—" 

For  not  calling  his  folks  that  day,  Hurd 
thinks  he's  entitled  to  a  pair  of  wings.  His 
overwhelming  impulse  was  to  head  for  a 
phone,  but  he  squelched  it.  Nine  chances 
in  ten,  the  thing  would  still  fall  through 
test  or  no  test.  Why  should  they  eat  their 
hearts  out? 

This  act  of  restraint  paid  off.  Suppose 
I'd  told  them,  he  shuddered,  as  he  sat  in 
the  projection  room,  watching  his  first 
test.  This  way,  they  need  never  know.  He'd 
swear  Iris  to  secrecy,  go  quietly  back  to 
New  York,  and  carry  the  hideous  secret 
to  his  grave. 

The  lights  came  on.  "What  do  you 
think?"  they  asked  him. 

take  it  away!  .  .  . 

As  if  they  had  to  ask.  Hurd  rose.  "It 
looks  like  a  piece  of  geography,  not  a  face. 
If  I  passed  someone  on  the  street  who 
looked  like  that,  I'd  run  for  the  nearest 
cop—" 

But  they  laughed  and  said  the  test  had 
been  badly  made  and  now  they'd  do  an- 
other. On  the  strength  of  the  second,  he 
was  signed  to  "Dragon  Seed."  Then  came  a 
long-term  contract  and  "Dorian  Gray."  Not 
till  the  contract  was  signed,  did  he  phone 
home.  Mother  got  on  one  extension,  Dad 
on  the  other,  all  three  talked  at  once,  and 
none  knows  to  this  day  what  any  of  the 
others  said. 

But  the  climax  came  later  when  Hurd 
went  east  for  Christmas,  and  stayed  on  for 
the  opening  of  "Dorian."  He  and  Mother 
and  Dad  were  going  to  the  preem  together, 
just  the  three  of  them,  and  they  felt  the 
way  you'd  expect  them  to  feel — thrilled 
and  jittery  and  scared.  Only  Mother  was 
frankly  so,  and  Dad  tried  to  cover  up. 
"Nothing  to  be  nervous  about,"  he  insisted. 

"Then  why,"  asked  Mother,  "are  you 
trying  to  stick  your  studs  into  your  shirt- 
sleeves?" 

That  night  they  sat  in  the  balcony. 
"How'U  we  know  if  they  like  you?" 
Mother  whispered.   "Will  they  applaud?" 

"If  they  don't  boo,  we'll  call  it  a  pleasant 
evening — " 

They  didn't  boo.  To  Hurd,  the  incredible 
thing  was  what  happens  in  the  interval 
before  and  after  a  picture.  When  an  usher, 
trying  to  hold  back  the  surging  customers, 
said:  "This  way,  Mr.  Hatfield,"  he  won- 
dered how  she  knew  him.  When  a  girl 
linked  arms  with  him  and  said,  "You  were 
wonderful,  Hurd,"  he  thought  vaguely  he 
must  have  met  her  somewhere.  Not  till 
she  cooed:  "Say  something  in  that  English 
voice  of  yours,"  did  he  realize  with  a  thud 
that  this  was  a  fan. 

The  studio  had  provided  a  car  and 
chauffeur  for  the  evening.  With  the  help 
of  the  cops,  they  managed  to  fight  their 
way  in.  But  the  chauffeur's  door  was 
blocked.  There  the  three  of  them  sat  in 
their  finery,  while  New  York's  Finest 
plucked  children  off  the  running  boards. 
The  absurdity  of  it  suddenly  hit  them 
amidships.  They  began  to  howl.  This  de- 
lighted the  kids  who  crowded  closer  and 
laughed  with  them — 

"I'm  getting  claustrophobia,"  gasped 
Mother. 

"Shall  I  open  the  window,"  asked  Dad, 
"and  let  'em  in?" 

You'll  hardly  recognize  Dorian  in  the 
boy  who  plays  the  romantic  lead  opposite 
Goddard  in  "Diary  of  A  Chambermaid." 


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JOINTS 


128 


U^ABSORBINE  Jr. 


It's  like  marble,  come  to  warm  and  laugh- 
ing life.  Hurd  enjoyed  playing  Dorian. 
After  specializing  in  character  parts  for 
Chekhov,  it  was  nice  to  romp  through 
twenty-eight  wardrobe  changes,  even 
though  he  didn't  get  a  chance  to  move  his 
face.  In  "Chambermaid,"  the  face  moves 
too. 

Hurd's  a  rare  bird  in  that  he  can  love 
the  theater  without  turning  his  nose  up 
at  the  movies.  It's  an  insensitive  nose,  he 
thinks,  which  will  sniff  at  a  medium  that 
carries  such  influence,  penetrates  every 
wayside  village  and  farm,  and  makes  you 
a  household  word  with  your  fellows.  Be- 
sides, he  likes  the  technique  because  it's 
different,  and  enlarges  your  experience. 
The  ideal  would  be  a  couple  of  pictures  a 
year,  with  time  out  for  a  play. 

What  he  hates  is  a  groove,  any  groove — 
the  actor's,  the  banker's,  the  telephone 
operator's.  There's  something  in  him  that 
can't  abide  regimentation. 

don't  fence  me  in  .  .  . 

His  ruling  passion  is  freedom  of  the  mind 
and  an  allergy  for  labels.  Much  as  he  loves 
his  profession,  if  it  were  yanked  from  un- 
der him,  he  wouldn't  sit  down  by  the 
waters  of  Babylon  and  bawl.  Life's  too 
full  of  life.  If  it  denies  you  here,  you  can 
grab  it  elsewhere,  and  there's  no  end  to 
what  you  can  grab — music  and  people, 
painting  and  books  and  ideas.  Every 
chance  he  gets,  he  runs  to  Ojai  where 
movies  are  something  they  sometimes  go 
to  at  night,  and  Hurd's  a  boy  they've 
known  for  years  so  they  bear  with  his 
shortcomings. 

These  include  sins  of  omission  toward 
people  he's  fond  of.  He's  always  planning 
to  send  flowers  and  remember  birthdays, 
and  spends  more  energy  kicking  himself 
for  forgetting  than  it  would  have  taken 
to  remember  in  the  first  place.  He's  in- 
variably late.  His  Christmas  cards  arrive 
in  the  middle  of  January.  And  his  let- 
ters— like  tomorrow,  when  he's  going  to 
write  them — don't  arrive  at  all. 

In  Hollywood,  his  home  is  a  small  apart- 
ment, built  on  top  of  a  house  built  on 
top  of  a  mountaip.  You  can't  go  any 
higher. 

His  constant  companion  is  Bronte,  a 
cocker  spaniel,  named  after  all  three  sis- 
ters. She  trots  along  to  interviews  and  on 
sets,  the  only  of  his  friends  who  drives 
with  him  willingly.  In  bed,  she  serves  as 
an  electric  pad,  takes  care  of  his  feet  first 
and  spends  the  rest  of  the  night  keeping 
his  back  warm. 

He  knocks  wood,  but  only  through  force 
of  habit.  The  tie  pin  he  wears  in  his 
coat  lapel  once  belonged  to  his  grand- 
father. He  thinks  one  great  advantage  of 
being  an  actor  is  that  clothes  are  part  of 
your  stock-in-trade,  and  looks  forward  to 
ordering  plenty  of  suits  without  feeling 
like  a  pig.  His  pet  peeves  are  social 
climbers  and  people  who  call  you  intelli- 
gent because  you  once  read  a  book.  The 
dish  he'd  pick  for  a  dessert  island  is  some- 
thing they  make  at  Ojai  with  green  figs 
and  cream  and  honey  all  whipped  to- 
gether. 

He  has  no  ideal  of  feminine  beauty,  but 
prefers  any  face  that's  alive  to  a  magazine 
cover,  dead-pan  expression.  After  the  first 
few  days,  you  forget  how  people  look.  It's 
the  inner  quality  that  counts.  He  enjoys 
dancing  with  Virginia  Hunter,  but  mar- 
riage isn't  in  the  cards  at  the  moment.  To 
marry  him,  a  girl  would  have  to  be  slightly 
cuckoo.  He's  the  type  who  might  take  it 
into  his  head  to  leave  for  the  Orient  tomor- 
row and  turn  Chinese. 

Right  now,  he's  got  nothing  more  exotic 
in  mind  than  New  York,  where  he's  due 
for  personal  appearances  with  "Chamber- 
maid." And  where  Mother  and  Dad  will 
be  waiting,  with  the  coffee  pot  on  and 
welcoming  arms. 


it 


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PHOTO-RING 

ANY   PHOTO   OR    PICTURE  of 

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AS  A  TRAINED 
PRACTICAL  NURSE!  1 


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Name 
City  _ 


LOVER  MAN 

(Continued  from  page  53) 


out  of  a  pretty  fair  little  story  by  leaping 
to  conclusions.  Helmut  didn't  mind  being 
called  a  movie  fan,  because  he's  one  for 
sure,  and  besides  he  thinks  pretty  darned 
highly  of  movie  fans.  In  fact,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  fans  he  wouldn't  have  had  his 
name  up  in  those  bright  Broadway  bulbs. 
He  wouldn't  be  risking  his  neck  taking 
the  picture  to  send  back  to  his  family  in 
Vienna  to  tag  off  a  fantastic  success  story 
that  could  happen  only  in  America. 

Because  Helmut  Dantine  was  a  refugee 
fresh  off  the  boat,  the  first  time  he'd 
strolled  up  Broadway,  stopping  overnight 
in  New  York  on  his  way  to  relatives  in  a 
city  called  Los  Angeles,  which  he  under- 
stood was  next  door  to  Hollywood. 

Back  then  he  had  exactly  $2.50  in  his 
pants  pocket.  He  spent  fifty  cents  for  a 
meal,  a  buck  for  a  cheap  hotel  room,  and 
the  other  dollar  to  take  in  the  Radio  City 
Music  Hall.  The  last  time  he  saw  Broad- 
way the  lights  were  blacked  out  by  war. 
Now  they  flashed  and  frolicked  in  a  blind- 
ing display.  This  was  the  night  after  V-E 
Day.  In  a  way,  it  was  Helmut  Dantine's 
personal  V-E  day,  too. 

This  time  he  wasn't  paying  his  way  into 
a  Broadway  movie.  People  were  paying 
their  way  in  to  see  him.  He  wasn't  climb- 
ing a  rickety  stair  to  a  bare  dollar  hotel 
room.  He  was  stopping  at  the  ritzy  Goth- 
am, on  Fifth  Avenue.  He  was  lunching  at 
"Twenty-One"  and  dining  at  the  Marguery 
— all  expenses  paid  by  the  Warner  Brothers 
Studio  which  sent  him  there.  That  was  the 
contrast,  but  it  wasn't  the  kick  for  Helmut. 
The  big  thrill,  being  the  kind  of  serious 
fellow  Dantine  is,  was  this: 

he's  come  a  long  way  .  .  . 

In  five  years,  Helmut  Dantine,  Austrian 
refugee,  fugitive  from  a  concentration 
camp,  was  an  American  of  consequence 
enough  to  meet  the  President  of  the  United 
States  and  shake  his  hand.  To  appear  with 
the  Mayor  of  New  York  City  at  a  giant  "I 
Am  an  American  Day"  rally  in  Central 
Park  and  address  100,000  people  on  the 
subject  of  citizenship.  To  play  a  patriotic 
benefit  performance  at  Madison  Square 
Garden,  a  place  he  never  dreamed  he'd  see 
when,  ten  years  ago,  he  listened  over  his 
Vienna  radio  to  the  Max  Schmeling-Joe 
Louis  championship  prize  fight.  To  be  en- 
trusted by  the  O.W.I,  to  make  radio  trans- 
criptions in  French,  Italian,  and  German, 
beaming  American  messages  abroad,  mes- 
sages which  his  family  heard  in  Vienna, 
recognized  his  voice,  and  sent  him  the  first 
report  on  them  he'd  had  for  five  years. 

Those  are  the  things  Helmut  Dantine 
could  have  told  that  New  York  policeman 
when  he  got  pinched  for  taking  a  picture 
of  the  evidence.  And  he  probably  would, 
too,  if  he'd  had  half  a  chance. 

Not  long  ago  Helmut  traveled  to  Wash- 
ington, D.  C,  to  make  an  appearance  at 
the  Earl  Theater  with  "Escape  in  the 
Desert."  It  was  his  first  look  at  the  na- 
tion's capital,  and  he  spent  every  spare  min- 
ute on  typical  tourist's  rubberneck  tours. 
He  saw  Congress  in  session,  visited  the  Su- 
preme Court,  traveled  down  to  Mount  Ver- 
non. He  had  lunch  with  Senator  McKellar, 
the  acting  vice-president,  and  dinner  one 
night  with  the  presidential  secretary.  Hel- 
mut stopped  at  the  Hotel  Statler  in  Wash- 
ington and  after  dinner  he  invited  his  guest 
up  to  his  apartment.  When  he  walked  in 
Helmut's  room,  the  secretary  said,  "This 
looks  familiar.  Sure — this  is  where  the  boss 
stayed." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Helmut.  "You  mean 
the  president  stayed  here?" 
The  secretary  smiled.    "Sure,"  he  said, 


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"^ometimes  I  feel  so  good  it  al- 
O  most  scares  me. 

"This  house — I  wouldn't  swap  a 
shingle  off  its  roof  for  any  other 
house  on  earth.  Thfs  little  valley, 
with  the  pond  down  in  the  hollow  at 
the  back,  is  the  spot  I  like  best  in  all 
the  world. 

"And  they're  mine.  I  own  'em. 
Nobody  can  take  'em  away  from  me. 

"I've  got  a  little  money  coming 
in,  regularly.  Not  much  —  but 
enough.  And  I  tell  you,  when  you 
can  go  to  bed  every  night  with  noth- 
ing on  your  mind  except  the  fun 
you're  going  to  have  tomorrow — 
that's  as  near  Heaven  as  man  gets 
on  this  earth! 

"It  wasn't  always  so. 

"Back  in  '46— that  was  right  after 
the  war  and  sometimes  the  going 
wasn't  too  easy — I  needed  cash. 
Taxes  were  tough,  and  then  Ellen 
got  sick.  Like  almost  everybody 
else,  I  was  buying  Bonds  through 
the  Payroll  Plan — and  I  figured  on 
cashing  some  of  them  in.  But  sick  as 


she  was,  it  was  Ellen  who  talked  me 
out  of  it. 

"  'Don't  do  it,  John!'  she  said. 
'Please  don't!  For  the  first  time  in 
our  lives,  we're  really  saving  money. 
It's  wonderful  to  know  that  every 
single  payday  we  have  more  money 
put  aside!  John,  if  we  can  only  keep 
up  this  saving,  think  what  it  can 
mean!  Maybe  someday  you  won't 
have  to  work.  Maybe  we  can  own  a 
home.  And  oh,  how  good  it  would 
feel  to  know  that  we  need  never 
worry  about  money  when  we're  old !' 

"Well,  even  after  she  got  better, 
I  stayed  away  from  the  weeklv  poker 
game — quit  dropping  a  little  cash  at 
the  hot  spots  now  and  then — gave 
up  some  of  the  things  a  man  feels 
he  has  a  right  to.  We  didn't  have  as 
much  fun  for  a  while  but  we  paid 
our  taxes  and  the  doctor  and — we 
didn't  touch  the  Bonds. 

"What's  more,  we  kept  right  on 
putting  our  extra  cash  into  U.  S. 
Savings  Bonds.  And  the  pay-off  is 
making  the  world  a  pretty  swell 
place  today!" 


The  Treasury  Department  ackttowledges  with  appreciation 
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MODERN  SCREEN 


130 


"he  had  this  room  during  the  election. 
In  fact,"  he  added,  pointing  to  one  of  the 
twin  beds,  "Senator  Truman  rested  right 
there  while  he  waited  to  hear  he'd  been 
elected  vice-president." 

Helmut  gasped  and  moved  from  the  bed 
he'd  been  using  to  the  one  President  Tru- 
man had  slept  in.  The  next  day  he  managed 
to  meet  the  Chief  Executive — -and  get  his 
autograph.  He  came  back  to  Hollywood 
with  a  sheaf  of  other  autographs,  too — 
Senator  McKellar's,  Mayor  LaGuardia's — 
just  about  everybody  of  importance  he 
met  on  the  tour.  That's  the  kind  of  a  red 
hot  fan  Dantine  is. 

He's  sympathetic  with  all  fans  every- 
where just  by  nature.  But  more  than 
that,  Helmut  realizes  that  none  of  these 
wonderful  things  could  have  happened  to 
him  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  magic  of 
Hollywood,  and  what  caused  the  magic 
wand  to  strike  in  his  case  was — movie  fans. 
No  doubt  about  it.  You  can't  knock  fans 
to  Helmut,  not  for  a  minute.  They  can 
mob  him  and  maul  him  and  rip  him  to 
shreds,  and  he  still  smiles  happily.  They 
can  even  tag  him  on  tender  spots — like 
the  girl  in  Philadelphia  last  summer  who 
caught  him  coming  out  of  his  hotel  and 
thrust  a  pencil  into  his  hand. 

open  wide,  please  .  .  . 

"Where's  your  autograph  pad?"  Helmut 
asked  her. 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  your  autograph,"  said 
the  gal.  "Just  bite  the  pencil,  please." 

Helmut  was  baffled.  "Do  what?" 

"Bite  it,"  giggled  the  girl.  "So  I'll  have 
your  tooth  marks." 

"Oh,"  he  chuckled,  "I  see.  You  want 
Dantine's  dentine."   He  bit  the  pencil. 

But  it  was  just  such  effervescent  ad- 
mirers who  made  Helmut's  own  studio, 
Warner  Brothers,  sit  up  and  take  a  serious 
second  look  at  the  handsome  youth  with 
the  Teutonic  accent  they  found  handy  to 
dress  up  in  a  Nazi  uniform  and  kill  off 
at  the  end  of  all  those  war  pictures. 

Only  last  summer,  when  Helmut  was 
making  his  appearance  at  the  Strand,  he 
had  a  regular  crowd  who  gathered  below 
the  window  of  his  dressing  room  and 
waited  for  the  light  to  be  turned  on.  It 
was  on  the  second  floor,  the  dressing  room, 
so  when  they  yelled  and  cheered,  the 
shouts  might  as  well  have  been  right  in- 
doors. The  first  time  it  happened,  the 
theater  manager  came  in  and  started  to 
close  the  window.  Helmut  said  "No." 

"But  doesn't  all  that  noise  bother  you?" 
the  manager  asked. 

"Not  a  bit,"  Helmut  answered.  "If  they 
weren't  down  there — I  wouldn't  be  up 
here." 

One  evening  when  the  manager,  Harry 
Mayer,  was  there,  a  call  came  from  Holly- 
wood. It  was  Helmut's  big  boss  at  the 
studio,  Jack  Warner.  Halfway  through  the 
conversation  with  Mayer  the  crowd  down 
below  got  going.  It  sounded  like  a  college 
pep  rally,  and  Mr.  Mayer  couldn't  keep  the 
noise  out  of  the  receiver.  Clear  back  in 
Hollywood  Jack  Warner  heard  the  roar. 

"Say,"  he  asked.  "What  in  the  world's 
going  on  there — a  riot?  What's  all  that 
noise?  I  can't  hear  a  thing!" 

Mayer  explained.  "Oh,  it's  those  crazy 
fans  down  below  Dantine's  window.  They 
swarm  and  yell  like  that  every  night," 
he  sighed. 

"H-m-m-m-m,"  mused  Warner's  chief. 
"Is  that  so?" 

When  Helmut  got  back  to  Hollywood, 
he  was  called  into  Jack  Warner's  office 
the  first  thing. 

His  boss  gave  him  a  long,  critical  look. 
"Looks  like  you  did  all  right  back  in  New 
York,"  he  said.  "If  I  hadn't  heard  it  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  it.  But — well — I 
guess  you  won't  be  doing  anything  from 
now  on  but  romantic  parts.  I'm  convinced." 

There's  not  a  star  in  Hollywood  who 


reaps  such  a  load  of  good  luck  out  of 
every  scrimmage  he  has  with  his  fans  like 
Helmut  Dantine.  Before  he  made  his  first 
personal  appearance  tour  last  summer, 
Helmut  had  never  had  any  real,  face-to- 
face  contact  with  the  growing  army  of 
Dantine  devotees.  It  had  all  been  via  the 
postman,  except  for  some  scattered  scuffles 
around  Hollywood  previews,  always  kept 
•well  under  control  by  the  fan-wise  Holly- 
wood police.  But  he'd  heard  tales  about 
the  goings  over  the  stars  get  when  they 
hit  the  big  East  Coast  cities.  Frankly,  he 
wasn't  expecting  anything  like  that  to 
happen  to  him  (if  there's  one  thing  Hel- 
mut is.  it's  modest). 

First  of  all,  half  the  pictures  he'd  been  in 
tyrei  Helrr-u:  Dar-tir.e  =s  =  nasty  Xazi  :■: 
the  most  virulent  type.  How  could  they  get 
any  other  impression  after  all  those  Storm 
Trooper  and  German  spy  parts  he's 
played?  That  was  no  program  for  a  pop- 
ularity polL  Then,  almost  since  the  first 
time  Helmut  Dantine  became  a  name  for 
the  newspapers  to  hoist  in  headlines,  prac- 
tically every  item  about  Dangerous  Dan- 
tine has  been — let's  face  it — a  wolf  howl. 
His  spirited  Hollywood  escapades  haven't 
been  fated  for  the  Sunday  School  section 
— very,  very  mild  though  they  were,  com- 
pared to  the  scrapes  of  a  real  lobo,  say, 
like  Errol  Flynn. 

But  still  more  fearful  than  all  this  to 
Helmut  was  that  prospect  of  entertaining 
an  audience  from  a  stage.  He'd  never 
been  a  master-of-ceremonies.  Never  been 
on  vaudeville.  A  lot  of  little  theater  plays, 
sure,  but  he  knew  he  was  no  Fred  Allen. 
Jack  Benny  or  Bob  Hope.  All  he'd  ever 
sent  direct  to  an  audience  was  a  bow 
at  the  end  of  a  play.  He  was  pretty  pan- 
icky about  the  prospect,  because  as  he 
told  his  studio,  "I  can't  sing.  I  can't  dance. 
I  can't  tell  funny  jokes.  And  I  can't  just 
go  out  and  say,  'Well,  here  I  am!'  After 
all  I'm  not  Lana  Turner!" 

They  fixed  that  by  teaming  Helmut  with 
a  veteran  funny  man.  Lew  Parker,  and  a 
neat  eyeful  of  sex  appeal,  Andrea  King, 
who'd  made  a  couple  of  pictures  with 
Helmut:  "Shadow  of  a  Lady"  and  'Hotel 
Berlin."  Making  dignified  Dantine  a  wise- 
cracker  was  a  bit  of  a  struggle,  but  Lew 
Parker  did  the  best  he  could  and  after  a 
little  kidding,  Helmut  went  into  something 
more  up  his  alley,  a  condensed  version  of 
Russell  Davenport's  "My  Country." 

stage  fright  .  .  . 

So  Helmut  was  terribly  nervous  the  first 
time  he  tried  meeting  the  people  under  a 
spotlight.  And  the  jitters  are  a  malady 
which  a  Viennese  gentleman  just  isn't 
allergic  to  ordinarily.  Helmut  has  the 
poise  of  a  Greek  statue  but  he  actually 
became  speechless  as  one  when  he  stepped 
out  before  his  first  footlights  with  all  the 
tr.tusar.is  ::  eye;  eurr_ir_g  rigr_:  at  him. 
He  didn't  even  hear  Lew  Parker's  whis- 
pered promptings.  It  looked  like  a  case 
of  ring  down  the  curtain — and  then,  like 
Custer's  cavalry,  the  fans  came  to  the 
rescue.  They  beat  their  mitts,  whistled, 
stomped  and  roared  a  welcome  that 
brought  more  than  movie  glycerin  to  Hel- 
mut's eyes.  And  that  snapped  him  out  of 
his  scare  coma  like  a  shot  of  adrenalin. 

In  Helmut  Dantine 's  book,  the  boosts  his 
fans  have  handed  him  have  always  far 
outweighed  the  trouble  they've  caused. 
Hell  settle  for  things  the  way  they  are 
any  day.  Sure,  he's  sacrificed  a  few  clothes 
in  various  mobbings.  In  Philadelphia,  for 
instance,  two  valuable,  pre-war  tweed 
jackets  got  'lost  in  action,"  snatched  right 
off  his  torso  when  he  got  caught  in  a  jam 
outside  his  hotel.  Ties — he  could  start  a 
haberdashery  with  missing  neckwear  and 
handkerchiefs,  and  once  he  turned  blue  in 
the  face  when  some  sweet  young  soxers 
grabbed  hold  of  a  foulard  and  practically 
throttled  him. 


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Somehow,  in  Helmut's  case,  the  roses 
always  pad  the  thorns  when  he  tangles 
with  fans.  They  swiped  dozens  of  hand- 
kerchiefs from  his  coat  pocket;  but  he 
also  got  gift  boxes  of  nice  linen  mono- 
grammed  ones  from  some  fans  who  noticed 
this  pilfery  and  said  in  a  note,  "We'd  like 
to  make  them  up  for  you."  And  for  every 
rude  bump  he  got,  there  were  a  dozen 
episodes  that  touched  Helmut  over  the 
heart — like  the  little  Negro  girl  who  ap- 
proached him  shyly  one  day  and  handed 
him  a  merchant  marine  pin.  "It  was  my 
daddy's,"  she  explained.  "He  was  lost  in 
action.  I  want  you  to  have  it."  Those 
things  can  compensate  for  a  dozen  mob 
mussings.  But  even  mobs  invariably 
bring  Dantine  luck  built  for  a  shamrock. 
He'd  never  have  met  Katherine  Cor- 
nell, if  his  noisy  fans  hadn't  introduced 
him. 

The  first  lady  of  the  theater  has  long 
been  one  of  Helmut's  particular  idols  and 
when  he  played  the  Strand,  just  two  doors 
away  Cornell  and  Brian  Aherne  held  forth 
in  "The  Barretts  of  Wimpole  Street."  Hel- 
mut never  had  the  time  to  take  in  a  Cor- 
nell performance  and  he  was  far  too  shy  to 
call  at  the  stage  door  and  introduce  him- 
self. 

conflict  .  .  . 

"The  Barretts"  curtain  went  up  at  eight- 
thirty  and  Helmut's  appearance  started  at 
nine.  That  half  hour  interlude  was  the 
time  his  gang  picked  to  stand  under  his 
dressing  room  window  and  shout  for  Dan- 
tine,  and  alwa-s  he  raised  the  window 
blind  and  wa\  _d  hello.  After  the  first 
night's  hullabaloo,  he  got  a  note. 

"Dear  Mr.  Dantine,"  wrote  Katherine 
Cornell.  "I'd  appreciate  it  very  much  if 
you  wouldn't  appear  at  your  dressing  room 
window  between  8:30  and  11  when  our 
play  goes  on.  Last  night  my  audience 
thought  V-J  Day  had  arrived  when  your 
admirers  cheered!  My  small  voice  can't 
compete  with  such  noise.  I  know  if  I  were 
their  ages,  I'd  do  the  same  thing  myself, 
however,  and  I'm  very  happy  for  you. 
Katherine  Cornell." 

Helmut  promptly  sent  the  first  lady  a 
box  of  flowers  with  an  apology  and  back 
came  another  note  asking  him  to  tea  in 
her  dressing  room. 

Helmut  the  hermit  .  .  . 

But  it  doesn't  happen  to  him  much  in 
Hollywood,  as  it  does  whenever  he  ven- 
tures to  New  York  or  other  big  cities.  At 
home,  for  one  thing,  Helmut's  hard  to  find. 
He  doesn't  live  in  the  movie  star  district 
but  still  camps  in  his  tiny  bachelor  apart-, 
ment  in  a  passe  Hollywood  neighborhood, 
about  the  last  place  in  the  world  you'd 
hunt  a  glamor  guy  today.  But  even  if  a 
smitten  sleuth  tracks  him  down,  ten  to 
one  she  won't  find  Helmut  at  home  at  any 
normal  hour.  When,  he's  not  making  a 
picture  he's  always  busier  than  a  bird  dog 
and  harder  to  pin  down  than  a  flea.  If  he 
isn't  playing  an  international  chess  tour- 
nament (as  he  did  the  other  night  on  the 
American  team  versus  Russia)  over  a 
trans-global  telephone,  or  fencing  with 
his  teacher  in  a  private  gymnasium,  he's 
racing  all  over  California  looking  at 
ranches  to  raise  ten  thousand  turkeys,  like 
the  840-acre  place  north  of  Hollywood  he 
signed  up  for  the  other  day. 

But  with  all  his  six-day  bicycle  rider 
schedule,  sometimes  a  conniving  fan 
catches  up  with  Helmut.  Sometimes,  it's 
Helmut  who  does  the  catching,  too,  be- 
cause, being  such  a  grateful  and  warm- 
hearted character,  he  is  always  eager  to 
cooperate  when  he  thinks  a  fan  is  a  sin- 
cere admirer  and  not  just  a  curiosity  kid. 
That  happened  a  few  days  ago  when  six 
girls  who  formed  a  sort  of  local  Hollywood 
Dantine  Admiration  Society  wrote  him  a 
group  letter  that  expressed  the  most  intel- 


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ligent  interest  in  Helmut  and  his  studio 
work.  Imagine  their  surprise  the  next  day 
when  the  phone  rang  and  it  was  Helmut 
Dantine  wanting  to  know  if  they  could 
come  out  to  Warners',  have  lunch  with  him 
and  let  him  show  them  around  the  place 
and  explain  all  the  inner  workings. 

Of  course,  a  lot  of  Helmut's  female  fans 
take  that  "wolf"  stuff  pretty  seriously. 
Some  are  pretty  persistent,  too,  like  the 
cutie  who  trailed  Helmut  for  days  and 
found  just  when  he  was  most  unlikely  to 
be  hiding  out  in  his  bachelor  den.  One 
night  Helmut  burst  into  his  room  and  al- 
most swooned  when  he  switched  on  the 
light.  This  cutie  was  curled  up  in  his 
favorite  armchair,  making  with  her  very 
best  allure. 

"Oh,  hel-l-o,"  she  said  in  a  sultry  voice. 

"How — how  did  you  get  here?"  Helmut 
gasped. 

the  little  locksmith  .  .  . 

"Oh,"  murmured  the  bold  tootsie,  "that 
was  easy.  I  made  a  wax  impression  of 
your  lock." 

Helmut  tried  to  be  stern.  "Young  lady," 
he  said  austerely,  "don't  you  know  that's 
a  crime?" 

The  girl  batted  her  big  blue  eyes.  "Is 
it?"  she  whispered.  "Well,  I'm  here — and 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  home!"  said  Hel- 
mut. And  he  wasn't  kidding,  although  he 
practically  had  to  carry  the  bundle  out  to 
his  car.  When  he  tipped  his  hat  good- 
night— always  a  gentleman — the  girl 
grinned  good  naturedly.  "Oh  well,"  she 
told  Helmut,  blowing  him  a  good-night 
kiss.  "At  least,  I  had  Helmut  Dantine  take 
me  home!" 

Helmut's  good  natured  about  these 
events.  He  thinks  it's  very  funny  that  a 
Don  Juan  mantle  should  have  landed  on 
his  shoulders.  He's  really  a  fairly  reluctant 
wolf,  but  sometimes  he  admits  he  slips. 
In  fact,  one  of  the  funniest  stories  Helmut 
tells  on  himself  concerns  just  one  of  those 
times. 

It  was  when  he  was  in  New  York  last 
summer.  He  was  having  lunch  alone  one 
noon  at  Twenty -One,  when  the  waiter 
came  over  with  a  billet-doux.  Helmut 
unfolded  it.  In  very  feminine  and,  he 
thought,  very  sophisticated  handwriting  it 
commanded,  "Please  come  over  to  the 
corner  table." 

Well,  Helmut  was  alone  in  New  York. 
It  was  an  exciting  town.  He  was  in  a  gay 
mood.  Ah,  romance.  His  Viennese  blood 
got  the  best  of  his  Hollywood  reason.  He 
weakened.    "Why  not?" 

junior  miss  .  .  . 

So  he  straightened  his  tie,  fixed  his  hand- 
kerchief, got  up,  walked  across  to  the 
corner  table  and  bowed.  When  he  straight- 
ened up  he  almost  fell  over,  but  Helmut's 
gentleman  enough  to  mask  his  surprise  in 
almost  any  eventuality  concerning  ladies. 

It  seems  he  had  met  this  lady  before. 
In  fact,  they'd  made  a  Hollywood  picture 
together,  couple  of  years  ago,  called  "The 
Pied  Piper."  Now,  she  was  very,  very 
grande  dame  and  they  chatted  in  the  most 
formal,  lah-de-dah  manner. 

"And  where,"  finally  inquired  this  glam- 
orous creature,  "are  you  staying,  Helmut, 
dear?" 

"The  Gotham,"  replied  Dantine. 

"How  nice,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  lifting 
a  dainty  eyebrow  charmingly.  "I'm  right 
around  the  corner — at  the  Sherry,  you 
know.    You  must  give  me  a  ring." 

And  with  that  she  gathered  her  bag  to- 
gether, looked  to  her  lipstick  and  with  a 
mysterious  smile  glided  out  of  the  cafe, 
trying  like  mad  to  make  her  skirts  swish 
the  way  she'd  seen  other  seductive  ladies — 
did  Miss  Peggy  Ann  Garner,  all  of  thirteen 
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133 


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lected  "KITTY"  as  the  book  of  the 
year  —  for  one  of  its  most  lavish 
movies  starring  Paulette  Goddard 
and  Ray  Milland. 
Mail  coupon  now — and  then  fol- 
low Kitty's  amazing  adventures 
as  she  moves  from  slumtown  to 
the  silks  of  high  society.  Be  with 
Kitty  as  she  poses  for  Gains- 
borough and  first  fell  in  love  with 
his  famous  portrait  "The  Blue 
Boy" — It  was  the  most  bewitch 


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ing  face  Kitty  had  ever  seen  and  she  was  to  find  no  peace  until 
she  met  and  won  the  heart  of  the  grown-up  "Blue  Boy"  in  person! 

What  were  the  secret  scandals  that  kept  Kitty 
from  marrying  the  "Blue  Boy"  of  her  dreams? 

. . .  Scandals  that  began  when  dashing  Sir 
Hugh  Marcy  brought  home  a  rough-and- 
ragged  Kitty  —  taught  her  to  dres3,  to 
speak,  to  act  like  a  lady,  and  launched  a 
career  that  was  to  be  the  talk  of  England. 
"A  girl  like  you  could  get  anything  she 
wanted,"  devil-may-care  Hugh  mur- 
mured. And  Kitty  took  his  advice.  With 
his  help,  Kitty  married  wealthy 
Jonathan  Buttall,  who  never  made  a 
purchase    without    exacting  every 
penny's  worth  .  .  .  but  who  didn't 
live  long  enough  to  collect  from 
Kitty.  After  Jonathan's  violent 
end,  Kitty  kept  right  on  climb- 
ing .  .  .  became  the  wife  of  a 
doting  old  Duke  . . .  who  gave 
Kitty  his  fortune  .  .  .  but  his 
most  cherished  dream,  the 
birth  of  an  heir,  was  too  much 
for  his  old  heart.  His  sud- 
den passing  left  her  free  for  I 
Brett— the  "Blue  Boy"  of 
her  dreams  who'd  haunted 
her  every  adventure.  But 
finally  offered  her  his  hand 


These  two  men  ruled  her  life. . 

First  there  was  her  rakish 
lover.  Sir  Hugh  Marcy,  who 
taught  her  there  was  nothing 
but  a  few  yards  of  silk  and  a 
man's  will  between  a  great 
lady  and  a  street  urchin.  Then 
there  was  Brett  Harwood, 
who  taught  her  there  was  a 
greater  happiness  —  the  true 
love  only  sacrifice  could  buy! 


when  Brett,  Lord  of  Montford 

in  marriage,  could  Kitty  accept  ?  She  had  riches .  .  .  she 
had  power . . .  but  could  she  pay  the  price  that  had  to  be  paid 
for  the  only  man  she  ever  loved? 

You'll  thrill  to  the  way  Kitty  comes  to  grips  with  destiny 
and  applaud  her  courageous  decision  as  this  stirring  novel 
swells  to  its  glorious  romantic  conclusion.  You've  never  read 
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/  "Nothing 
so  good 
to  its 
field 
for 
several 


Will  you  call  her 
wicked  or  wonderful 

..schemer. ..siren. ..or  angel?  Raised 
n  the  gutters  of  London,  she  climbed  to 
the  top  of  the  social  ladder,  but  never  for- 
got her  past.  A  great  rogue-heroine, 
even  her  good  deeds  set  afire  the 
scandal  of  her  a 


Thrill  to  love  scenes 
you'll  never  forget! 

Even  the  reviewers  fell  in  love  with 
"KITTY"  ...  "KITTY  is  a  peppery 
tale  of  romance  and  intrigue . . .  spicy 
and  adult ...  robust..." — N.  Y.  Times 
"There  is  erudition  here  that  bespeaks 
a  great  knowledge  of  the  tinles  and  peo- 
ple... there  is  sophistication  and  lack 
of  prudery." — Chicago  Tribune 
KITTY'S  frank  story  of  her  rise  to  fame  will 
please  those  who  enjoy  sheer  romance  delicately 
uninhibited." — Washington  Times  Herald. 


Send  no  money!  Mail  coupon! 


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The  romantic  novel  everybody's  talking  about 

The  FICTION  BOOK  CLUB-  MM"3 
31  West  57th  St.,  New  York  19,  N.Y. 

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seller at  only  $1.39  (plus  a  few  cents  postage) 
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purchase  6  out  of  the  entire  year's  offerings. 
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begin  my  club  service  with  current  selection. 


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FREE  your  copy  of  the  best- 
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the  coupon.  You'll  also  become  a 
member  of  The  Fiction  Book 
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club's  monthly  best-seller  selec- 
tions and  you'll  get  these  four 
big  advantages,  too: 

I.  You  save  $1  to  $2  on  every  bookl 

Fiction  Book  Club  contracts  for  big 
special  editions — prints  from  original 
plates  and  in  return  for  mass  distri- 
bution, authors  accept  lower  royalties. 
These  savings  are  passed  right  on  to 
you.  You  save  $1  to  $2  on  every  book 
you  get.  And  you  get  the  best-seller. 
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2.  You  get  outstanding  new  books! 

Selections  are  made  only  after  a  care- 
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select  the  available  books  that  are 
"the  cream  of  the  crop."  No  guess- 
work. No  opinions.  Fiction  Book  Club 
selections  are  always  outstanding  best- 
sellers .  .  .  books  by  leading  authors 
.  .  .  brand-new,  full-size,  cloth-bound 
books  you  will  be  proud  to  own. 

3.  You  pay  no  special  dues  or  fees! 
No  trick  obligation  clauses.  You 
simply  agree  to  accept  any  six  of  the 
twelve  outstanding  books  offered  In  a 
year.  You  do  not  have  to  accept  every 
book  offered  —  just  those  you  decide 
you  want  after  you  have  read  a  de- 
tailed description  well  in  advance. 


4.  You'll  find  plan  so  simple  and  easyl 
If  you  decide  you  don't  want  the  book 
simply  notify  us  not  to  send  it.  Other- 
wise simply  do  nothing,  and  it  will  be 
mailed  to  you.  For  each  monthly  selec- 
tion YOU  decide  you  want  you  pay 
just  $1.39  plus  a  few  cents  postage. 

SO  ACT  NOW! 

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—the  book  everybody's  talking 
about  and  all  the  conveniences 
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Address- 


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CURRENT  SELECTION  I 

That  great  romantic  novel 
and  sensational  best-seller  .  .  . 

"WINE  OF 
SAN  LORENZO" 

Now  $3  in  publisher's  edition! 


High    on    best-seller    lists!      Over    100.000    copies  purchased'. 

A  big  exciting  472-page  novel.  The  story  of  Maria,  the  unattainable  who  fled 
from  her  husband  on  her  wedding  night  .  .  .  defied  family,  church,  convention 
.  .  .  for  the  strange  and  handsome  young  soldier  who'd  drunk  of  the  Mystic 
Wine  of  San  Lorenzo.  The  Chicago  Tribune  says,  "Everything  the  readers 
look  for  .  .  .  pathos,  struggles,  heroism,  villainy  and  impassioned  love." 


(In  Canada:  266  King's  St.  West;  Toronto) 


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CUPID:  Ah  ... !  A  joke,  huh?  Plain  girl  gets  candy 
from  unknown  suitor.  But  it's  not  candy  and 
there's  no  suitor.  Very  funny! 

GIRL:  All  right.  Laugh  then. 

CUPID:  Me?  Excuse  it,  but  to  me  it's  not  funny, 

honey.  But  it  should  remind  you  that  maybe  there'd 
be  real  candy  and  a  real  suitor  if  you'd  just  laugh 
once  in  a  while.  Smile  at  people!  Sparkle! 

GIRL:  Sparkle?  Cupid,  my  pet,  with  my  dull  teeth  I 
couldn't  even  glimmer!  I  brush  'em,  but—  W  ell . . . 

CUPID:  Mmmm?  Ever  see  "pink"  on  your  tooth  brush? 

GIRL:  And  what  if  I  have? 

CUPID:  What  if  I  have,  she  says!  Listen,  you 

marshmaUow-minded  little  idiot!  That  "pink's"  a 
warning  to  see  your  dentist!  He  may  find 
soft  foods  are  robbing  your  gums  of  exercise. 
And  he  may  suggest  "the  helpful  stimulation  of 
Ipana  and  massage." 


GIRL:  And  right  away  I  start  glittering  like  diamonds,  huh?  \ 


People  have  to  wear  dark  glasses.  I  get- 

CUPID:  Quiet,  Woman!  And  listen.  A  sparkling  smile 
depends  largely  on  firm,  healthy  gums.  And  Ipana  not  only 
cleans  teeth.  It's  specially  designed,  with  massage,  to  help 
your  gums.  Just  massage  a  little  extra  Ipana  on  your  gums 
when  you  brush  your  teeth.  You'll  be  helping  yourself 

to  healthier  gums,  sounder  teeth  .  .  .  and  a  prettier  smile 
than  you  ever  wore  in  your  life!  Now  get  started! 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


<f0  tiwSnJlQxy  <^BscuJm  IPANA 


AND  MASSAGE 


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M 


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Sei 
rig 
ing 
1  ar 
-sfni' 
lum 
po: 

KME 

>DRI 


* 

★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
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★ 
★ 
★ 
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★ 
★ 
* 
★ 

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★ 
* 
★ 

* 
* 
★ 

* 
* 

* 

* 
* 
* 

★ 
* 
★ 

★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
* 
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Several  years  ago,  a  great 
novel  blazed  its  way  into 
America's  consciousness 
— James  M.  Cain's  "The 
Postman  Always  Rings 
Twice",  It  was  dialogue 
like  this  that  held  you: 
"/  love  you,  Cora.  But 
love,  when  you  get  fear  in 
it,  isn't  love  any  more. 
It's  hate!" 


At  the  time,  many  of  us  hoped  it  would 
be  made  into  a  motion  picture.  But  the 
general  opinion  was:  "Too  daring . . . 
too  shocking. . ."  Remember  this  scene: 
"Tomorrow  night,  if  I  come  back,  there'll 
be  kisses . . .  lovely  ones,  Frank !  Kisses 
with  dreams  in  them . . ." 

Recently,  Met- 
ro-Goldwyn- 
May er  an- 
nounced that 
it  had  produc- 
ecTThePost- 
man  Always 
Rings  Twice", 
starring  Lana 
Turner  and 
John  Garfield. 
And  everyone 
wondered  how  M-G-M  would  handle 
the  more  audacious  scenes,  like  this 
one:  "We  had  all  that  love  out  there,  that 
night ..  .and  we  kissed  and  sealed  it  so 
it  would  be  ours  forever!" 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Well,  we  have  just  seen  the  picture — 
and  Lana  Turner  is  breathtakingly 
beautiful  as  the  temptress  who  is  swept 
away  by  a  love  she  can't  deny.  John 
Garfield,  more  vital  than  ever,  turns  in 
a  masterful  performance  as  the  reckless 
young  wanderer  who  wanted  love  more 
than  he  wanted  life. 

★  *  ★  ★ 
Together,  as  Cora  and  Frank,  they  cre- 
ate one  of  the  most  memorable  romances 
ever  brought  to  the  screen.  And  to 
match  this  great  acting,  there  is  a  truly 
fine  supporting  cast  including  Cecil 
Kellaway,  Hume  Cronyn,  Leon  Ames, 
Audrey  Totter,  and  Alan  Reed. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Congratulations  are  most  certainly  in 
order  for  Director  Tay  Garnett,  Pro- 
ducer Carey  Wilson,  and  Screenplay- 
men  Harry  Ruskin 
and  Niven  Busch. 

★  ★  ★ 
Whether  the  Post- 
man rings  once,  or  the 
Postman  rings  twice, 
M-G-M  has  certainly 
rung  the  bell  with 
this  one. 

—£ea 


modern  screen 

APRIL,  1946 

stories 

*DREAM  BOSS   (Alan   Ladd)   30 

*THE    LITTLE    WOMAN     (June  Allyson)   34 

THEIR  HEARTS  ARE  YOUNG  AND  GAY  (Guy  Madison)....  38 

"AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED  .  .  ."  (Jeanne  Crain)   40 

DENNIS   MORGAN    LIFE   STORY  (concluded)    42 

*OH,  JOHNNIE!   (Johnnie  Johnston)   44 

*  EAGER   BEAVER   (Don  Taylor)   48 

*BLITHE   SPIRIT  (Elizabeth  Taylor)....   50 

*  WATCH  MARK  STEVENS !  BY  HEDDA  HOPPER   52 

*l'M  A  CROSBY  FAN!    BY  LEO  MCCAREY  (Bing  Crosby)  ...  54 

GOOD  NEWS  BY  LOUELLA  PARSONS   58 

color  pages 

ALAN  LADD   in  Paramount's  "The  Blue  Dahlia"...   30 

JUNE  ALLYSON  in  Paramount's  "The  Sailor  Takes  A  Wife"....  34 

JOHNNIE  JOHNSTON,  M-G-M  Star   46 

DON  TAYLOR,  M-G-M  Star    48 

ELIZABETH  TAYLOR  in  M-G-M's  "Hold  High  The  Torch"   50 

MARK  STEVENS  in  RKO's  "Tomorrow  Is  Forever"   52 

BING   CROSBY  in  Paramount's  "Blue  Skies"   54 

JAN   CLAYTON,  M-G-M  Star    83 

features 

EDITORIAL   PAGE   29 

departments 

FANNIE  HURST  SELECTS  "Tomorrow  Is  Forever"   6 

MOVIE   REVIEWS  By  Virginia  Wilson    10 

INFORMATION   DESK   18 

SWEET  AND  HOT  By  Leonard  Feather   20 

SUPER  COUPON   24 

CO-ED  By  Jean  Kinkead   26 

"ED  SULLIVAN  SPEAKING  .  .  ."  (Radio   Column)   56 

BEAUTY — "BEAUTY   HAND-OUTS !"   70 

*  MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS   83 

MODERN  HOSTESS  "FOOD  with  an  ENGLISH  ACCENT"  .  110 

Cover:  Alan  Ladd  in  Paramount's  "The  Blue  Dahlia.'' 
Cover  and  color  portrait  of  Elizabeth  Taylor  by  Willinger 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor    HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


Sylvia  Wallace,  western  Manager 
jane  wilkie,  western  Editor 
miriam  chidalia,  Associate  Editor 
beryl  stoller,  Assistant  Editor 
OTTO  STORCH,  Art  Director 

BILL  WEINBERGER,  Art  Editor 


JEAN  KINKEAD.  contributing  Editor 
cus  gale,  staff  photographer 
bob  beerman,  staff  photographer 
shirley  frolich,  service  Dept. 
toussia  pines,  Fashion  Editor 
beverly  linet,  information  Desk 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
/  Label  Form  3579  to  149  Madison  Avenue   New  York  16   New  York  „.„.... 

Vol.  32,  No.  5,  April,  1946.  Copyright.  1946.  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.  Inc.  149  Mad.son  Ave.,  New  YorL  PubLsneo 
monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.  Dunellen  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising 
Office,  360  N.  Michigan  Ave.  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price.  15c  in  U  S.  and  Canada.  U  S.  subscription  price 
$1.50  a  year.  Canadian  subscription,  $1.80  a  year  Foreign  su'  scription  $2.7C  a  year  Entered  as  second  class  matter 
Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3.  1879  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility 
for  the  return  of  unsolicited  material  Names  of  characters  used  in  senr-fictional  matter  are  fictitious  If  the  name  or  an* 
living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No  301778 


Heartsick  over  the  war,  Elizabeth  (C.  Colbert)  bids  her  son  (Dick  Long)  godspeed. 


FANNIE 
HURST 

SELECTS 
'TOMORROW  IS  FOREVER" 


i 

St 

fui 
F 

)D 

TY  6 


■  "Tomorrow  Is  Forever"  has  what 
it  takes  for  box  office  allure,  from  the 
moment  the  potential  customer  reads 
the  come-hither  advertising  in  the 
lobby. 

The  title  is  provocative. 

The  feature  players,  Claudette  Col- 
bert, George  Brent  and  Orson  Welles, 
have  pulling  power. 

The  picture,  directed  by  Irving 
Pichel,  is  based  on  a  novelette  by 
Gwen  Bristow,  originally  published  in 
the  Ladies'  Home  Journal  and  chosen 
by  an  organization  known  as  the 
People's  Book  Club  for  the  novel  of  the 
something-or-other. 

"Tomorrow  Is  Forever"  is  the  story 
of  the  disappearing  man.  This  one, 
played  by  Orson  Welles,  lived  in  Balti- 
more, Maryland,  during  the  period  of 
the  first  World  War.  He,  John  Mac- 
Donald  (later  "Kessler"),  is  happily 
married  when  the  picture  opens,  to 
Elizabeth,  played  by  the  beautiful  and 
fastidious  Claudette  Colbert. 

At  the  opening  of  this  familiar  story 
in  new  clothes,  and  good  new  clothes 
they  are,  too,  Elizabeth  (Claudette 
Colbert)  MacDonald,  and  John  (Or- 
son Welles )  MacDonald,  are  living 
happily  in  the  first  year  of  their  mar- 
riage, in  a  Baltimore  house  that  is 
delightfully  true  to  period. 

Almost  immediately,  we  find  our- 
selves on  the  eve  of  World  War  I.  John 
MacDonald  presents  himself  in  uniform 
to  his  adoring  young  wife,  and  that  is 
the  first  she  knows  of  his  decision  to 
enlist.  In  fact,  we  barely  know  the 
young  couple  ourselves  when  this  de- 
cision is  likewise  handed  as  a  surprise 
to  the  audience. 

Orson  Welles,  to  whom  the  possibili- 
ties of  a  many-sided  role  must  have 
appealed  deeply,  plays  this  first  scene 
in  the  straight  role  of  a  young  husband. 
In  these  early  sequences,  he  is  a  rather 
chubby,  nice  (Continued  on  page  8) 


Glowing  emblem  of  a  gorgeous 
^irl  . . .  glorious  hallmark  of  a 
magnificent  musical! 


no 

YOU  LOVE 
ME 


Ms 


CENTURY-FOX 
PICTURE 


REGINALD  GARDINER-RICHARD  GAINES  -STANLEY  PRAGER 

HARRY  JAMES'  MUSIC  MAKERS 

O/reded  by  GREGORY  RATOFF-  Produced  by  GEORGE  JESSEL 


7 


Men  Do  Not 
Forget 


Our  Thrilling 
First  Anniversary 

"When  Dick  came  home  with  orchids, 
I  was  using  the  same  brand  lipstick  I 
wore  on  our  first  date  .  .  .  Don  Juan. 

"My  lips  survived  our  anniversary 
because  I  applied  Don  Juan  Lip- 
stick as  directed.  If  you  do  that,  your 
Don  Juan  will  stay  on  (and  lips  stay 
lovely) ,  when  you  eat,  drink  or  kiss." 

Don  Juan  Lipstick  is  smoothly  ap- 
plied and  is  not  drying  or  smeary. 
In  fashion  favored  shades.  Try  Medi- 
um Red,  a  true  red,  flattering,  youth- 
ful looking,  or  Raspberry,  darker, 
exciting.  Other  smart  shades,  too. 


THE  LIPSTICK 
THAT  STAYS.  ON 


Matching  pow- 
der, rouge  &  cake 
make-up  —  for 
beauty's  6ake. 
Sold  in  Canada. 


fellow  with  a  gleam  of  things-to-come 
indicated  in  the  Welles  eye. 

The  husband  goes  off  to  the  wars,  and 
in  the  lapse  of  time,  the  gleaming  young 
wife,  so  rightly  tailored,  so  impeccably 
coiffured,  fills  in  her  spare  time  doing 
important  research  work  in  a  local  chemi- 
cal plant. 

The  son  and  heir  of  this  great  establish- 
ment (none  other  than  George  Brent  play- 
ing the  role  of  Larry  Hamilton)  is  consid- 
erably smitten  with  Elizabeth. 

Time  moves  toward  Christmas,  and  the 
long-awaited  telegram  finally  arrives  an- 
nouncing the  return  of  the  husband  from 
the  wars.  The  bride  of  a  year  awaits  this 
return  with  a  lovely  fervor. 

But,  alas,  the  audience  does  not  get  the 
expected  reunion.  The  story  has  been  told 
with  a  swift-moving  precision  which  cli- 
maxes into  genuine  shock  when  the  tele- 
gram announcing  the  return  of  the  soldier 
is  followed  up  by  another,  announcing  his 
death  in  battle.  It  is  at  this  somewhat 
delayed  date  that  we  learn  that  the  sol- 
dier's bride  is  about  to  become  the  mother 
of  his  child,  thus  intensifying  the  tragedy. 

After  what,  in  polite  society,  we  call  the 
"decent  interval,"  the  young  widow,  rec- 
onciled to  a  lower  plane  of  ecstasy  with 
a  charming  and  personable  man  who  is 
willing  to  accept  his  role  as  second-best, 
(Larry  Hamilton)  succumbs  to  his  plead- 
ing. They  are  married.  From  this  point  on, 
we  see  her  in  far  more  resplendent  environ- 
ment, surrounded  by  all  of  the  beautiful 
settings  into  which  Miss  Colbert  always  fits 
so  well. 

There  are  two  sons,  one  by  her  first 
husband  and  now  another  by  her  second. 
It  is  a  happy  family  unit.  Once  more  the 
director  has  covered  his  ground  with 
economy  and  good  story  telling. 

Stunningly  the  plot  shifts  to  a  hospital 
ward  somewhere  in  Germany.  To  a  row  of 
beds  which  strike  terror  to  the  heart.  On 
each  one,  lies  a  soldier  wounded  in  a 
horrible  manner.  That  is,  their  faces 
have  been  torn  away.  There  they  lie, 
their  heads  like  footballs  swathed  in  gauze, 
tubes  inserted  where  there  should  be  nose 
or  mouth. 

Yes,  you  are  right.  One  of  these  face- 
less casualties  is  John  MacDonald.  An 
Austrian  surgeon  is  beside  his  bed,  begging 
him  to  give  some  clue  to  his  iden- 
tity so  that  they  may  communicate  with 
his  family.  The  horribly  maimed  soldier, 
begging  the  doctor  to  let  him  die,  refuses. 

It  is  a  bitter  and  moving  scene,  the  sur- 
geon played  with  deep  understanding  by 
John  Wengraf. 

At  its  conclusion,  it  is  apparent  that 
John  is  not  going  to  reveal  his  identity. 
Back  then,  after  this  grim  interlude,  we  go 
into  the  gracious  world  of  the  Larry  Ham- 
iltons.  And  what  a  gracious  world!  Happy 
marriage,  happy  children,  luxurious  home, 
all  of  the  accoutrements  of  good  living. 

Some  fifteen  years  after  his  departure 
the  missing  man  returns.  Plastic  surgery 
has  restored  his  face,  not  feature  for  feat- 
ure, but  the  eyes  are  still  there  and  to  this 
observer,  at  least,  far  too  much  of  the  young 
husband  remains  to  make  plausible  un- 
recognized identity. 

The  soldier  returns  with  a  serious  limp, 
a  beard,  a  face  into  which  is  written  con- 
siderable torment.  In  his  custody  is  a  little 
Austrian  girl  of  about  six  years  (irresis- 
tibly played  by  Natalie  Wood),  who  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  is  his  daughter.  This 
is  where  the  Orson  Welles  teeth  must  have 
bitten  with  gusto  into  his  role.  Also  from 
now  on,  the  plot  and  the  story  interest 
begin  to  slip  a  little. 

The  first  husband  returns  to  his  native 
Baltimore  under  the  name  of  Dr.  Kessler. 
He  also  returns  with  a  German  accent. 
He  hurries  surreptitiously  to  the  house  in 
which  he  spent  his  year  of  married  life. 
It  is  vacant  and  boarded  over. 


From  now  on,  Dr.  Kessler's  behavior  be- 
comes somewhat  mystifying,  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  his  one  aim  seems  to  be  to  keep 
knowledge  of  his  return  from  his  wife.  He 
and  the  little  girl  take  up  residence  in  a 
Baltimore  apartment.  Apparently  in  the 
long  interval,  the  returned  soldier  has  be- 
come a  chemist  of  no  little  eminence. 

Yes,  of  course  you  have  it.  The  learned 
Herr  Doctor,  his  wife's  destiny  still  un- 
known to  him,  although  it  might  seem  that 
the  most  casual  inquiry  would  have  re- 
vealed it,  becomes  affiliated  with  the  chem- 
ical works  owned  by  his  wife's  present 
husband — Larry  Hamilton. 

In  no  time  at  all,  Dr.  Kessler  and  his 
daughter  are  frequent  visitors  at  the  home 
of  his  employer.  There  is  that  anticipated 
moment  when  he  faces  his  one-time  bride 
without  recognition  on  her  part.  There  is 
another  moment,  over  which  every  one  of 
the  players  must  have  licked  chops,  when 
a  woman  stands  before  her  two  husbands 
without  recognizing  one  of  them.  There 
is  also  that  time-proof,  moth-proof  situa- 
tion, where  a  man  faces  a  son  who  does 
not  know  him. 

Now  we  approach  the  meaning  of  the 
title:  "Tomorrow  Is  Forever."  By  this  time, 
the  son  by  Elizabeth's  first  marriage  is  al- 
most of  age.  The  second  World  War  rum- 
bles more  than  audibly.  History  begins  to 
repeat  itself.  This  boy  wants  to  enlist. 

In  angry,  bitter,  and  determined  rebel- 
lion, the  heart-sick  mother  refuses  to  give 
up  a  son  as  she  gave  up  a  husband.  And 
standing  by,  unbeknown  to  both  his  son, 
and  the  mother  of  his  son,  Dr.  Kessler 
watches  the  conflict  with  pride  in  his  boy 
and  pity  for  his  one-time  wife. 

And  ultimately  it  takes  a  little  child  to 
lead  them.  Dr.  Kessler's  small  girl,  who  it 
transpires  is  not  his  real  daughter,  but  the 
child  of  the  Austrian  surgeon  who  saved 
his  life,  is  accidentally  horrified  by  a  shot 
from  a  toy  gun.  Indeed,  she  is  thrown  into 
a  convulsion  of  terror,  because  the  incident 
brings  back  to  her  the  scenes  of  horror  she 
lived  through  when  the  Germans  killed 
her  parents. 

These  dreadful  scars  against  the  mem- 
ory of  innocent  childhood  are  what  awaken 
Elizabeth  to  the  righteousness  of  sacrificing 
once  more  in  behalf  of  a  cleansed  and  bet- 
ter world.  And  so  with  her  full  consent, 
her  son  goes  forward  into  World  War  II. 
Tomorrow — not  yesterday — her  as  yet  un- 
identified first  husband  tells  her  comfort- 
ingly, is  Forever.  We  must  look  ahead. 
Yesterday  is  gone. 

The  revelation  of  "Dr.  Kessler's"  identity 
occurs  on  the  stoop  of  the  vacant  little 
house  where  he  and  his  bride  had  enjoyed 
their  first  and  only  year  of  married  life. 
She  has  returned  there  because  of  the  urge 
of  a  deep  nostalgia.  He  for  the  same  rea- 
son.   They  meet. 

This  encounter  is  managed  with  restraint 
and  dignity  for  which  both  participants 
should  be  honored. 

The  scene  points  irrevocably  and  with 
finality  to  Dr.  Kessler's  death  which  takes 
place  immediately  after. 

It  is  an  old,  old  story  under  a  new  name: 
"Tomorrow  is  Forever." 


MAY  ISSUE 

"The  girl  with  the  beautiful  pro- 
file all  over"— that's  Esther  Wil- 
hams.  And  if  you'll  get  to  your 
newsstand  bright  and  early  on 
April  12,  you'll  see  her  on  our 
May  cover. 


GET  OUT  FROM  BEHIND  THAT 
BRUSH,  BOYS. ..WE  KNOW  YA! 


They  haven't  got  a  cough  drop  to  their 
name  .  .  .  but  they're  loaded  with 
riotous  entertainment  in  the  latest  and 
greatest  "Road"  Show  of  them  all. 


Bing  sings  'em  !  Dottie  sings  'em  !  Pretty  soon 
everybody'll  be  singing  'em!  "Personality" 
"Put  It  There,  Pal"  •  "Welcome  To  My  Dream" 
and  many  more. 


Give 


pedi- 


yourself  a  really  good 
cure  at  least  once  every  two  weeks. 
First  —  use  emery  board  to  shape 
nails  to  modified  oval  —  and  keep 
them  short!  Next,  massage  feet 
with  rich  lubricating  cream.  Then, 
soak  in  warm  soapy  water  and 
scrub  firmly  with  stiff  brush. 


an  orange-wood  stick  with 
one  fourth  of  a  Sitroux  Tissue. 
(SAVE  Sitroux!  *  )  Push  back  cu- 
ticle, just  as  you  do  in  your  mani 
cure  —  using  firm,  gentle  touch. 


Apply  polish  in  three  strokes,  cov- 
ering entire  nail.  Remove  excess 
with  Sitroux  Tissue,  just  as  in 
manicure.   Keep  soft,  absorbent 
Sitroux  handy  for  blotting  lip- 
stick, facial  cleansings  — as  well  as 
"sniffles"  and  sneezes. 


with  motenal  shortag  ^  ^  ^ 
f,on  difficulties  .  .  ■  •»  h  as 

our  level  best  to  supply  you 

rtk-dl^^jtl  present 

SITROUX 


TISSUES 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

■  Talk  about  viewing  the  world  through  rose-colored  glasses!  This  is  one 
picture  you'll  go  see  and  come  out  muttering,  "It's  impossible,  I  don't  be- 
lieve it."  Because  "The  Ziegfeld  Follies"  is  a  holiday  for  eyes:  No  plot,  no 
dialogue,  just  individual  scenes  and  color,  gobs  of  riotous  Technicolor  that 
flows  under  and  over  and  around  you  and  leaves  you  breathless  with  beauty. 

It  opens  with  William  Powell,  the  great  Ziegfeld  himself,  puttering  around 
his  palatial  suite  in  heaven,  fingering  the  puppets  he  has  lined  up  along 
the  walls  which  represent  all  his  great  hits.  "Sure  I  was  the  greatest  show- 
man of  them  all,"  he  reminisces,  "but  what  a  show  I  could  put  on  today, 
with  all  the  new  personalities  that  have  sprung  up  since  I — moved — Hp  here." 
And  that  starts  the  parade  of  personalities. 

Esther  Williams  in  "A  Water  Ballet."  Fannie  Brice  rolling  her  eyes  over 
the  winning  sweepstake  ticket  her  husband  gave  away  and  trying  to  vamp 
the  landlord  into  giving  it  back.  M.C.  Fred  Astaire  whirling  Lucille  Bremer 
in  "This  Heart  of  Mine,"  a  charming  routine  that  tells  of  the  thief  who 
starts  out  to  woo  a  lovely  princess  with  an  eye  to  her  jewels — and  ends  up 
by  having  her  steal  his  heart.  Then  there's  poor  little  Victor  Moore,  the 
befuddled  business  man,  who  is  caught  spitting  in  the  subway  and  gets 
hauled  off  to  the  clink.  Edward  Arnold's  his  lawyer,  and  every  time  Victor 
pleads,  "Please,  pay  the  officer  the  two  dollars!"  he  answers,  "I  refuse. 
We'll  appeal  to  a  higher  court."  It  ends  up  with  Victor  ordering  his  last 
meal  before  the  execution  and  Arnold  interrupting  a  golf  game  to  visit  the 
condemned  man  and  reassure  him  "I  won't  pay  (Continued  on  page  12) 


One  of  the  "Follies"  skits  is  "This  Heart  of  Mine,"  a  dance  with  L.  Bremer,  -F.  Astaire. 


EDNAFERBER'S  story  of  stories  from  WAR  N  E  R  S  ! 


FLORA  ROBSON  -  HAL  B.  WALLIS 


PRODUCTION  •  DIRECTED  BY 


SAM  W 


Screen  Play  by  Casey  Robinson 
From  the  Novel  by  Edna  Ferber 

Music  by  Max  Steiner  11 


No  matter  whether  your  hair's  soft 
and  baby-fine  or  heavy  and  sleek 
.  .  .  DeLong  Bob  Pins  will  be  your 
tried  and  true  friend.  Trust  them 
to  Jceep  every  shining  strand  neat 
and  note-worthy. 


Stronger  Grip  cope  with  the  most 
stubborn  hair  because  they're  made 
of  better  quality  steel  that  keeps 
its  gripping  ways  longer. 


Stronger  Grip 

Won  't  Slip  Out 

Quality  Manufacturers  for  Over  50  years 

BOB  PINS        HAIR  PINS        SAFETY  PINS 

SNAP  FASTENERS       STRAIGHT  PINS 
HOOKS  &  EYES  HOOK  &  EYE  TAPES 

SANITARY  BELTS 


the  two  dollars — we'll  appeal." 

It's  impossible,  of  course,  to  mention  all 
the  acts,  but  there  are  two  standouts  we 
can't  resist.  One,  "Number,  Please,"  has 
Keenan  Wynn  a  snazzy  young  man  trying 
to  phone  Looie,  the  cigar  store  man.  Kee- 
nan is  connected  with  a  Chinese  laundry, 
the  weather  bureau,  a  Van  Johnson 
swooner  session  and  Oopa  of  South  Africa 
(Keenan  makes  up  the  name  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment,  and  darned  if  the  call  isn't 
put  through!).  He  never  does  get  to  talk 
to  Looie,  but  that  phone  receiver  he  ends 
up  munching  sure  looks  delicious.  .  .  . 

For  sheer  hysteria,  catch  Judy  Garland's 
"An  Interview."  She's  superb.  About  two 
platoons  of  eager  young  reporters  present 
themselves  at  the  great  actress's  apart- 
ment for  a  comment  on  her  newest  picture. 
They  kneel,  lower  their  eyes,  fold  their 
hands  across  their  breasts — and  a  hanky 
the  size  of  a  football  field  edged  in  ostrich 
plumes  flutters  over  their  heads.  "Dar- 
lings, how  pre-cious,"  she  gurgles,  "how, 
how,  but  how  really,  y'know — "  She 
writhes,  flutters  and  coos  "You  may  rise," 
then  mournfully  admits,  "I  don't  always 
want  to  be  tragic,  enact  my  Oscar-winning 
magic.  I'm  sick  of  the  dregs,  I  wanna  show 
my  legs!"  And  she  does,  too!  But  it's  all 
for  naught,  turns  out  her  next  movie's 
about  Madame  Kromotov,  the  inventor  of 
the  safety  pin. 

The  two  masters  of  the  dance,  Gene 
Kelly  and  Fred  (Again)  Astaire,  turn  up 
in  "The  Babbit  and  the  Bromide"  and  do 
they  keep  each  other  stepping!  Lena 
Horne  comes  in  with  a  sultry  down-Har- 
lem number,  "Love,"  and  Red  Skelton  is 
convulsing  as  the  literal-minded  announc- 
er for  a  liquor  concern  in  "When  Television 
Comes."  Kathryn  Grayson  ties  up  the 
whole  Technicolossus  as  she  sings  "Beau- 
ty." On  a  purple  mountain. — M-G-M 

P.  S. 

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  bought  the  two- 
word  title  six  years  ago,  and  spent  three 
years  preparing  the  picture's  sets,  routines 
and  stars.  500  pieces  of  writing  were  read 
before  the.  final  23  skits,  songs  and  dances 
were  selected. . .  .Forty-five  sets  were  built 
in  true  Ziegfeld  tradition,  including  re- 
volving pillars,  merry-go-rounds  with  live 
white  horses,  a  100-foot  waterfall  of  iri- 
descent bubbles,  and  an  all-paper  set 
studded  with  jewels. . .  .Seventy-five  seam- 
stresses worked  twenty-four  hours  a  day 
to  whip  up  such  costumes  as  a  skirt  of 
2000  ermine  tails,  a  coat  of  fourteen  white 
foxes,  a  dress  with  hundreds  of  pink  ostrich 
feathers.  .  .  .  For  18  months  the  studio 
trained  a  group  of  picked  beauties  to  show 
the  chic  and  poise  characteristic  of  the 
famous  Ziegfeld  Girls.  .  .  .The  set  for  the 
Fred  Astaire-Lucille  Bremer  dance  boasts 
a  chandelier  of  one  hundred  tiny  white 
birds,  each  carrying  a  lighted  candle.  The 
18-foot  figures  on  this  set  were  modeled  by 
hand  and  individually  sculptured. 

THE  POSTMAN  ALWAYS 
RINGS  TWICE 

You  probably  saw  the  pictures  Life  and 
Modern  Screen  ran  from  this  of  John  Gar- 
field and  Lana  Turner  in  that  white  bath- 
ing suit.  After  those  pictures,  a  review  of 
the  movie  is  a  waste  of  time.  Wild  horses 
couldn't  keep  you  away. 

Anyway,  here  are  a  few  added  details. 
Cora  Smith  (Lana  Turner)  has  been  living 
contentedly  enough  with  her  husband, 
Nick  (Cecil  Kellaway),  until  Frank  (John 
Garfield)  comes  along.  Sure,  Nick's  older 
than  she  is,  and  not  a  romantic  type.  But 
he  owns  a  nice  little  restaurant  and  gas 
station,  and  he's  a  good  guy.  Nuts  about 
Cora,  of  course,  as  who  wouldn't  be?  Frank 
is  a  drifter.  He  goes  from  one  job  to  an- 
other,  sees   the   country,   never  worries 


about  the  future.  He  stops  off  at  the 
lunchroom  because  Nick  has  a  sign  out, 
"Man  Wanted,"  and  the  location  happens 
to  appeal  to  him.  It  appeals  to  him  a  lot 
more  after  he  gets  a  load  of  Cora  in  white 
shorts  and  halter. 

It  doesn't  take  long  for  Frank  and  Cora 
to  find  that  they  are  supremely  necessary 
to  each  other.  Nor  much  longer  for  them 
to  decide  that  Nick  is  in  the  way.  Maybe 
it's  Cora's  idea,  maybe  Frank's.  It  doesn't 
matter.  What  matters  is  that  Nick  has 
to  die.  The  statistics  tell  you  that  people 
always  are  being  killed  by  falls  in  the 
bathtub.  So  why  not  Nick?  They  arrange 
the  details  carefully.  Cora  has  a  sandbag 
to  hit  him  on  the  back  of  the  head.  It  will 
be  very  simple.  .  .  . 

The  fact  that  it  turns  out  not  too  simple 
at  all  is  due  partly  to  a  motorcycle  cop 
who  happens  along  at  the  wrong  time,  and 
partly  to  a  cat.  Anyway,  Nick  doesn't  die. 
Not  quite.  And  now  the  District  Attorney 
(Leon  Ames)  has  his  eye  on  Frank  and 
Cora.  Frank  leaves.  But  he  can't  stay 
away  from  Cora,  and  when  he  comes  back 
the  situation  is  hotter  than  ever.  They  de- 
cide to  try  again,  this  time  with  an  auto- 
mobile accident.    So  at  last  Nick  dies. 

Fate  has  curious  ways  of  punishing  evil- 
doers. You'll  come  out  of  "The  Postman" 
shivering  a  little. — M-G-M 

P.  S. 

With  the  role  of  Cora,  Lana  Turner  gets 
her  first  really  meaty  role  to  prove  her 
acting  ability.  She  was  so  pleased  with  the 
part  that  things  on  the  set  went  even 
smoother  than  usual.  .  .  .  Screen  actors  are 
so  accustomed  to  upsets  that  a  smoothly 
running  picture  often  creates  a  tension, 
and  sensing  this,  director  Tay  Garnett 
cooked  up  a  gag  with  his  cameraman.  The 
lenser  promptly  shoved  Garnett,  fully 
clothed,  into  a  swimming  pool  on  the  set. 
.  .  .  The  same  day,  Lana  strained  her  wrist 
during  a  swimming  scene.  She  said  little 
about  it  and  had  it  taped  by  a  doctor 
that  night.  When  she  found  the  next  day 
that  she  was  required  to  wear  a  short- 
sleeved  dress,  she  did  the  scene  leaning 
against  a  doorway  with  the  taped  arm  be- 
hind the  door  frame.  .  .  .  John  Garfield 
spent  his  free  time  on  the  set  taking 
sketching  lessons  from  Bill  Mauldin,  while 
Lana  studied  Spanish  and  Portuguese  in 
preparation  for  her  trip  to  South  America. 

THE  KID  FROM  BROOKLYN 

Describe  an  atom  bomb.  Go  ahead— one 
with  red  hair.  You  can't?  Then  how  can 
we  talk  about  that  kid  from  Brooklyn, 
Danny  Kaye?  Because  this  picture's  all 
Danny;  bouncing,  wheezing,  unbelievably 
hysterical  Danny  who's  a  milkman  who 
can't  sell  milk.  A  Romeo  who  doesn't 
recognize  his  Juliet  until  she  accepts  a 
proposal  he  never  makes! 

Burleigh  Sullivan  (Danny  Kaye)  is  the 
lowest  point  man  with  the  Sunflower 
Dairies.  That  means  that  unless  his  sales 
pick  up,  both  he  and  Agnes  are  going  to  be 
out  of  a  job,  and  with  Agnes  in  a  "delicate 
condition,"  that  would  be  serious  indeed. 
Agnes,  you  see,  is  Burleigh's  horse,  and 
when  she  suddenly  decides  to  lie  down  in 
the  middle  of  the  gutter,  milk  wagon  and 
all,  and  won't  talk  to  him,  Burleigh  knows 
that  she  needs  a  doctor — now.  But  where 
to  get  one?  Suddenly,  a  window  opens, 
and  this  blonde  babe  calls,  "Here,  use  my 
phone."  And  that's  how  Burleigh  meets 
Polly  (Virginia  Mayo) .  But  his  meeting 
with  Speed  MacFarlane  (Steve  Cochran) 
doesn't  have  such  happy  overtones.  Be- 
cause Burleigh  accidentally  knocks  Speed 
out  while  trying  to  protect  his  sister  Susie 
(Vera  Ellen)  from  this  mug's  advances — 
and  Speed  is  the  Middleweight  Champion 
of  the  World! 


TO  BRING  BACK 
TARZAN'S  BODY 


For  Her  Fiendish  Jungle  Ritual! 


Cl^gjO  savages  with  leopard  claws 
prey  on  fellow  humans! 

fWo&fc  *neir  beautiful  but  deadly 
priestess,  fiend  in  the  flesh! 

~7^t/Vij£&  to  we'rd  and  terrifying  rites 
never  before  witnessed! 


the 


EDGAR  WE  BURROUGHS' 

"  STARRS  1IWPF 

WEISSMULLER 


JOHNNY 


SOLLESSER   '  KO«T  NEUMANN 

-^^•SKSSi  ^burroughs 


Based  Up°" 


the  Characters 


13 


When  the  Champ's  manager  gets  wind 
of  what  happened,  he  starts  tearing  his 
hair,  and  when  he  sees  who  made  it  hap- 
pen, he  starts  tearing  at  Burleigh.  Then 
he  calms  down.  How's  this  for  an  idea? 
Why  not  build  up  this  milksop  into  a 
contender  for  the  title?  Easiest  thing  in 
the  world,  just  arrange  a  few  crooked 
fights  by  having  "Tiger"  Sullivan's  oppo- 
nents hit  the  canvas  and  when  the  big 
bout,  The  Fighting  Milkman  versus  Speed 
MacFarlane,  arrives,  he,  Gabby  Sloan 
(Walter  Abel),  will  place  a  neat  fortune 
on  Speed  to  win  and  presto — buckets  of 
dough. 

Life  not  only  can  be  but  is  beautiful  for 
a  while  as  Burleigh  rolls  in  money  and 
headlines  and  sister  Susie  falls  in  love 
with  Speed.  The  only  hitch  is  that  the 
Tiger  doesn't  know  that  his  fights  have 
been  fixed  and  the  whole  thing  goes  to  his 
head.  He  gets  brass  bands  to  announce 
him  at  parties,  tiger  striped  boxing  shorts 
and  a  ten  thousand  dollar  ring  for  Polly, 
who  promptly  heaves  it  right  back  into 
his  bewildered  face  with  a  "You're  not 
the  man  I  loved.  Now  you're  a  great  big 
show-off.  And  not  only  that — you're  a 
killer!" 

Of  course  the  breakup  saddens  Burleigh, 
but  that  "you're  a  killer"  routine  kind  of 
pleases  him.  Until  Susie  comes  running 
with  a  bit  of  news  she's  just  overheard: 
All  those  fights  have  been  fixed  and 
Speed's  out  to  murder  him  tonight,  tonight 
being  the  night  of  the  big  championship 
bout  at  Madison  Square  Garden. 
.  No  point  in  reminding  you  that  Danny 
Kaye  is  far  too  valuable  to  get  murdered 
in  "The  Kid  From  Brooklyn."  But  just 
watching  him  yelling  "Foul!"  every  time 
Speed  even  looks  at  him,  then  trying  to 
hide  in  front  of  the  referee,  under  the 
canvas  or  behind  the  ring  ropes  is  murder 
in  itself.   You'll  die  laughing.   Which  only 


proves  that  death,  too,  can  be  beautiful  .  .  . 
— Sam.  Goldwyn 

P.  S. 

"The  Kid  From  Brooklyn"  took  more 
than  five  months  to  film,  and  contained 
many  scenes  requiring  hundreds  of  extras. 
Added  up,  the  total  expenditures  make  it 
one  of  the  most  expensive  comedies  ever 
produced.  .  .  .  Over  forty  sets  were  con- 
structed, the  largest  of  which  was  a  sports 
arena  on  the  order  of  Madison  Square 
Garden,  which  completely  filled  the  studio's 
largest  sound  stage  with  44,000  square  feet 
of  floor  space.  The  set  was  the  scene  of  the 
one-round  championship  fight  between 
Danny  Kaye  and  Steve  Cochran,  which 
took  more  than  two  weeks  to  photograph 
with  an  audience  of  2000  extras.  ...  A 
replica  of  the  old  Third  Avenue  L  in  New 
York  was  constructed  within  the  Garden 
set  for  Vera-Ellen's  dance  of  "The  Old 
Fashioned  Number."  .  .  .  In  the  field  of 
unfettered  imagination  there  was  a  fan- 
tastic dairy  set,  where  beautified  cows 
relaxed  in  satin  and  plush  stalls  on  an 
imitation  marble  floor.  Silk  curtains  and 
sculptured  figurines  decorated  each  stall. 
The  prop  man's  topper  for  the  picture  was 
the  call  to  supply  each  bovine  with  a  set 
of  three-inch  eyelashes.  .  .  .Danny  Kaye's 
"Pavlova  Number,"  an  impudent  satire  on 
the  ballet,  is  one  of  his  most  famous  rou- 
tines. It  was  written  by  his  wife,  Sylvia 
Fine,  and  Max  Liebman.  .  .  .  The  1946  class 
of  the  Goldwyn  Girls  appears  in  the  dairy 
scene,  wherein  the  famous  Goldwyn  beau- 
ties milk  the  cows.  Playing  the  matron 
of  the  dairy  is  Kay  Thompson,  famous  in 
Hollywood  as  the  only  woman  arranger  of 
American  music,  in  her  camera  debut. 

WITHOUT  RESERVATIONS 

Without  reservations  can  mean  many 


ADVERTISEMENT 


things.  Like  trying  to  bum  a  ride  on  a 
Westbound  streamliner  without  a  ticket — 
or  going  after  a  man  with  no  holds  barred 
because,  darn  it,  he's  your  kind  of  fella. 

But,  of  course,  Kit  Madden  (Claudette 
Colbert)  would  never  dream  of  such  un- 
ladylike behavior.  Kit's  an  attractive 
thirty 'ish  with  bangs,  good  legs  and  very, 
very  strong  convictions  about  how  the 
world  should  be  run.  So  strong,  in  fact, 
that  she's  written  a  book  about  it,  "Here 
Is  Tomorrow."  And  now  she's  on  her  way 
to  Hollywood  to  make  it  into  a  movie 
script,  but  only  because  her  producer 
promised  that  Cary  Grant  would  play  Mark 
Winston,  its  hero.  She's  nicely  settled  in 
her  super  de  luxe  compartment  when  a 
telegram  comes,  "Cary  Grant  cannot  ac- 
cept role  due  to  conflicting  commitments. 
Will  inaugurate  search  bigger  than  Scar- 
lett O'Hara."  That  throws  her,  she  won't 
do  it.  They  promised  her  Cary  Grant,  she 
wants  Cary  Grant,  she  insists  on — 

Suddenly  two  Marines  pop  up  in  front  of 
her.  They're  staring  at  the  ceiling  and 
making  like  she's  not  there.  "Hey,  some 
beetle,  huh  Rusty?"  "Yeah,  man,  a  beetle 
to  end  all  beetles,  Dink."  Rusty  (John 
Wayne)  is  6'2",  with  brown  wavy  hair,  a 
drawl,  a  slow,  heart-mauling  grin  and  a 
ridiculous  resemblance  to  Mark  Winston. 
Dink  (Don  DeFore)  is  his  sidekick,  always 
ready  for  a  laugh  and  a  fight  for  the  dear 
old  Marine  Corps,  the  corps  with  which 
they  have  just  won  the  war.  Straight  off, 
Rusty  proves  to  Kit  that  "Here  Is  Tomor- 
row" was  written  by  a  character  who 
knew  nothing  about  men  chasing  women — 
and  vice  versa.  He  buys  her  a  drink,  and 
she  sends  a  wire  to  Hollywood,  "Found 
unknown  to  play  Mark  Winston.  Stop 
Must  change  love  angle  in  book." 

They  get  off  in  Chicago  to  change  trains 
and  Kit  evades  her  studio  representative 
in  order  to  tag  along  with  the  boys.  She 


needs  Rusty  for  her  movie,  and  anyhow,  [ 
what's  a  beetle,  she'd  like  to  know. 

They  land  in  a  small  town,  exhausted 
and  broke,  and  Kit  signs  a  check  with  her 
real  name.  (All  this  rime  she's  been  "Kitty 
Klotch"  to  the  boys.  ""Klotch  is  a  Lithua- 
nian name,  very  old  Lithuanian.")  The 
townspeople  go  into  hysterics,  the  Chris-  1 
topher  Madden  in  their  hi  ol"  town? — then 
heave  her  into  the  hoosegow  when  the 
Hollywood  papers  release  a  prepared 
statement  that  Kit  Madden  is  in  their  hi 
ol'  town.  The  boys  have  bailed  her  out 
and  warned  her  about  signing  famous 
names  to  worthless  checks  when  Kit's  pro- 
ducer arrives  and  proves  her  identity.  \ 
Rusty  turns  on  his  heel  and  goes  off  to  ' 
sulk  in  the  Marine  Base  at  San  Diego.  After 
that  it's  up  to  Dink  to  play  Cupid  by  re- 
mote control. — RKO 

P.  S. 

Between  scenes  of  the  picture.  John 
Wayne  played  chess  with  the  cast  and 
crew.  He  vanquished  all  comers,  except 
his  stand-in  who  vanquished  him'.  For  a 
spate  with  John  and  Claudette  on  a  hay- 
stack, prop  men  sprayed  the  straw  with  a 
scented  solution  to  protect  the  stars  from  , 
hayfever.  .  .  .  One  set  for  the  picture 
covered  two  whole  sound  stages  at  RKO 
— including  a  highway,  rolling  hills,  hay-  | 
stack,  moon,  and  twinkling  stars.  .  .  .  Clau-  j 
dette  thought  somebody  was  playing  a 
trick  on  her  when  her  pin-striped  grey 
wool  skirt  began  to  give  her  electric 
charges!  However,  it  was  just  weather 
conditions  that  made  the  skirt  static.  She 
had  to  grin  and  bear  it — with  a  slight  flinch 
now  and.  then.  .  .  .  VThen  John  Wayne  and 
Claudette  Colbert  had  to  eat  quantities  of 
Spanish  food  for  a  scene,  Wayne  persuaded 
Mervyn  LeRoy  to  import  Chef  Jesus  Eco- 
nides  from  Tiajuana,  Mexico  to  whip  up  a  \ 
delicious  repast.  From  tortillas  to  huevos. 
the  cast  enjoyed  their  magnificent  South- 
of-the-Border  meal. 

THE  VER  GEXTAX 

Back  in  the  genteel  days  of  1885,  women  ; 
were  either  ladies  or  females,  and  woe 
betide  the  girl  who  tried  to  cut  away  from 
the  rigid  pattern  that  was  "good  enough 
for  me,  and  for  your  grandmother,  too." 

But  Molly  Wood  (Barbara  Britton)  can't 
see  things  that  way.    She  wants  more  out 
of  life  than  social  teas  or  languid  croquet 
games  on  the  plantation,  so  she  sets  off  for 
Wyoming.   Maybe  there  she'll  find  adven-  j 
ture.  even  if  only  as  a  schoolmarm.  She 
doesn't  have  long  to  wait  because  two  days 
later  her  train  is  halted  by  a  herd  of  j 
cattle  swarming  over  the  tracks,  and  the 
dashing  Virginian  (Joel  McCrea)  gallops  I 
into  view.    She's  agreeably  petrified  when 
he   casually   warns   the   train  engineer, 
"Stampede  these  cattle  with  your  whistle  \ 
and  I'll  shoot  you  right  out  of  your  little  ; 
window."    But  what  promised  to  be  a  ' 
free-for-all  turns  out  to  be  a  grand  re- 
union when  the  Virginian  spots  his  best 
friend,  Steve  (Sonny  Tufts),  breezy,  care-  j 
less,  and  gallant  to  the  teeth.    So  gallant, 
in  fact,  that  when  the  train  finally  pulls 
into  Medicine  Bow,  it  is  Steve  who  intro- 
duces himself  to  the  wide-eyed  girl  and 
escorts  her  to  the  hotel.    But  Medicine 
Bow  is  feeling  sick  toda3".  Trampas  (Brian 
Donlevy)  and  his  henchmen  are  in  town 
and  everybody  knows  what  will  happen  i 
if  the  outlaw  and  the  Virginian  tangle. 

Molly  and  her  protector   are   merrily  ! 
leading  the  square  dance  at  the  open  house  1 
her  hosts  are  holding  in  her  honor,  when  I 
the  sound  of  stampeding  cattle  is  heard. 
Rushing  off,  the  Virginian   calls  on  the 
Sheriff  for  help  in  pursuing  the  rustlers, 
only  to  find  that  he  too,  is  in  league  with 
Trampas  and  his  men.  So  now  it's  up  to 
the  Vhginian.  He  forms  a  posse,  tracks  the 


LITTLE  LULU  ly>naA^ 


I 


Have  you  always  wanted  a  perfume 
that's  part  adventure,  part  mystery, 
with  a  splash  of  laughter  added?  Then 
April  Showers  is  yours  . . .  enchanting 
perfume  for  enchanted  hours! 

Perfume,  $6.50;  3.50;  1.10  plus  tax 


f  1 


outlaws  to  their  camp — and  discovers  that 
Steve  is  one  of  Trampas'  men. 

The  next  morning  he  orders  Steve  and 
two  of  the  others  hanged.  Riding  home, 
reading  the  note  Steve  left  him,  "So  long. 
I  couldn't  have  spoke  to  you  without  play- 
ing the  baby,"  he  is  shot  in  the  back  by 
Trampas,  who  had  escaped  the  man  hunt. 

Molly  is  all  tenderness  as  she  nurses 
the  Virginian  back  to  health,  but  when 
she  discovers  that  it  was  he  who  was 
responsible  for  having  his  best  friend 
"lynched,"  she  is  horrified  and  prepares 
to  return  to  Vermont.  But  on  the  way 
home,  she  realizes  that  she  loves  the  Vir- 
ginian all  the  more  because  of  his  strong 
sense  of  honor  and  returns,  weeping,  to  the 
wounded  man. 

On  his  wedding  day,  the  Virginian  runs 
into  Trampas,  who  snarls,  "Get  out  of  town 
now — yellow  belly."  "Too  bad  you  had  to 
say  that,  Trampas,"  answers  the  bride- 
groom softly.  There  is  a  split  second 
silence,  then  the  two  men  whirl,  and  shoot. 
Trampas  sags  forward  with  a  bullet 
through  his  head,  a  bullet  the  Virginian 
fired  with  Steve's  favorite  gun.  All  wrongs 
righted,  Molly  and  the  Virginian  head  for 
the  open  West. — Para. 

P.  S. 

Written  in  1885  by  Owen  Wister,  the 
American  classic  was  filmed  for  the  first 
time  in  1914  with  Dustin  Farnum  in  the 
title  role.  Again  in  1929,  "The  Virginian" 
was  produced,  by  Paramount  with  Gary 
Cooper  as  the  hero,  and  now  the  same 
studio  has  made  the  well-loved  story  in 
Technicolor.  .  .  .  The  time-proof  qualities 
of  the  tale  were  proven  when  it  was  de- 
cided to  eliminate  the  famous  line,  "When 
you  say  that,  smile,"  and  pressure  from 
fans  restored  it  to  the  script.  .  .  .  Although 
a  great  part  of  the  film  was  to  be  shot 
outdoors,  production  was  deliberately  set 
for  the  winter  months,  when  California 
blooms  its  greenest  under  the  rains.  Four 
weeks  were  spent  on  location  before  the 
production  started  filming  the  cattle  stam- 
pede and  a  few  other  incidents  not  included 
in  the  novel. 

BAD  BASCOMB 

Without  a  doubt,  Wallace  Beery  is  one  of 
the  bravest  men  in  Hollywood  today.  He'd 
have  to  be  to  play  opposite  that  notorious  # 
little  scene  stealer,  Margaret  O'Brien.  And 
he's  such  a  bad  man,  too. 

Zeb  Bascomb  (Wallace  Beery)  and  his 
gang  have  been  terrorizing  the  entire  West 
with  bank  robberies,  cattle  stampedes  and 
murder.  Not  that  Zeb  holds  with  murder 
particularly,  but  his  partner,  Bert  Yancy 
(J.  Carrol  Naish),  figures  that  dead  men 
are  less  apt  to  give  information  on  the 
gang's  activities  to  any  Federal  agents 
lurking  about,  especially  John  Fulton 
(Donald  Curtis),  who's  a  mite  too  per- 
sistent for  comfort.  Jimmy  (Marshall 
Thompson),  is  another  Bascomb  man. 
Jimmy  wants  to  break  away,  but  Zeb  says 
he  promised  Jim's  father,  who  died  a 
glorious  death  in  a  skirmish  with  the  law, 
that  he'd  take  care  of  the  boy,  and  the 
only  way  he  can  do  that  is  to  have  him 
under  his  eye  and  teach  him  the  tricks 
of  the  trade,  isn't  it? 

But  Jimmy  is  wounded  after  they  raid 
the  Timber  „City  Bank  and  the  only  way 
the  gang  can  escape  detection  is  to  join 
up  with  a  band  of  Mormons  on  their  way 
to  Utah  with  a  large  cache  of  gold  for  the 
hospital  they  are  to  build  there.  Zeb  auto- 
matically becomes  "Brother  Ezekial,"  pious 
as  all  get-out  and  humble,  but  when,  in 
accordance  with  Mormon  custom,  he  is 
assigned  to  do  all  the  heavy  work  for  an 
unattached  woman,  Widow  Abbey  Hanks 
(Marjorie  Main),  his  new  meekness  slips 
a  notch.    His  friendship  with  her  grand- 


17 


Your  Hands 


H 


i 

Rough,  raspy  hands  arc  as  outdated 
as  a  1912  grainaphone.  Use  SOFSKIN 
CREME  to  soften  your  skin  and 
smooth  away  roughness.  SOFSKIN 
is  so  good  for  your  hands  many 
beauticians  prefer  it.  Make  it  part  of 
your  daily  grooming  schedule  for 
hands,  wrists,  elbows  and  ankles, 
too.  See  how  thrillingly  soft  and 
white  your  skin  can  be. 


In  the  Black  and  Gold  jars— 
35*  60f   $1.00  sizes* 

*Plus  tax 
Ask  for  the  free  Sofskin 

demonstration  at  your  beauty 
salon  or  cosmetic  counter 

sofskin  cR£nrK 

SOFSKIN  COMPANY       FINDLAY.  OHIO 


daughter,  Emmy  (Margaret  O'Brien), 
however,  helps  ease  the  sting  of  Abbey's 
shrewish  tongue. 

Zeb  and  Yancy  are  busy  planning  on 
how  to  steal  the  hospital  funds  when  Agent 
Fulton  catches  up  with  the  caravan  to  ask 
if  anyone's  seen  Bad  Bascomb.  He's  com- 
pletely put  off  the  scent  by  "Brother 
Ezekial's"  false  information  and  rides 
back. 

The  bandits  are  all  set  to  escape  with 
the  gold  when  little  Emmy,  who  by  now  is 
madly  in  love  with  "Grandma's  fella,"  is 
flung  from  her  wagon  during  a  river 
crossing  and  is  nearly  drowned.  Zeb  res- 
cues her,  and  because  only  his  presence 
can  give  her  the  will  to  fight  off  the 
pneumonia  she's  contracted,  he  decides  to 
postpone  the  theft.  But  Yancy  is  not  so 
easily  put  off.  He  kills  the  leader  of  the 
caravan  and  escapes  with  the  loot.  Zeb 
goes  after  him  and  retrieves  the  money, 
but  when  he  returns,  he  finds  that  Yancy 
has  incited  the  ordinarily  peaceful  Indians 
to  attack  the  Mormon  camp. 

The  leader  of  the  caravan  now  by  com- 
mon consent,  Zeb  feels  it  his  duty  to  break 
through  the  Indian  lines  for  help  even 
though  he  knows  that  when  he  reaches  the 
Fort,  the  Federals  will  be  there.  Just  as  the 
Indians  are  closing  in,  Zeb  returns  with 
a  rescuing  regiment  at  his  heels — and  John 
Fulton  not  far  behind. — M-G-M. 

P.  S. 

Because  the  picture  was  filmed  straight 
through  the  Christmas  holidays,  the  cast 
and  crew  had  to  squeeze  in  their  shopping 
in  off  hours.  Maggie  O'Brien  found  it 
difficult  to  whisk  unnoticed  through  the 
crowds  and  was  often  followed  by  gawking 
admirers.  One  day  as  she  was  buying  a 
gift  for  her  mother,  and  completely  sur- 
rounded by  fans,  she  said  to  her  aunt, 
"Now,  how  do  you  suppose  I  can  keep 
this  present  a  secret  from  mother  when 
all  these  people  know  about  it?"  .  .  . 
Frances  Gifjord  howled  for  quiet  on  the  set 
the  day  she  received  a  telephone  call  from 
her  husband.  He  was  calling  from  Rome, 
Italy.  .  .  .  Driving  home  from  the  studio 
one  day,  Marjorie  Main  had  car  trouble. 
The  wind  blew  up  the  top  of  her  con- 
vertible and  the  only  person  nearby  to 
help  put  it  back  in  place  was  a  woman 
watering  her  lawn.  Marjorie  men- 
tioned her  trouble  in  finding  a  house- 
keeper, whereupon  her  new  friend  offered 
her  services. 

PERILOUS  HOLIDAY 

Before  the  war,  pictures  about  inter- 
national crooks  and  lovely  lady  tourists 
and  Secret  Service  agents  were  always  lo- 
cated on  the  Riviera.  Now  it's  Mexico  City 
which  harbors  these  assorted  characters. 
There,  where  the  sun  is  hot  and  the 
tequila  hotter,  Pat  Nevil  (Pat  O'Brien) 
meets  a  couple  of  gorgeous  babes.  They 
are  Agnes  (Ruth  Warrick)  and  Audrey 
(Audrey  Long)  and  they  represent,  respec- 
tively, duty  and  pleasure.  At  least  that's 
the  way  it  begins.  Pat  picks  Audrey  up  in 
a  bar,  where  he  has  been  assigned  by  the 
U.  S.  Treasury  to  keep  an  eye  on  Agnes.  He 
hasn't  seen  Agnes  when  he  gets  the  as- 
signment and  gloomily  expects  a  large 
bosomed  female  with  three  chins.  When 
Agnes  turns  out  to  be  a  smooth,  chic  young 
woman  who  knows  all  the  answers,  he 
drinks  a  silent  toast  to  his  guardian  angel. 

About  this  time,  Pat's  other  girl  friend, 
Audrey,  rings  in  momma  and  frequent 
mention  of  wedding  bells.  They  can't, 
Audrey  insists,  Go  On  This  Way.  Pat 
agrees  perfectly.  He  thinks  they  can't  go 
on  any  way,  and  had  better  say  goodbye, 
which  is  not  what  Audrey  had  in  mind. 
She  suspects  Agnes  of  having  something 
(Continued  on  page  22) 


INFORMATION  DESK 

(Questions  of  the  Month) 
by  Beverly  Linet 

Hi: 

Right  down  to  busi- 
ness with  an  intro- 
duction to  new- 
comer MARSHALL 
THOMPSON,  who 
enchanted  you  with 
his  performance  as 
Snake  Gardner  in 
"They  Were  Ex- 
pendable," and  Jim- 
my in  "Twice  Bless- 
ed." He  was  born  James  M.  Thomp- 
son in  Peoria,  III.,  on  Nov.  27,  1926.  Is 
6'1",  155  lbs.  has  blond  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  and  is  unmarried.  Next  pix  are 
"Star  From  Heaven"  and  "Bad  Bas- 
comb." Studio:  M-G-M. 


Another  teen-ager 
going  places  is  18- 
year-old  CONRAD 
JANIS,  young  star 
of  "Snafu."  He 
was  born  in  New 
York  City  Feb.  18. 
IsS'lOVz"  ;hasbrown 
eyes  and  hair,  and 
was  recruited  from 
the  stage.  Write  to 
him  at  Columbia 
Has  no  special  gal. 


Pictures. 


FRANK  LATTI- 
MORE  won  your 
hearts  as  Irving  in 
"The  Dolly  Sisters." 
He  is  6'  tall,  170  lbs., 
and  has  brown  hair 
and  blue  eyes.  He 
is  unmarried  and 
is  a  recent  ex-GI. 
Most  recent  pic  is 
"Shock."  His  mail 
goes  to  20th  Cen- 
tury-Fox, Beverly  Hills,  California. 

You  loved  EILEEN  BARTON  when 
she  sang  with  Frankie,  and  now  she's 
on  her  own  program  on  NBC,  Sat. 
mornings.  She  is  19,  5'  2"  tall,  has 
red  hair  and  brown  eyes.  Address  her 
at  NBC,  N.Y.C.  She'll  be  in  pix  soon. 

"Young  Man  With  a  Horn"  is  what 
they  call  LEONARD  SUES,  and  that, 
incidentally,  is  his  next  pix.  He  was 
bom  in  El  Paso,  Texas  and  is  5'  8" 
tall  and  weighs  147  lbs.  Is  currently 
featured  on  the  Eddie  Cantor  show. 
His  other  films  include  "Heat's  On," 
"Strike  Up  The  Band,"  and  "Men  of 
Boystown."  NBC,  Hollywood,  Calif., 
is  the  best  address. 

Don't  forget  now.  If  you  want  to 
see  more  of  these  young  people  in 
MODERN  SCREEN,  vote  for  them 
on  the  Free  Offer  coupon.  For  info, 
direct  your  letters,  and  SELF- 
ADDRESSED,  STAMPED  EN- 
VELOPES, to  Beverly  Linet,  Infor- 
mation Desk,  MODERN  SCREEN, 
149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16, 
N.  Y.  Oh  and  you'll  have  to  forgive 
us  for  that  typographical  error  we 
made  last  month.  Danny  Morton, 
whom  you  know  as  Bugs  Kelly  in 
"Crime,  Inc,"  was  born  in  1918. 
'Fraid  we  advanced  his  age  6  years. 
Sorry. 

Ever  yours — 

Bev. 


presents 


PAULETTE 
GODDARD 


BURGESS 


also  starring 


HURD 


MEREDITH  •  HATFIELD 


FRANCIS 

LEDERER 

with  JUDITH  ANDERSON  •  FLORENCE  BATES 

REGINALD 


IE  RYAN  and 


OWEN 


Produced  by  BENEDICT  BOGEAUS  and  BURGESS  MEREDITH 

Directed  by  JEAN  RENOIR  •  Adapted  from  the  novel  by  Octave  Mirbeau 

Ana  the  play  by  Andre  Heuse,  Andre  De  Lorde  and  Thielly  Nores 
Screenplay  by  Burgess  Meredith  .  RELEASED  THRU  UNITED  ARTISTS 


The  Cafe  Zanzibar's  leopard  spots  captured  musicians  as  well  as  fans 
at  Modern  Screen's  gay  Fan  Club  Association  party.  Leonard  Feather 
shared  coffee  and  cake — and  shop  talk — with  singer  Jack  Smith. 


Leonard  Feather  sips  coffee,  beams  at  his  choices  for  Ail-American 
Band:  Billy  Strdyhorn  behind  the  glasses  and  the  keyboard,  Duke 
Ellington  of  the  casual  collar,  and  trumpet- toting  Louis  Armstrong. 


■  So  suddenly  it's  almost  Spring,  and  you 
feel  like  helping  old  ladies  across  the  street, 
racing  with  the  moon,  and  buying  a  million 
new  records.  Well,  control  yourself.  Com- 
promise. Start  in  more  modestly,  say  with 
the  records  of  the  month.  My  choices  this 
time  are  Duke  Ellington's  "Black,  Brown 
and  Beige"  music  for  the  best  hot  jazz,  and 
Johnny  Mercer's  "Personality"  for  the  best 
popular.  More  about  these  later.  You'll 
notice,  when  you  get  to  your  clip-and-carry- 
to-the-music-store  list  at  the  end  of  the 
article,  that  I've  made  a  slight  change.  The 
third  category  (after  Popular,  and  Hot 
Jazz)  no  longer  consists  of  albums,  but 
rather  of  music  from  the  movies.  I've  listed 
movies  with  good  music  in  them  and,  after 
the  movie  titles,  I've  listed  the  tunes,  num- 
bers, the  artists  and  the  recording  com- 
panies. From  now  on,  when  there's  an 
especially  good  album,  you'll  find  it  either 
in  the  Popular  or  the  Hot  Jazz  column, 
since  after  all,  an  album  has  to  be  one  kind 
of  music  or  the  other — only  a  little  more 
of  it. 

Now  that  I've  run  that  into  the  ground, 
I'd  like  to  take  time  out  to  brag  a  little. 
For,  recently,  I  got  my  dream  band  to- 
gether and  put  on  an  all-star  record  ses- 
sion for  Victor.  A  number  of  the  fellows 
were  winners  of  the  Esquire  1946  poll,  and 
a  lot  of  people  came  down  just  for  kicks, 
and  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  got  Duke  Ellington 
and  Louis  Armstrong  on  the  same  record 
for  the  first  time  in  history.  Other  terrific 
people  involved  were  Red  Norvo,  Johnny 
Hodges,  etc.  They  did  some  of  my  own 
tunes  for  a  Showpiece  Album  (two  twelve- 
inch  records)  and  it'll  be  out  in  April.  I'll 
tell  you  more  about  it  then. 

By  the  way,  I  wish  you'd  all  been  to 
Modern  Screen's  party  at  the  Zanzibar. 
You'd  have  rubbed  noses  with  Jo  Stafford, 
Jimmy  Dorsey,  Harry  Babbitt — loads  of 
musical  celebrities.  It  was  a  lot  of  fun. 
And  now  go  to  {Continued  on  page  90) 


LEONARD  FEATHER 


%  ^as  a  woman  //>e 


'I  was  true  to  one  man  once,  * 
and  look  what  happened..." 


"I  didn't  think  I'd  be  true  to  a 
man  again  as  long  as  I  lived... 


COLUMBIA  PICTURES  presents 


Rita  HAYWORTH 


as 


Glenn  FORD 

GEORGE  MACREADY  •  JOSEPH  CALLEIA 

Screenplay  by  Marion  Parsonnet 
Produced  by  Directed  fay 

VIRGINIA  VAN  UPP  •  CHARLES  VIDOR 


Great  as  is  her  powerful  dramatic  portrayal  — great,  too,  is 
this  dancing  Hayworth-singing  "Put  the  Blame  on  Marne"! 


21 


to  do  with  this,  which  is  perfectly  right. 
Pat  hasn't  figured  Agnes  out.  She's  a 
smart  reporter  who  may  or  may  not  be 
on  the  level,  and  if  she  is,  why  does  the 
Treasury  want  her  watched?  Agnes,  mean- 
while, is  having  her  doubts  as  to  where 
Pat  fits  into  things.  He  says  he's  a  gigolo, 
and  for  all  she  knows,  he  may  not  be 
kidding. 

One  evening  when  they're  doing  the 
town  together,  they  meet  an  old  acquain- 
tance of  Agnes' — Doctor  Lilly  (Alan  Hale). 
The  doctor  is  fat  and  benevolent  looking, 
but  his  benevolence  goes  no  deeper  than 
that  of  a  department  store  Santa  Claus.  He 
has  a  trigger  man  named  Louis  to  dis- 
courage questions  about  his  past.  But  Pat 
asks  some  anyway,  and  from  then  on  he's 
unpopular  with  the  doctor.  The  stabbing 
of  a  taxi  driver,  the  antics  of  an  amiable 
drunk  named  George,  and  little  Audrey 
who  just  laughed  and  laughed,  bring 
things  to  a  climax. — Col. 

P.  S. 

"Perilous  Holiday"  is  based  on  the  serial 
story  of  the  same  name  which  ran  in  a 
national  magazine.  Its  author,  Lt.  Col. 
Robert  Carson,  won  an  Academy  Award 
years  ago  for  his  script,  "A  Star  is  Born." 
.  .  .  Because  the  picture  has  a  Mexican 
locale,  producer  Phil  Ryan  sent  camera 
crews  to  Mexico  to  make  location  footage, 
and  his  art  director  went  along  to  visit 
hotels,  night  clubs  and  scenic  points  which 
were  duplicated  in  the  film.  When  a  mem- 
ber of  Mexico's  Department  of  the  Interior 
visited  the  set,  he  was  so  impressed  by  the 
authenticity  of  the  scene  that  he  invited 
Ryan  to  have  the  world  premiere  of  the 
picture  in  Mexico  City.  .  .  .With  "Perilous 
Holiday,"  Pat  O'Brien  celebrated  his  100th 
motion  picture.  His  camera  debut  was 
made  in  the  famous  film,  "The  Front  Page." 


YOUNG  WIDOW 

"  'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost  than 
never  to  have  loved  at  all."  And  if  you 
think  that's  corny,  you're  probably  right, 
but  it's  also  true.  Ask  anyone  who  has 
ever  been  really  in  love,  and  no  matter 
how  much  heartbreak  may  have  resulted, 
they're  glad  it  happened. 

A  love  that's  lost.  A  husband  killed  in 
action.  A  young  widow  left  to  find  her 
uncertain  way  back  to  happiness.  That's 
the  theme  of  the  picture  that  brings  Jane 
Russell  to  the  screen.  Jane  is  quite  a  girl 
and  you'll  like  the  way  she  handles  the 
part  of  Joan  Kenmore,  whose  husband 
was  shot  down  over  Berlin.  After  his 
death,  Joan  wanders,  lost,  from  one  place 
to  another.  She  no  longer  has  any  interest 
in  her  newspaper  job.  She  hasn't,  in  fact, 
any  interest  in  anything,  and  living  is  just 
a  gesture.  She  comes  back  to  New  York 
finally,  because  that's  where  she  and 
Barry  lived  together.  Every  street  corner 
is  a  reminder  of  him.  Every  bus  is  a  bus 
they  rode  on  together.  A  tune  whistled 
in  the  night  can  tear  her  heart  to  pieces. 

When  a  guy  named  Jim  (Louis  Hay- 
ward)  turns  up,  Joan  is  aloof.  As  far  as 
she's  concerned,  he's  just  another  lieu- 
tenant in  the  Air  Force.  At  first  he's  just 
wolfing.  Later,  when  he  gets  to  know  Joan 
better,  he  falls  really  in  love.  But  Joan  just 
looks  through  him  and  smiles  politely.  Be- 
cause she's  remembering  Barry.  .  .  . 

There  are  a  lot  of  pleasant  people  in 
"Young  Widow."  And  a  lot  of  amusing 
dialogue.  But  the  basic  situation  is  whether 
Jim  can  make  Joan  forget  Barry.  I  think 
the  ending  may  surprise  you.— U.A. 

P.  S. 

In  view  of  Jane  Russell's  reputation  as  a 
pin-up  girl  and  the  star  of  the  unseen 
"The  Outlaw,"  audiences  will  be  surprised 


at  her  acting  ability.  It  should  be  no  sur- 
prise, as  Jane  is  the  daughter  of  a  Broad- 
way actress,  studied  dramatics  before  she 
made  "The  Outlaw,"  and  put  in  four  years 
between  pictures  with  Florence  Enright 
noted  dramatic  coach.  The  role  is  highly 
dramatic,  and  relies  mostly  on  acting  and 
not  on  anatomy.  .  .  .  Four  years  to  the  day 
after  she  filmed  her  last  shot  for  the  un- 
released  "The  Outlaw,"  Jane  made  her 
first  scene  for  her  second  picture,  "Young 
Widow." 

MURDER  ns  THE  MUSIC 
HALE 

Here's  murder  to  music.  Here's  ballet 
on  skates.  Here,  in  fact,  is  a  chiller- diller 
with  the  chill  coming  from  ice  as  well  as 
fright.  It  is  garnished  by  such  pretties  as 
Vera  Hruba  Ralston,  Helen  Walker,  Nancy 
Kelly  and  Ann  Rutherford.  Not  so  pretty 
but  just  as  effective,  are  William  Marshall 
and  Bill  Gargan. 

There  is,  it  seems,  an  ice  revue  playing 
at  the  Music  Hall.  Its  star,  Lila  (Vera 
Hruba  Ralston),  gets  a  note  during  the 
performance  which  sends  her,  terrified  but 
curious,  to  the  penthouse  on  top  of  the 
building.  There  she  finds  Carl  (Edward 
Norris)  who  has  been  in  jail  for  five  years. 
He  accuses  her  of  having  had  a  part  in 
the  murder  which  landed  him  there.  Half 
an  hour  later,  the  police  find  Carl  dead. 
Lila  knows  she  didn't  kill  him  but  how  can 
she  prove  it?  Several  of  the  girls  in  the 
show  know  that  she  went  to  meet  Carl. 
They  all  knew  him  before  he  went  to  jail. 
Gracie  (Ann  Rutherford),  the  talkative 
understudy  will  probably  blurt  something 
out,  even  if  Millicent  and  Diane  keep  quiet. 
Don  (William  Marshall),  Lila's  best  beau, 
thinks  the  thing  to  do  is  for  them  to  find 
out  who  did  the  murder  and  then  confront 
the  police  with  their  evidence. 


i  h e  fypA  he  ch 


e  cnooses  are 


And  you,  too,  can  have  thrilling  warm 
lips  radiantly  alive  with  Irresistible  — the 
lipstick  that  brings  glorious  color  to  your 
lips  and  breathtaking  moments  to  your 
heart.  WHIP-TEXT  to  stay  on  longer  yet 
be  smooth-spreading,  non-drying.  Your 
most  becoming  shade  with  matching 
rouge  and  face  powder  available  at  all 
5  &  10«  stores. 

Add  a  touch  of  Irresistible  Perfume 


22 


The  trouble  is  the  evidence  seems  to  lead 
in  so  many  different  directions.  A  note  by 
the  body  leads  to  Rita  Morgan  (Nancy 
Kelly) ,  wife  of-  a  Broadway  columnist.  She 
is  identified  as  a  girl  from  Carl's  past,  and 
jher  husband  is  found  to  have  known  Carl 
Iwas  blackmailing  her.  Then  there  is  the 
blind  man  who  was  seen  going  toward 
Carl's  apartment.  And  the  girl  whose 
identity  no  one  is  sure  of. 

The  police,  meanwhile,  are  not  just  sit- 
ting around  reading  The  Police  Gazette,  or 
whatever  policemen  read.  They,  too,  have 
found  evidence  that  leads  in  many  direc- 
tions, and  one  is  toward  Lila.  But  in  the 
end  the  clue  that  points  out  the  murderer 
is  a  song,  played  by  a  dead  man. — Rep. 

P.  S. 

Vera  Hruba  Ralston  did  her  ice  skating 
scenes  during  Hollywood's  warmest  spell  in 
years.  After  changing  from  light  cottons  to 
her  ice  skating  costume,  she  huddled  in  a 
fur  coat  between  scenes.  The  temperature 
on  the  set  was  30  degrees.  .  .  .  Bill  Mar- 
shall was  signed  to  a  contract  after  his 
tests  had  been  run  for  hundreds  of  studio 
stenographers  and  secretaries.  They  sighed 
and  swooned  sufficiently  to  put  the  brass 
hats  in  a  dotted-line  mood.  .  .  .  The 
feminine  quintet  featured  in  the  film  run 
the  gamut  of  hair.  Vera  Hruba  Ralston 
is  a  golden  blonde,  Helen  Walker  an  ash 
blonde,  Nancy  Kelly  has  dark  auburn  hair, 
Julie  Bishop  is  a  flaming  redhead  and 
Ann  Rutherford  contributes  blue-black 
tresses.  .  .  .  All  owners  of  16  mm.  pro- 
jectors, the  girls  discovered  they  were  all 
having  the  same  trouble  getting  16  mm. 
film  to  run.  They  decided  to  form  a  film 
pool,  and  whenever  one  girl  gets  a  print, 
she  shares  it  with  the  others.  .  .  .  Bill 
Marshall  shaved  every  morning  in  com- 
pany with  his  small  son,  Michael.  Mike  had 
just  started  to  walk,  was  so  fascinated  by 
the  shaving  procedure  that  he  insisted 
on  having  his  own  face  lathered  while  pop 
made  with  the  razor  on  his  own  beard. 

DEVOTION 

This  is  the  story  of  the  Bronte  sisters, 
Charlotte,  Emily  and  Anne.  And  of  their 
brother,  Bramwell,  who  has  such  an  ex- 
traordinary influence  on  their  lives. 

Back  of  the  Haworth  vicarage  stretch  the 
Yorkshire  moors,  wild  and  lonely  and  ter- 
rifying "Wuthering  Heights."  They  don't 
terrify  Emily  Bronte  (Ida  Lupino),  who 
somehow  feels  that  they  are  a  part  of  the 
dream  world  she  lives  in.  She  doesn't  mind 
having  people  laugh  at  her,  she's  used  to 
that.  But  she  couldn't  bear  it  if  they  laughed 
at  "Wuthering  Heights."  So  it  is  especially 
strange  that  she  takes  the  new  curate,  Mr. 
Nicholls  (Paul  Henreid) ,  with  her. 

Charlotte  and  Anne  and  Bramwell  are 
all  away  when  Emily  becomes  friendly 
with  Mr.  Nicholls.  For  weeks  they  roam 
the  moors  together.  Then  Charlotte 
(Olivia  De  Havilland)  comes  back,  and 
with  one  glance  takes  Nicholls  away 
from  Emily.  She  doesn't  even  try  to  do  it, 
for  at  this  point  she  is  not  impressed  with 
the  curate.  She  is  too  worried  about  Bram- 
well (Arthur  Kennedy),  who  drinks  too 
much,  to  be  impressed  with  anyone. 

Charlotte  and  Emily  go  off  to  Brussels  to 
school,  where  Charlotte  has  a  brief,  ambig- 
uous affair  with  a  school  master.  When 
they  come  back  they  find  Bramwell  dying. 
He  reads  Emily's  secret  love  for  Nicholls 
in  her  faee,  and  reads,  too,  the  signs  of 
the  malady  which  is  to  end  her  life.  Char- 
lotte and  Emily  publish  books  at  the  same 
time.  Charlotte's  "Jane  Eyre"  meets  with 
Tremendous  public  acclaim.  "Wuthering 
Heights"  is  popular  only  with  the  critics. 
But  in  them  both  is  the  strange,  inex- 
plicable charm  of  the  Bronte  sisters. — War. 


YOU  CAN  TAKE  your  hips  right  off  your 
mind,  Angel.  For  no  one  finds  fault 
with  your  figure! 

But  you'd  be  smart  to  exercise  a  little 
more  care  about  personal  charm.  Being 
streamlined,  you  know,  won't  protect  you 
against  underarm  odor.  Or  lessen  the  offense 
when  others  find  you  guilty. 

So  keep  right  on  trusting  your  bath— 
for  past  perspiration.  But  put  your  trust  in 


dependable  Mum  to  prevent  risk  of  future 
underarm  odor. 

Creamy,  snowy-white  Mum  smooths  on 
in  30  seconds.  Keeps  you  fresh  and  free 
from  underarm  odor  all  day  or  evening. 
Helps  you  stay  nice  to  be  near. 

Mum  is  gende— is  harmless  to  skin  and 
fabrics.  Won't  dry  out  in  the  jar  or  form  ir- 
ritating crystals.  So  why  take  chances  with 
your  charm  when  you  can  be  sure  with 
Mum?  Ask  for  a  jar  of  it  today. 

For  Sanitary  Napkins — Mum  is  gentle,  safe, 
dependable . . .  ideal  for  this  use,  too. 


COUPON 


CHECK  THE  BOXES  OPPOSITE  THE  CHARTS  YOU'D  LIKE 


jVem  CHART  THIS  MONTH 

YOU  CAN  BE  CHARMING! — Says  Jean  Kinkead 
— Charm  is  the  way  you  look,  walk,  talk,  think, 
dress,  act,  behave  toward  others.  It's  the 
difference  between  being  the  belle-of-the-ball 
and  Alice  Sit-By-The-Fire.  Anyone  can  have  it 
for  a  small  investment  of  patience,  time  'and 
effort.  This  chart  explains  how  YOU  can  have 
it.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope  □ 


FOR  FANS 

SUPER  STAR  INFORMATION  CHART  (10c)  -Com- 
pletely revised  to  include  all  the  latest  data  on 
the  lives,  loves,  hobbies,  new  pix,  little  known 
facts  about  the  stars.  Send  10c  and  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope  O 

MUSIC- MAKERS — 1 945- '46 — by  Harry  James  (5c) 

— Be  in  the  know!  The  Trumpet  King  tells  ALL 
in  this  15-page  super  guide  to  the  lives,  loves, 
records,  movies,  radio  shows  of  your  favorite 
recording  stars.  Send  5c  and  a  LARGE, 
stamped   (3c),  self-addressed  envelope  O 

HOW  TO  JOIN  A  FAN  CLUB  —  B  r  a  n  d  -n  e  w  ,  re- 
edited  chart,  listing  over  100  of  the  best  clubs 
for  all  your  favorites — Frank  Sinatra,  June  Ally- 
son,  Peter  Lawford,  Alan  Ladd,  etc.  Learn  about 
the  MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIA- 
TION. Also,  how  to  write  good  fan  letters. 
FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope   □ 

INFORMATION  DESK —Answers  to  every  question 
that  ever  pops  into  your  mind  about  Hollywood, 
the  stars  and  their  movies.  If  you're  hankering 
to  know  about  casting,  musical  scores,  or  who 
socked  the  heroine  with  a  tomato  in  the  film 
you  saw  last  night,  see  box  on  page  18  for 
details.    THIS  IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  ROMANCE 

y  HOW  TO  BE  POPULAR  WITH  BOYS— by  Jean 
Kinkead — Be  dated,  re-dated,  but  never  superan- 
nuated! The  secret  of  making  the  right  kind 
of  impression  on  the  nice  boys  you  know.  Hold- 
your-man  tactics  that  WORK!  FREE,  send  a 
LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope, 
or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


/  BE  A  BETTER  DANCER!— By  Arthur  Murray- 
Easy  to  follow  directions  on  all  the  turns  and 
tricks  that  will  make  you  a  honey  on  the  dance 
floor.  Plus  dance  floor  etiquette — what  to  wear, 
how  to  be  popular  with  the  stags.  FREE,  send 
a  LARGE,  siamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envel- 
ope, or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer...  □ 


\/  PLEASE  BEHAVE!  Easy  etiquette  for  sailing 
through  any  social  situation  without  awkward, 
embarrassing  moments.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


CO-ED  PERSONAL  ADVICE— Want  to  know  how 
to  get  him  to  ask  for  a  date,  or  when  it's  cagey 
to  be  "hard  to  get?"  Write  to  Jean  Kinkead, 
c/o  MODERN  SCREEN.  She'll  answer  all  your 
vital  heart-problems  in  a  personal  letter.  THIS 
IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  GLAMOR 

\/  SKIN  CARE  FOR  TEENS— Teen  beauty  de- 
pends on  care,  diet,  grooming.  Here's  a  chart 
that  tells  you  all  about  skin  care,  facials,  PROB- 
LEM skin.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c), 
self-addressed  envelope,  or  see  THREE-IN-ONE 
offer   □ 


t^HAIR  DO'S  AND  DON'TS  FOR  TEEN-AGERS — 

This  is  the  last  word  on  hair  glamor!  It's  got 
everything — hair-grooming  directions,  charts  for 
facial  types,  new  hair  style  ideas!  FREE,  send 
a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  en- 
velope, or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.  .  □ 


^  DATE  DRESS  DATA  FOR  TALL.  SHORT,  STOUT 
AND  THIN  GIRLS — New-as-tomorrow  ideas  about 
dressina  for  dates.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 

^  SPORTSWEAR  FOR  TALL.  SHORT,  STOUT  AND 
THIN  GIRLS — Now  that  sport  clothes  are  worn 
from  sun-up  to  dancing-in-the-dark,  here's  how 
to  look  your  best  in  them.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


<S  ACCESSORIES  FOR  TALL.  SHORT.  STOUT  AND 
THIN  GIRLS — It's  accessories  that  make  your 
outfit!  How  to  glamor-up  your  clothes  with 
those  little  touches  that  mean  everything!  FREE, 
send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed 
envelope,  or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


FOR  HOME  SWEET  HOME 

DESSERTS  FRANKIE  LOVES— by  Nancy  Sin- 
atra— Here  are  recipes  for  making  Frankie's 
Favorite  Lemon  Pie,  Apples  Delicious,  Sigh-Guy 
Gingerbread,  and  many  more  that  are  high  on 
the  Sinatra  Dessert  Parade.  FREE,  send  a 
LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope, 
or  see  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


MAKE  YOUR  HOME  MORE  ATTRACTIVE— Tired  of 
looking  at  the  same  old  four  walls,  year-in,  year- 
out?  A  paint  brush,  some  old  orange  crates,  a 
saw,  and  a  little  imagination  will  transform 
your  home  into  a  thing  of  beauty  at  penny-cost. 
FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope  □ 


FOR  CAREER 

HOW  TO  PICK  THE  RIGHT  JOB — Career  ChaM 
No.  I — Select  the  job  that's  right  for  you — 
on  the  basis  of  your  hobbies,  natural  abilities, 
personal  desires.  Private  secretary,  model 
nurse,  interior  decorator,  statistician — whatever 
your  choice — here's  how  to  decide  whethe 
you'd  fit  in.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped 
(3c),  self-addressd  envelope  (See  Career  Char 
No.  2)  □ 


JOBS  AND  HOW  TO  GET  THEM— Career  ChaH 
No.  2 — Once  you  decide  which  job  is  for  you 
you'll  want  to  know  how  to  go  about  getting  it. 
Here's  the  straight  low-down  on  scores  of* 
career  jobs — how  to  be  interviewed,  salaries 
to  be  expected,  even  your  chances  of  marrying 
the  boss.  The  same  envelope  that  brings  youi 
Career  Chart  No.  I  will  take  care  of  this  one 
too,  if  you  check  here  □ 


CRYSTAL  BALL  DEPT. 

HANDWRITING  ANALYSIS  (10e)— Send  in  a  sam 
pie  of  your,  or  your  Gl's  handwriting  in  ink 
(about  25  words),  and  Shirley  Spencer  wil 
analyze  it  for  you  and  tell  you  how  he  really 
feels.  Send  10c  for  each  analysis,  and  enclose 
a  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope.  Fo- 
Handwriting  Analysis  only,  ADDRESS  YOUR 
ENVELOPE  TO:  MISS  SHIRLEY  SPENCER,  c/c 
MODERN  SCREEN   ';   □ 


YOUR     INDIVIDUALLY    COMPILED  HOROSCOPI 

(10c)   Fill  in  your  birthdate:  Year  

Month   Date   Time  


Street 


City 


.  Zor 


.State. 


Send  10c  to  149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y 
No  self-oddressed  envelope  required. 

£P/iect'a/  THREE-IN-ONE  OFFEF 

Save  postage  by  taking  advantage  of  ou 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.  Send  us  ONE 
LARGE,  self-addressed  envelope  with  6c  post 
age  on  it  for  ANY  THREE  of  the  checked  \^/\ 
charts  on  this  page.  Send  TWO  large  envei 
opes  (6c  in  stamps  on  each)  for  any  six  of  tht 
checked  charts,  and  THREE  large  enve 

lopes  (6c  postage  each)  for  the  entire  serie 
of  nine. 


24  Write  to:  Service  Dept.,  Modern  Screen,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  Don't  forget  your  zone  number 


-with"  ake-up" 
forifour  hair 


Three  Minutes  to  Glamour  .  .  .  that's  all 

the  time  it  takes  to  give  your  hair  gleaming 
highlights  and  a  flattering  effect  that  comple- 
ments your  own  coloring.  For  with  modern  hair 
"make-up",  that  most  subtle  of  beauty  aids, 
it's  so  easy  to  achieve  real  loveliness  with  a 
completely  natural  look! 

After  Your  Next  Shampoo,  just  do  this, 

dissolve  a  package  of  Marchand's  JHake-lip 
Hair  Rinse  in  warm  water  and  brush  or  pour  it 
through  your  hair.  Almost  instantly,  all  trace  of 
soap  film  vanishes!  Your  hair  gleams  with  danc- 
ing highlights  and  new  color. 

The  12  Smart  Shades  of  Marchand's  Rinse 
offer  you  a  variety  of  interesting  color  effects, 
no  matter  what  shade  your  hair  may  be.  You 
can  highlight  your  natural  hair  shade  .  .  . 
accentuate  its  color  .  .  .  blend  little  gray  streaks 
...  or  even  tone-down  the  harsh-looking  effects 
that  may  follow  over-dyeing  or  over-bleaching! 

Absolutely  Harmless,  Too  .  .  .  that's 

Marchand's  wonderful  j\iake-Tlp  Hair  Rinse. 
.  Not  a  bleach — not  a  permanent  dye — it's  as 
safe  to  use  as  lemon  or  vinegar  and  does  so 
much  more  for  your  hair. 


How  do  you  rate 
as  a  date?    Here's  your 
chance  to  be  a  quiz  kid, 
with  questions  and  answers 
to  give  you  the  low- 
down  on  that  fascinating 
person:  YOU! 


—  - —  RINSES- IO« 

Made  by  the  Makers  of  Marchand'*  Golden  Hair  Wash 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 


The  boy  I  go  steady  with  will  be  eighteen 
next  month.  Mother  says  I  shouldn't  give 
him  a  present,  as  he's  never  given  me  one. 
What  is  your  opinion  and  can  you  give  me 
any  suggestions?  H.  A.,  Brooklyn,  New 
York. 

We  think  it's  kind  of  nice  to  remem- 
ber birthdays,  as  long  as  the  gift  isn't 
embarrassingly  elaborate  or  in  poor 
taste.  Hozc  about  flattering  him  to  death 
with  his  first  pipe?  Or  one  of  those 
elegant  jazs  year  books,  for  just  a  buck; 
or  maybe  a  subscription  to  his  pet  maga- 
zine. Steer  clear  of  too  personal  gifts, 
and  don't  spend  more  than  a  dollar  or 
two  and  we  think  you'll  please  everyone, 
including  your  mom. 

My  guy  is  a  returned  veteran.  He  is 
nineteen  and  had  one  year  of  high  school 
to  go  when  he  enlisted.  He  is  anxious  to 
go  back  and  graduate,  but  I — having  wait- 
ed two  long  years  for  him — want  to  get 
married.  Don't  you  think  I'm  right?  J.  J., 
Elmira,  N.  Y.      (Continued  on  page  92) 


■  Everything  in  the  world  is  going  to 
start  growing  again  any  week  now. 
Everything  from  those  crocuses  in  your 
back  yard  to  that  tree  over  in  Brook- 
lyn. And  we've  been  wondering  where 
you  stand  in  the  deal.  If  you've  been 
taking  your  cod  liver  oil  and  stuff,  you've 
probably  got  all  the  inches  you  need, 
but  are  you  grov/ing  up  inside  where  it 
really  counts?  How  about  your  ideas, 
your  approach  to  things  like  your  fam- 
ily and  men,  your  capacity  for  taking 
responsibility?  Can  you  stand  up  to 
a  pretty  big  disappointment,  grin  when 
'he  joke's  on  you?  Or  are  you  the  gal 
with  the  quivery  chin,  the  one  who's 
just  too  young?  Give  yourself  this  quiz 
to  find  out  exoctly  how  grown-up  you 
are — and  no  cheating  now!  If  it  turns 
out  that  you're  a  bit  of  a  bay-bee,  then 
get  in  the  swing  with  Spring,  and  start 
growing  up! 

1.  Your  big  brother  imports  a  smooth 
older  guy  for  the  weekend,  asks  you  to 
dig  up  a  4.0  senior  for  him.  You'll  do 
yourself  the  most  good  if  you  (a)  in- 
vite some  drip  who'll  make  you  look 
terrific  by  comparison,  (b)  pretend  you 
can't  get  anyone  so  that  he'll  have  to 
ask  you,  (c)  line  up  some  super  dream 
dust. 

2.  A  strictly  hubba-hubba  lad  osks 
you  for  a  date.  He's  a  wonderful  guy. 
but  notoriously  jet-propelled  when  it 
comes  to  woo.  To  guarantee  a  return 
engagement,  you  should  (a)  pitch  it 
hard  with  him  in  your  nice  dork  living- 
room,  (b)  keep  his  mind  off  the  subject 
via  stimulating  chit  chat  all  evening 
and  a  good  night  hamburger  come 
eleven,  (c)  slap  his  face  at  the  very 
first  pass. 

3.  You've  never  had  a  date  and  are  < 
petrified  of  men.  The  best  way  to  cope 
with  man-shyness  is  to  (a)  steer  clear 
of  them  for  another  little  while  and 
pray  that  it  wears  off,  (b)  take  your 
courage  in  your  two  hot  hands  and 
make  a  desperate  play  for  almost  any- 
body you  can  get  to  look  at  you,  (c) 
practise    (Continued   on    page  102) 


JEAN 
KINKEAD 


SIMPLE  7%/CKS  /A// 


"Step  right  up.  Ladies  .  .  . 

Just  the  small  part  of  a  dollar  brings 
you  this  magic  ingredient  —  Karo 
Syrup.  Then,  from  one  simple  recipe, 
learn  the  trick  of  making  3  luscious 
desserts. 

No  fuss,  no  bother!  This  is  magic, 
remember  — you  can't  possibly  miss. 

Amaze  your  family  .  .  .  mystify  one 
and  all!  The  3  smooth  little  tricks 
below  will  make  you  a  dessert  wizard 
...  in  no  time!" 

the  KARO 


2 1  cup  Karo  Syrup, 

Blue  Label 
3  egg  yolks 
'j  teaspoon  vanilla 
1  teaspoon  almond 
extract 


1  tablespoon  gelatin 

2  tablespoons  v/ater 

3  egg  whites 

'  s  teaspoon  salt 
'  2  cup  chopped 
almonds 


1  cup  heavy  cream  or  evaporated  milk,  whipped 

Heat  Karo  to  boiling.  Beat  egg  yolks  with 
rotary  beater  in  top  of  double  boiler;  add 
Karo  slowly,  beating  constantly.  Place  over 
boiling  water  and  cook  about  5  minutes, 
beating  constantly  until  mixture  slightly 
thickens.  Remove  from  heat;  add  flavoring. 
Add  gelatin,  softened  in  water  about  5 
minutes.  Stir  until  dissolved.  Beat  egg  whites 
witfi  satt  until  mixture  stands  in  peaks. 
Fold  in  Karo  mixture.  Chill.  When  slightly 
thickened,  fold  in  whipped  cream  and  nuts. 
Pour  into  9-inch  crumb  pie  shell.  Chill. 


CRUMB  PIE  SHELL 

Roll  30  vanilla  wafers  with 
rolling  pin  to  make  crumbs 
(1  cup).  Add  3  tablespoons 
softened  butter  or  mar- 
garine to  crumbs;  blend 
thoroughly.  Spread  this 
mixture  evenly  in  9- 
inch  pie  pan,  covering 
bottom  and  sides;  pat 
down  firmly  with  finger 
tips.  Cut  10  vanilla  wafers 
in  half  and  place,  cut  side 
down,  around  pie  plate  to 
form   a   scailoped  edge. 


MARASCHINO 
BAVARIAN 

Prepare  as  for  Almond 
Bavarian  Pie  Filling,  omit- 
ting almond  extract  and 
chopped  almonds.  Fold  in 
'/z  cup  chopped,  drained, 
maraschino  cherries  with 
whipped  cream,  and  in- 
crease vanilla  to  1  tea- 
spoon. Chill.  When  slightly 
thickened,  pile  lightly  into 
sherbet  glasses.  Chill. 
Makes  8  servings. 


FROZEN  ALMOND 
BAVARIAN 

Prepare  as  for  Almond 
Bavarian  Pie  Filling,  omit- 
ting the  gelatin  and  water. 
After  folding  in  the  chop- 
ped nuts  and  whipped 
cream,  pour  into  refriger- 
ator freezing  tray.  Set  cold 
control  for  fast  freezing 
and  freeze  until  firm, 
about  1  hour.  Set  control 
back  to  normal  until  ready 
to  serve.  Makes  8  servings. 


gCornProductsSalrtCo. 


A  skin  that's  lovelier,  softer,  breathtakingly 
smoother— it's  yours  with  your  very  first  cake  of 
Camay!  So  renounce  all  careless  cleansing— go  on 
the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet.  Doctors  tested  Camay 
daring  beauty  promise  on  scores  of  complexions. 
And  these  doctors  reported  that  woman 
after  woman— using  just  one  cake  of  Camay- 
gained  a  fresher,  clearer-looking  complexion. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  KEITHS 


MRS.  ALAN  FRANCIS  KEITH 
— the  former  Jean  Luke  of  Cleveland,  Ohio 
^  ^     ^     Bridal  portrait  painted  by J^jL*y°*^ 

.*  ;  ) 


Honeymooning  at  Niagara— and  the  Maid  of  the 
Mist  never  sailed  with  a  lovelier  bride.  "I'm 
going  to  help  my  skin  stay  smooth  and  radiant," 
says  Jean.  "I'll  stick  with  the  Camay  Mild-Soap 
Diet."  For  a  fresher  bloom  in  your  skin  get 
Camay— so  mild  it  cleanses  without  irritation. 
Follow  instructions  on  your  Camay  wrapper. 


Rhythm  and  Romance  for  Jean  and  Alan- 
as  they  traced  the  exotic  pattern  of  the 
rhumba.  Between  dances,  Alan  couldn't 
keep  his  eyes  off  Jean's  complexion— so 
smooth  "and  most  divinely  fair."  She 
credits  its  softer  texture  to  the  Camay 
Mild-Soap  Diet— says,  "The  very  first 
cake  of  Camay  helped  awaken  the 
sleeping  beauty  of  my  skin." 


Please  use  every  bit  of  Camay— precious 

materials  still  go  into  making  soap., 


■  First  it  was  Parsons.  Then  Hopper.  This  issue,  famous 
Broadwav  columnist  Ed  Sullivan  writes  his  first  radio 
column  for  us  ipage  56 ) .  All  we  need  now  is  Winchell, 
and  we'd  have  so  much  Iowdown,  you  readers  wouldn  t 
he  able  to  stand  up  straight! 

What  I  like  best  about  Ed  is  his  dog.  It's  a  jet  black 
toy  poodle,  bigger  than  Mickey  Mouse  and  smaller  than 
Nibbles,  Elizabeth  Taylor's  pet  chipmunk.  Boj  angles  is 
the  name,  and  a  fiercer,  more  intrepid  hound  you've  never 
seen.  As  you  come  through  the  door,  he  growls  deep 
down  in  his  chest  and  stalks  you  implacably  with  blood 
in  his  eye.  If  you  axe  brave  like  me,  you  ignore  him  and 
sit  down.  Next  thing  you  know,  if  he  finally  decides  he 
likes  your  smell  1 1  must  smell  like  a  stewed  rabbit  l .  he's 
m  your  lap  licking  your  face  to  the  bone. 

Ed  is  friendly,  too.  But  busy.  Poor  fellow  spends  half 
his  life  in  a  bathrobe  pounding  a  typewriter  and  the  other 
half  in  a  stiff  shirt  chatting  with  a  microphone.  Without 
a  doubt  he's  the  most  sought  after  master  of  ceremonies 
in  the  country.  When  he  isn't  m.  c'ing  some  big  event 
like  the  Harvest  Moon  Ball  or  the  MODERN  SCREEN 
Fan  Club  Part)"  |  watch  for  it  in  our  next  issue  I ,  he's 
guest-starring  on  some  friend's  radio  program.  People 
say  he  sleeps  once  in  awhile,  but  people  can't  prove  it! 

Before  I  blow  you  all  a  kiss  and  say  goodbve  for 
another  month,  I  think  you  should  know  that  Ed  is  going 
on  the  air  for  MODERN  SCREEN  over  the  American 
Broadcasting  Company  network.  March  16,  2  p.  m.,  EST. 
He'll  be  presenting  our  first  radio  award  of  the  month 
to  Edward  Johnson  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera.  Listen 
in.  It'll  be  your  way  of  meeting  Ed.  And  you  wouldn't 
want  to  meet  a  nicer  guy! 

Deep  conclave  between  Ed  Sul- 
iivon  ond  Nat  Rerff,  who,  with  Shirley  Frohlich,  helped 
Ed  m.c.  our  Fan  Club  Assn.  party.  Read 
all  obout  it  in  our  next  Issue! 


29 


dream  boss... 


SO  YOU'RE  A  SEC- 


RETARY? AND 


YOU  DREAM  OF  TAKING  DICTA 


TION  FROM — OH,  SAY 


ALAN  LADD? 


WELL,  THESE  GIRLS  DO ! 


By  Jack  Wade 


t  was  the  nurse's  day  off,  Sue  was  sick  in  bed,  and  both 
secretaries  were  busy.  So  Alan  pitched  in,  spent  entire 
caring  for  Alana,  groaned,  "Woman's  work  is  never  done!'' 


2.  Alana  had  been  kept  away  from  Sue  for  fear  of  catching  the  flu  also,  so 
it  was  quite  an  occasion  when  the  baby  was  finally  allowed  to  see  her  con- 
valescing mother.    To  celebrate,  she  scooted  outside,  picked  a  bouquet! 


■  One  night  last  summer  a  pretty  girl  named  Betty 
Jordan  sat  at  a  ringside  table  at  Ciro's  in  Hollywood 
and  happily  pinched  herself  to  make  sure  she  wasn't 
deep  in  a  dream. 

That  afternoon  her  boss  had  strolled  into  the  room 
where  she  was  working  on  his  business  affairs  and 
casually  inquired,  "What  are  you  doing  tonight,  Betty?" 

"Why,  I  haven't  any  plans,"  she'd  answered. 

"Then  how  about  going  out  .to  dinner  with  Sue  and 
me?" 

Betty  wondered,  after  he  left,  if  the  boss  knew  it 
was  her  birt.hday,  and  if  so,  how  he  could  guess  that 
this  year  she  was  particularly  lonely.  Her  Marine 
flyer  husband  wouldn't  be  coming  back,  although 
the  war  was  over,  because  he  had  gone  down  fighting 
in  the  Pacific.  She  doubted  if  the  boss  could  know 
all  these  things,  because  she'd  only  worked  there  a 
month.  But  she  knew  she  was  wrong,  the  minute  the 
headwaiter  at  Ciro's  poured  champagne,  and  Carmen 
Cavallero  himself,  her  very  favorite  pianist,  played 
"Happy  Birthday"  especially  for  her. 

That's  when  Betty  dabbed  at  her  eyes  and  pinched 


31 


dream 
boss... 


3.  After  Sue  went  to  sleep.  Alan  took  time  out,  but  Alana  landed  on  his 
lap:  "Read  to  me,  daddy!"  Baby  had  exciting  Xmas.  She's  three  now, 
very  observant,  ond  couldn't  wait  while  Alan  unwrapped  her  many  gifts. 


4.  A  goodnight  kiss  from  Alana  to  her  doll,  and  a  deep  sigh  from  Alan 
no  one  in  particular.    He  still  has  to  undress,  bathe,  and  put  to  bed  r 
real  doll.    Making  movies  (like  "Blue  Dahlia")  is  easier,  he  decid; 


5.  Alano  loves  her  both,  especially  when  it's  a  bubble  bath,  with  daddy  to 
fluff  up  the  suds.  Lucky  girl:  Her  father's  bought  20  newsreels  and  is 
assembling  a  movie  history  of  World  War  II  for  his  daughter's  education. 


will  live  on  new  2S-acre  ranch,  complete  with  swimming  pool  and  a  barn. 


her  arm — to  find  herself,  a  small  town  girl 
from  Pennsylvania,  the  honor  guest  at  a 
Ciro's  party,  sitting  with  Alan  and  Sue  Ladd, 
meeting  all  their  famous  friends.  That's 
when,  too,  Betty  decided  being  Alan  Ladd's 
private  secretary  was  going  to  he  a  swell  job. 

She's  been  there  almost  a  year  now  and 
Betty  Jordan  has  never  had  occasion  since  to 
change  that  opinion.  Nor  has  Diane  Craigle, 
with  three  years'  service  stripes  at  the 
Ladds'.  Together,  that  pair  teams  up  to  solve 
the  peck  of  problems,  private  and  professional, 
that  swarm  around  a  successful  Hollywood 
star  like  bees  around  honey.  They  say  no 
man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet,  but  that  certainly 
doesn't  work  with  secretaries — at  least  not 
with  Alan  Ladd's  secretaries.  They  think  he's 
wonderful — and  that  goes  for  Sue  and  Baby 
Alana  and  the  whole  household. 

They  wouldn't  trade  jobs  with  anybody  in 
Hollywood.  Alan  and  Sue  have  the  happy 
habit  of  taking  everyone  who  works  for  them 
right  into  the  family,  for  one  thing,  and 
luckily  it's  a  family  that  is  not  bothered  with 
boredom. 

"The  wonderful  thing  about  working  for 
the  Ladds,"  Diane  and  Betty  chorus,  "is  that 
you  never  can  tell  what  comes  next.  Anything 
can  happen — and  it  usually  does!" 

Alan  wants  Sue  with  him  constantly,  so  very 
often  she  is  unable  to  take  care  of  things  as 
she  would  like  to,  so  the  details  fall  on  Diane 
and  Betty.  Life  is  not  just  a  basket  of  bills 
paid,  letters  typed,  memos  noted  and  con- 
tracts filed  for  Betty  and  Diane.  Officially, 
they  work  in  the  big  playroom  back  of  Alan 
and  Sue's  Los  Feliz  home,  but  they're  both 
around  and  all  over  the  main  house  all  the 
day  and  sometimes  nights,  too,  when  a  Sue- 
and-Alan  expedition  gets  going.  And  try  and 
get  those  girls  to  go  home  at  the  end  of  a 
working  day  once  they've  mixed  up  in  a 
Ladd  family  project!  Like  the  time  Alan  and 
Sue  set  out  for  their  Northern  motor  tour 
last  fall. 

That  night  Betty  had  promised  her  room- 
mate at  the  Studio  Club,  where  she  lives,  to 
come  home  early  and  go  out  to  dinner  and  a 
show.  At  quitting  time  she  phoned  to  say 
she'd  be  a  little  late.  At  six  o'clock  she  said 
she  hoped  to  get  away  soon.  At  seven,  Betty 
called  up  and  faced  the  awful  truth;  she'd 
have  to  call  it  off;  there  was  too  much  hap- 
pening around  the  mad  Ladd  house. 

The  telephones  were  ringing  like  a  five 
alarm  fire,  with  (Continued  on  page  107) 


By  Abigail  Putnam 


■  On  Thursday  morning  (the  house- 
keeper's day  off)  it  occurred  to  Mrs. 
R.  E.  Powell,  co-owner  and  operator 
of  a  delightful  home  in  Brentwood, 
that  it  would  be  ever  so  married 
and  matronly  to  prepare  dinner  for 
herself,  her  husband,  and  a  choice 
guest. 

She  puzzled  over  the  menu  and 
buzzed  around  like  Oscar  of  the 
Ritz. 

With  everything  in  the  oven,  she 
ran  a  finger  down  the  cook  book 
page.  "The  book  says  I  have  40 
minutes  for  a  shower,"  she  mumbled 
to  herself.  Being  fast  and  efficient 
in  such  matters,  she  was  out, 
toweled,  dressed  and  lipsticked  in 
twenty  minutes. 

Having  run  back  and  forth  be- 
tween bedroom,  bathroom,  and 
kitchen,  she  was  complacent  in  the 
knowledge  that  all  was  going  well. 

At  which  point  she  heard  geyser 
sounds  from  the  bathtub.  Rushing 
in,  she  arrived  in  time  to  find  the 
water  level  rising  rapidly  in  the  tub 
instead  of  trickling  away,  and  from 
the  outlet  came  a  gusher.  Horrified, 
June  stood  transfixed.  "My  rug!" 
she  squealed  and  leaped  to  rescue  it. 
Having  hung  it  on  the  line,  she  re- 
turned to  find  about  an  inch  of 
water  covering  most  of  the  bath- 
room floor. 

It  was  Dick's  rehearsal  day  at  the 
broadcast,  so  June  charged  to  the 
telephone  and  called  the  radio  sta- 
tion. The  only  available  line  to 
Dick's  studio  was  busy. 

Back  went  his  distraught  wife  to 
the  bathroom  to  note  that  the  waters 
were  again  rising.  She  shot  to  the 
telephone  and  called  a  friend. 

"I'm  being  drowned.  I  mean  my 
bathroom  is.  What  shall  I  do?" 
gasped  June. 

"Call  the  plumber,"  said  the 
friend. 

"D'ya  know  the  number?"  June 
started  to  inquire,  then  she  heard 
another  suspicious  sound.1  Hang- 
ing up,  she  raced  to  the  maid's  bath- 


Who  can  resist  an  invitation  to  Louella  Parsons'?  Not  even  the  Powells,  who've 
been  honeymooning  up  till  now!  When  our  MODERN  SCREEN  spies  heard  the  news,  they 
grabbed  their  hats  and  cameras,  raced  to  L.'s  to  record  for  history  .  .  .  and  you! 


In  Louella's  bedroom,  J.  confides  this  is  her  first  venture  into  the  outside  world. 
First  two  days  in  new  house,  Powells  asked  guests  to  remove  shoes  h  la  Chinese  be- 
fore entering  bedroom  or  her  dressing  room,  so's  not  to  soil  white  string  carpeting! 


34 


POWELL  FLUSTERED?  YOU 


BET  SHE  WAS! 


Teletype  machine  fascinated  June,  so  Louella  explained  what  made  it  tick,  allowed  June 
to  send  message.  When  J.  was  sick  in  bed  with  cold  recently,  Dick  amazed  her  by  enter- 
ing room  playing  trumpet.    Repeated  act  with  sax,  clarinet,  till  J.  yelled  "Enough!" 


A  hot  scoop  scorched  the  wires  in  Louella's  office,  and 
J.  unashamedly  listened  in.  L.  knows  Dick  from  years  back, 
when  both  worked  on  "Hollywood  Hotel"  radio  program. 


room.  The  waters  were  rising! 

This  was  too  much  for  June.  She  got  the 
radio  station  on  the  phone.  "I've  got  to  talk 
to  my  husband!" 

The  operator  was  sympathetic — but  firm. 
No  artist  was  to  be  disturbed  while  on  the  air. 

"But  it's  only  rehearsal  today,"  explained 
June.  "Really  it  is."  . 

"My  report  from  the  studio  is  that  they 
are  on  the  air,"  said  the  operator,  and  that 
was  that. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  dear  good 
plumber  arrived,  rolled  up  his  trousers  and 
stopped  the  flood. 

And,  yes — the  food!  June  charged  to  the 
kitchen  and  yanked  out  the  steak  and  the 
potatoes.   Everything  looked  just  fine. 

But  when  it  came  to  the  eating — that  was 
another  story.  Dick  couldn't  have  cut  the 
steak  with  all  the  tools  in  the  plumber's  kit. 

"We  have  a  lovely  dessert,"  June  said  in 
a  choked  little  voice. 

After  two  bites,  Dick  gazed  at  the  little 
woman  in  utmost  admiration.  "What  peaches ! " 
he  said.  "Simply  delicious.  And  this  cake  is 
absolutely  out  of  this  world." 

"The  peaches  are  canned,  and  I  bought 
the  cake,"  said  June,  bursting  into  shrieks  of 
laughter  which  were  joined  by  Dick  and  the 
dinner  guest. 

Well,  that's  marriage  for  you.  The  good 
and  the  bad.  The  bitter  tragedies.  And  the 
beautiful,  unforgettable  moments. 

Like  last  Christmas,  for  instance,  June's 
chief  gift  from  Dick  is  one  of  the  loveliest  of 
sentimental  mementos.  As  you  probably 
know,  Dick  designed  June's  wedding  ring  of 
gold,  a  star  sapphire,  and  diamonds.  Using 
the  same  design  with  three  sapphires  of 
larger  size,  Dick  ordered  a  matching  bracelet 
to  place  under  the  Christmas  tree. 

And  then  there  was  Heathcliff.  Heathcliff 
is  a  cocker  spaniel,  strawberry  blonde  of 
coloring,  and  violently  affectionate  of  dis- 
position. 

June  set  to  work  at  once  to  teach  him  tricks, 
using  dog  biscuits  as  persuaders.  It  required 
nearly  a  week  to  teach  Heathcliff  to  sit  down 
on  command.  Another  week  to  teach  him  to 
lie  down.  His  understanding  of  the  order, 
"Roll  over"  and  the  even  more  important  "Go 
to  bed"  absorbed  hours  of  June's  energy. 
Finally,  however,  Heathcliff  behaved  beauti- 
fully. So  his  mistress  (Continued  on  page  126) 


Gobfest  concerned  party  at  the  Atwoter  Kents  gang  would  attend  next  night. 
J.'s  wearing  Howard  Greer  designed  dress  Dick  birthday-presented  her  with. 
D.    chirped,     "I    don't    care    what    color    it    is — so    long    as    it's  blue!" 


Between  two  women  dangles  cocker  spaniel  Jimmy,  whose  cousin  HeathclH 
belongs  to  the  Powells.  June  named  her  pup  thusly  so  she  could  hang  out  window 
howl  "Heathcliff!"  and  score  neighbors  into  "Wuthering  Heights"  state  of  suspense 


.  "saver,"  hoards  stars'  letters  from  'way  back.    Dane  Clark  (who  popped  in  to 

ouid  turn  fans 


hello)  looks  over 
3-green  with  envy. 


.    . -  ■  —  7  —  v   v  -  -  ■  ■  ~   r?*rrr  —  ■•■ 

a  collection  of  autographs  with  the  Powells  that  would  turn  fan 
Dick's  newest  pic  is  "Cornered,"  June's,   "Sailor  Takes  A  Wife. 


k  congratulates  June,  who  just  beat  him  at  backgammon,  with  no  coach- 
by  Louella,  either!  J.'s  ring  and  bracelet,  courtesy  of  Santa  C.  and  Richard 
Dick  had  bracelet  made  to  match  engagement  ring;  J.  was  thrilled! 


A  grand  evening  at  Henry  Willson's  (left)  with  Diana  Lynn,  Guy  Madison, 
Gail  Russell — and  Harry  James  on  a  record!  Gail's  very  friendly  with 
Guy,  but  there's  also  Peter  Lawford  and  Billy  De  Wolfe  in  the  running! 


38 


Guy  helped  Henry  play  host,  made  special  egg  coffee  for  guests.  Guy's 
headed  for  stardom  in  "Till  The  End  Of  Time,"  with  Dorothy  McGuire. 
though  it's  only  his  second  picture  since  bit  role  in  'Since  You  Went  Away." 


"MOST   GIRLS   TALK  TOO 
MUCH."  SAYS  GUY 
MADISON.   "ALWAYS  TRYING  TO 
IMPRESS  A  GUYl  BUT  GAIL 
RUSSELL— M-M-M-H!" 

By  Cynthia  Miller 


Girls  did  a  retouch  job  while  Guy  kibitzed.  Diana's  having 
tough  time  coaxing  her  mom  to  let  her  accept  Loren  Tindo 
ring.    Introduced  Henry  to  Loren,  who've  become  best  of  frien< 


■ 


■  Guy  Madison  get  into  a  black  tie  and  stiff  shirt? 
Not  for  his  own  mother — on  Mother's  Day!  But 
tonight  was  different.  Tonight  he  was  stepping  out  with 
Gail  Russell.  So  there  he  stood,  an  unhappy  hunk  of 
man,  in  front  of  the  mirror,  tormenting  the  black  rib- 
bon, while  under  his  shirt  the  perspiration  ran  like  ice 
down  his  chest. 

"Henry!"  he  yelled.  "Henry!" 

Henry,  of  course,  was  Henry  Willson,  a  chap  of  32, 
who  is  assistant  to  the  president  of  Selznick's  \  anguard 
Pictures.  Every  Modern  Screen  reader  knows  all 
about  how  Henry  discovered  Guy  at  a  broadcast  Since 
then  they've  grown  close  as  brothers,  and  the  finest 


foursome  in  town  consists  of  Henry  Willson  and  Diana 
Lynn — and  Guy  Madison  and  Gail  Russell. 

The  way  Gail  and  Guy  met  originally  makes  a  cute 
story.  Luther  Lester,  drama  coach  at  Paramount,  and 
Gail  were  emerging  from  Paramount  one  night,  as  Guy 
and  Henry  arrived.  Introductions  were  made  and 
acknowledged  formally,  then  Luther  and  Henry  got  to 
chatting.  Gail  and  Guy  said  nothing. 

The  foursome  returned  to  Luther's  office,  where  Guy 
was  to  be  coached.  Guy  and  Gail  smiled  at  each  other, 
and  Guy  said,  "Hi!" 

"Hello,'"  said  Gail. 

"I  saw  you  in  'The  Uninvited*  (Continued  on  page  114  I 


39 


66 


and  so  they  were 


BY  FREDDA  DUDLEY 


"Jeanne  Crain,  oge,  20,  occupation,  actress."  Paul  filis  out  the 
application  for  a  marriage  license  in  Los  Angeles  on  December  28th, 
a  -few  days  before  the  ceremony.    It's  the  first  allar-ation  for  both. 


Lucky  Paul  Brooks!  He's  doing  what  servicemen  in  the  South 
Pacific  sighed  about  when  they  voted  Jeanne  Crain  as  the  girl 
they'd  most  like  to  come  home  to  .  .  .  only  Paul  got  there  first! 


Jeanne  returned  from  her  honeymoon  for  retakes  on  new  p> 
"Centennial  Summer,"  to  find  a  surprise  visitor:  Lon  McCc 
lister.     Hearty  congratulations  show  Lon's  no  sore  lose 


40 


j 

t 


married..." 


THEY  MET  AT  A  FRIEND'S  HOUSE — FUN. 

THEY  MET  AT  A  CROWDED  MARKET — FATE.   AND  SO 

THEY  WERE  MARRIED — FOREVER  'N'  EVER, 

SAYS  JEANNE  CRAIN  BRINKMAN 


Comfortable,  and  so-o-o  romantic,  as  Paul  Brooks  (ne  Brinkman)  carries  his  bride  over  the 
threshold.  The  handsome  groom's  often  mistaken  for  Errol  Flynn;  when  a  group  of  fans 
rushed  him  outside. a  theater  one  night,  Paul  obligingly  autographed  with  Errol's  name! 


■  It  was  four-thirty  in  the  morning  of 
the  last  day  of  1945,  when  Jeanne 
Crain  turned  off  the  lights  in  the  guest 
room  in  the  San  Fernando  Valley  home 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marshall  Kester, 
where  she  had  been  staying  ever 
since  her  misunderstanding  with  her 
mother. 

Hanging  in  the  closet  was  her  lovely 
white  suit  and  in  a  hat  bag  on  the 
dresser  was  a  huge  white  felt  hat.  How 
incredible  that  these  clothes  she  had 
bought  on  a  casual  shopping .  tour 
should  develop  into  her  wedding  ward- 
robe! Tomorrow,  thought  Jeanne,  as 
she  snuggled  under  the  blankets,  she 
would  be  Mrs.  Paul  Brinkman. 

"Try  to  sleep,  darling,"  Paul  had 
said  when  he  had  kissed  her  goodbye 
several  hours  earlier.  "Don't  think. 
Just  rest.  Everything  will  turn  out  all 
right." 

But  she  had  so  much  to  think  about! 
From  her  bed  she  could  see  the  gradual 
reddening  of  the  sky  in  promise  of  a 
brilliant  dawn,  and  about  that  bright- 
ening she  remembered  a  line  from  some 
treasured  book,  "Happy  the  bride  the 
sun  shines  on."  So  she  was  to  be  a 
bride  in  sunshine! 

The  sun  had  been  shining  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  seen  Paul — that 
she  remembered  clearly.  The  Kesters 
had  called  Jeanne  one  Saturday  to 
say,  "We're  having  a  Sunday  morning 
brunch  at  noon  tomorrow.  Bring  your 
current  dove  and  join  us,  won't  you? 
We've  invited  an  amusing  crowd  that 
we  think  you'll  enjoy." 

So  Jeanne,  after  consulting  her 
mother,  had  called  a  boy  and  tendered 
the  invitation.  Like  all  well-reared 
girls,  Jeanne's  social  life  was  carefully 
regulated;  she  was  not  allowed  "to  tele- 
phone boys  except  under  specific  cir- 
cumstances approved  by  her  mother. 
Even  when  20th  Century-Fox  was  giv- 
ing some  sort  of  an  affair  and  wanted 
to  make  a  professional  appearance  date 
for  Jeanne,  Mrs.  Crain  was  consulted 
before  any  action  was  taken.  Jeanne 
was  seventeen  at  this  time,  sweet,  un- 
touched by  (Continued  on  page  94) 


41 


FOR  A  WHILE  IT  WAS  ALL  MIXED  UP — WANTING  TO  SING  AND 
THE  NEW  BABY  AND  LILLIAN  EASING  THE  TIGHT  SPOTS.  THEN  CAME  THE  BREAK.  NOW 
EVERYTHING'S  ROSY.  THANK  YOU.    (LIFE  STORY,  CONCLUDED) 


dennis  morgan 


The  Morgans  sure  aren't  night  owls,  but  the  day  Dennis  .signed  a  brand  new 
7-year  contract  with  Warners',  he  blew  Lillian  to  a  high  time  at  Ciro's.  Denny 
wouldn't  sign,  however,  before  studio  execs  promised,  "No  more  musicals!'' 


■  Stan  Morner  and  Lillian  Vedder  were  mar- 
ried on  a  balmy  Indian  Summer  evening  at 
Lillian's  home  in  Marshfield,  Half  the  town 
was  there  to  watch  the  high  school  romance 
blossom  in  Doctor  Vedder 's  garden,  along 
with  pals  from  Prentice  and  a  sprinkling  of 
Morner  and  Van  Dusen  relatives.  Lillian  was 
lovely  in  white  and  Stan  was  tall  and  trim,  per- 
spiring a  little  in  dark  blue  coat  and  creamy 
white  flannel  trousers.  It  wasn't  the  summer 
heat  that  made  his  brow  bead  up,  but  the 
shakes  that  seize  almost  every  gropm,  helped 
along  by  a  narrow  escape  from  stark  tragedy. 
Because  up  until  minutes  before  he  walked 
down  the  aisle,  Bridegroom  Stan  didn't  have 
any  pants  to  wear  at  his  wedding. 

He'd  stopped  in  Milwaukee  on  the  way  to 
enlist  his  good  friend,  Bob  DeHaven,  as  best 
man.  Together,  they'd  ordered  the  ice  cream 
color  pants  for  the  garden  wedding.  Bob  was 
to  wear  his  and  bring  Stan's  when  he  came 
down  the  fateful  day.  But  as  the  crowd  gath- 
ered for  the  ceremony,  Stan  Morner  paced  up 
and  down  in  Doctor  Vedder's  room,  hair 
slicked,  tie  knotted,  shirt  dangling  above  his 
shorts.  No  wonder  his  bare  knees  trembled 
with  the  whips  and  jingles.  The  agony  ended 
a  few  minutes  before  the  nuptial  deadline 
when  Bob  finally  rolled  up  with  the  necessary 
trousers.  Stan  slipped  into  the  pants  and  they 
raced  to  the  starting  line,  on  time  but  shaky. 

Another  minor  crisis  developed  when  Lil- 
lian's sister,  Jeanette,  sitting  at  the  piano  to 
play  the  Wedding  March,  saw  a  Wisconsin 
wind  snatch  the  music  off  her  rack  and  whisk 
it  clear  over  the  fence  and  down  the  block  the 
minute  the  preacher  signalled  "ready."  She. 
couldn't  play  without  music;  she  had  to  sing 
the  Mendelssohn.       (Continued  on  page  116) 


42 


BY 

K1RTLEY 
BASKETTE 


Stan,  Jr.,  and  Kris,  California  born  and  bred,  take  naturally  to  the 
outdoor  life — even  though  it's  Dad  who's  the  Wisconsin  woodsman. 
Dennis'  next  pic  is  "Two  Guys  From  Milwaukee"  with  Jack  Carson. 


The  Morgan  ranch  has  started  specializing  in  breed- 
ing prize-winning  fruits.  Only  problem  now  is  keeping 
Stan  from  shinning  up  the  trees  after  the  whoppers! 


JOHNNIE  JOHNSTON  SANS  IN  BEER  JOINTS  ALL  NIGHT; 
DOROTHY  WORKED  DAYS.    SO  THEY  MET  FOR  BREAKFAST- 
ED HOARSE  AS  HE  WAS,  SHE  UNDERSTOOD  WHEN  HE 
CROAKED,  "WILL  YOU  MARRY  ME?"  | 


r  i 


■  Right  off  the  hat  the  youngsters  in  Kansas 
City  got  on  to  it  that  the  "new  kid"  was 
different.  He  was  only  four  when  he  moved 
in  from  St.  Louis,  but  he  had  an  air,  a 
swagger  that  set  him'apart.  Even  the  big  six 
and  seven-year-olds  noticed  him.  "Grousy, 
grousy  new  kid,"  they'd  shout  at  him  from 
their  tricycles,  but  they'd  always  stop  a 
minute  and  say,  "What's  your  name?" 

"Johnnie  Clifford  Johnston,"  he'd  reply, 
and  get  on  with  the  business  of  making  mud 
pies  or  chasing  squirrels.  When  he  felt 
chatty  he'd  hurl  the  bombshell  at  them.  The 
startling  bit  of  information  that  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  swagger.  "My  mom  and 
pop  are  champion  bowlers."  In  the  circles 
in  which  he  traveled  that  was  more  impres- 
sive than  having  your  parents  in  Congress, 
and  in  almost  no  time  he  was  a  local  figure. 

It  was  pretty  darn  wonderful  having  a 
mother  who  did  something,  but  now  and 
then  a  guy  wished  she  were  just  a  plain  old 
everyday  mom  who  was  always  around.  It 
made  you  feel  a  little  empty  sometimes  to 
come  home  and  yell  "Mom!"  and  then  re- 
member that  Mom  was  downtown  prac- 
ticing for  the  next  match.  One  big  thing  it 
did  for  Johnnie,  though,  was  to  put  him  on 
his  own  when  he  was  very,  very  young. 
Aged  ten,  he  was  making  his  own  decisions, 
making  his  own  (Continued  on  page  103) 


Vacationing  in  Florida,  Johnnie  "rested"  by  soiling,  fishing,  swimming 
golfing,  and  even  got  in  a  few  sets  of  tennis  at  the'  Roney  Plaza  courts 
His  excuse?    "I  had  to  get  in  shape  for  my  opening  at  the  CopacabanS!' 


r/ 


Ham  Fisher,  cartoonist-creator  of  fightin'  Joe  Palooka,  gets  some  in- 
side-dope on  boxing  from  Johnnie  Johnston,  ex-amateur  ring  champ. 
Weighing  125  pounds  at  the  time,  Johnnie  lost  only  3  bouts  out  of  39! 


In  order  to  celebrate  the  invite  to  audition  for  NBC  in  '37, 
Johnnie  startled  his  pals  by  splurging  $60  of  his  $90  bankroll  for  a 
set  of  golf  clubs!  He  and  Benny  Goodman  are  golf  inseparables. 


Kibitzer  criticized  Johnnie's  gin  rummy  technique,  teased  him  about 
that  lock-over-the-forehead  coiffure.  Item:  J.  climbed  trees  for.  a 
drink-  of  cocoanut  miljt!   He's  gay  at  niqht  clubs,  but  no  hard  likker! 

Hi 


47 


\ 


A 


4 


Johnnie  spreads  it  on  thick  while  lunching  with  Joe  Pasternak. 
Time  was  when  he  worked  for  a  doughnut  company  for  50c  a 
day  and  two  meals,  consisting  of  coffee  and — yep! — sinkers. 


45 


plans.  And  making  them  well.  You  see, 
along  about  then  he  decided  to  go  on  the 
stage. 

It  happened  like  this.  North  East  Junior 
High  gave  a  colossal  something  called  a 
"Jamboree"  which  had  everything.  Tum- 
bling, a  minstrel  show,  singing,  dancing. 
There  were  fourteen  acts  and  Johnnie  was 
in  eleven  of  them.  He  played  a  guitar,  did 
a  buck-and-wing,  was  end  man — "Anthra- 
cite," by  name — in  the  minstrel  show,  and 
sang  "Singin'  in  the  Rain"  in  a  yellow  slicker 
and  big  sou'wester  hat.  To  be  applauded 
eleven  different  times  in  one  evening  was 
really  something.  It  went  to  his  head.  He 
was  reeling  with  it.  Going  home  with  mom 
after  the  show,  he  exploded. 

"Oh  boy,  the  minute  I  get  out  of  Junior 
High  I'm  going  on  the  stage."  Mom  smiled 
at  him  in  the  dark  and  didn't  say  anything. 
It  was  a  bright,  dream-hung  moment  in  a 
little  boy's  life.  There'd  be  time  enough  to 
crusade  for  education  tomorrow.  Or  the  day 
after. 

Of  course  Johnnie  didn't  go  on  the  stage 
for  years  and  years.  He  had  a  dozen  jobs 
before  he  became  a  singer.  When  he  was 
thirteen  he  was  hustling  pool.  He  was  a 
long,  lean  kid,  and  when  he  slicked  down 
his  blond  hair  and  stuck  a  cigarette  in  his 
mouth,  he  looked  about  seventeen,  and  it 
was  nobody's  business  that  the  cigarette  was 
only  a  Cubeb — made  of  herbs. 

Job  Number  Two  came  when  he  was  in 
high  school.  Ukuleles  came  in  then,  and 
Westport  High  had  a  uke  club  of  which  John- 
nie was  president  (Continued  on  page  103) 


Using  his  finger  to  beat  out  the  rhythms,  Johnnie  checks  musical  score  at 
rehearsal  with  Dave  Tyler  and  pianist  before  his  night  club  engagement. 
Chorus  girls  ganged  up,  but  stood  by,  fascinated,  when  J.  vocalized. 


"Hold  tjiat  smile!"  Joseph  Zappler,  famed  portrait  painter,  sketches 
Johnnie  under  the  palms  before  finishing  the  job  in  oils.  Sitting  while 
someone  else  sketches  is  a  far  cry  from  Johnnie's  sign  painting  days! 


3  "I 


■ 

m 

B 
I 


■ 


47 


1 


■  (We  wanted  a  real,  on-the-scene  report 
on  Don  Taylor,  so  naturally,  we  went 
right  to  the  source:  His  home  town!  All 
the  way  to  Freeport,  Pa.,  went  one  of 
our  editors,  to  get  you  this  first-hand 
account  of  Dons  life  from  his  mother 
and  father. — The  Editors.) 

With  all  the  excitement,  nobody  would 


48 


have  been  in  the  least  surprised  if  a 
voice  suddenly  rang  out  with,  "Lights, 
action,  camera!"  That's  how  unbeliev- 
able it  all  was.  MODERN  SCREEN  was 
throwing  its  big,  stupendous,  colossal 
Poll  Party  and  if  Harry  Truman  had 
been  available  at  the  time,  he  probably 
would  have  been  there,  too.  Everybody 


else  was.  Hostess  Louella  Parsons  kep 
ducking  out  from  behind  the  mounds  o 
heaped  turkeys  and  hams  to  greet  Pete 
Lawford  and  Rosalind  Russell  and  Vai 
Johnson,  and  you  couldn't  tie  Mik 
Romanoff  down.  He'd  provided  th 
decorations,  he'd  thought  up  thos 
carved  ice  figures  and  darned  if  he  wa 


J 


"Learn  a  trade,  son,"  Mr.  Taylor  preaohed.  So  Don 
studied  law  and  sold  subscriptions  and  even  fell  in  love.  But  it  wouldn't 
work,  it  oouldn't  dull  the  Stardust  •  by  Miriam  Alberta  Ghidalia 


Perm  State  College  social  affairs  always  featured  the  "We  Three" 
troupe.  Don  was  a  one-man  version  of  the  "First  Nighter,"  Doris 
Disney  sang.  Leon  Rabinowitz  "itilled  'em"  with  impersonations. 


As  a  kid,  Don  was  sure  his  dad's  position  on  the  Penn.  School  Board 
would  make  him  "teacher's  pet."  It  didn't,  though — Mom  Taylor 
kept  getting  notes  from  school  complaining  of  her  "wild  Indian." 


At  6,  Don  was  tow-headed,  all  boy,  with  most  of  his  time  spent  in  re- 
fusing to  tend  baby  sister  Janet  and  tearing  his  clothes  fence  climb- 
ing. He  had  a  passion  for  trick  hats — said  they  helped  him  play  actor! 


going  to  pass  up  this  perfectly  wonder- 
ful chance  to  kiss  every"  female  hand  in 
Hollywood!  When  he  finally  got  around 
to  Phyl  Taylor,  he  was  sagging  a  little. 

"Fine  wife  you've  got  there,  Don," 
he  announced,  "pretty  girL" 

Phyl  whooped.  "He  knows  us!  Dar- 
ling, we  are  (Continued  on  page  79) 


■  Elizabeth  tucked  her  autograph  book  into 
her  new  muff.  "Do  you  think  Franklin  D. 
Roosevelt,  Jr.  will  give  me  his  autograph, 
mummy?  I'd  rather  have  it  than  anything!" 

"I  think  he  will,  dear,  if  you  ask  him 
nicely."  Pretty  Mrs.  Taylor  smiled  at  her 
daughter's  enthusiasm. 

"Doing  a  broadcast  from  the  White  House 
is  about  the  most  wonderful  thing  that  could 
happen  to  a  girl,  isn't  it?  Oh,  honestly,  I'm 
so  thrilled  I  could  die!" 

"Well,  don't  die  till  you  come  back.  Hurry 
up  now,  the  car's  waiting.  Are  you  ready?" 

Elizabeth  danced  to  the  door,  clutching  her 
white  muff  dramatically  to  her  breast.  Her 
grey  eyes  with  their  black  velvet  smudge  of 
lashes  blazed  excitement. 

The  car  which  was  waiting  for  them  had 
Cornelia  Otis  Skinner  in  it,  and  Elizabeth 
promptly  bagged  her  autograph.  As  soon  as 
they  got  to  the  White  House,  she  added  Mrs. 
Truman's  signature  to  her  collection.  When 
tall,  handsome  F.D.R.,  Jr.  strode  into  the 
room,  Elizabeth  reached  for.  her  book  again. 
But  it  was  just  time  for  the  broadcast  to 
begin,  and  there  was  a  mad  flurry  of  activity. 
Elizabeth  was  definitely  jittery  until  she  saw 
that  Mrs.  Truman  was,  too,  which  had  a 
curiously  canning  effect.  The  broadcast  went 
off  smoothly,  and  then  the  newsreel  men  took 
over.  Elizabeth  left  her  bag  and  muff  with 
her  mother  while  she  posed  for  the  camera 
with  Mrs.  Truman  and  the  others.  Every 
few  minutes  she  took  a  deep  breath  to  ease 
the  aching  excitement  in  her  chest.  It  was 
all  so  unbelievable,  that  she  should  be  stand- 
ing by  the  President's  wife  and  the  late  Presi- 
dent's son. 

Right  at  that  moment,  the  man  in  charge 
said  politely,  •"Mr.  (Continued  on  page  98) 


SO-O-O  GROWN  UP.  THAT 

LIZ  TAYLOR,  WITH  A  FUR  COAT,  'H' 

EVEN  MAKEUP— TILL  SHE 

FORGETS,  AND  ROMPS  ON  THE 

FLOOR  WITH 

TWEEDLES.  HER  DOG. 


Liz  dotes  on  radio  plays,  comics,  interviews,  Garsori.  Was  turious 
because  rain  made  her  miss  daily  ride  on  King  Charles,  the  horse 
Metro  gave  her.    No  matter — she  beat  Shirley  Johns  at  ping  pona! 


$0% 


51 


i.,, 


by  HEDDA  HOPPER 


■  "How  do  you  do,  Miss  Hopper,"  said 
Mark  Stevens,  tossing  me  a  level  glance: 
"Where's  the  Gruen  watch?" 

Well,  now,  really!  I  gasped.  I  knew 
long  ago  that  if  I  didn't  watch  out  I'd 
soon  be  about  the  most  popular  gal  in 
Hollywood,  and  not  because  I'm  the 
cutest  kid  in  town,  either.  When  you 
go  around  doping  winners  for  Modern 
Screen's  Star-of-the-Month,  and  hand- 
ing out  beautiful  Gruen  wrist  watches  to 
boot— well,  it's  hard  to  miss.  You're 
welcome  in  the  best  society.  You're 
everybody's  pal.  Yes,  indeed. 

But  I'd  never  had  anyone  come  right 
out  with  the  irresistible  secret  of  my 
allure— not  so  soon,  so  quick,  so  bru- 
tally frank. 

"Listen  here,  (Continued  on  page  72) 


"Let's  pool  our  change  in  a  piggy  bank,"  suggested  Mark  to 
Mrs.  S.  So  after  four  months  they  opened  it  for  a  splurge — 
and   found   $1.15!    They'd   each   been   cribbing  from  it! 


HE'S  THE  RUGGED 


ROMEO  WITH  THE  SMOOTH 


APPROACH — HEDDA 


HOPPER'S  CHOICE  FOR 


STAR-OF- 


THE-MONTH 


Mark  chortled,  "A  Gruen  Watch,  just  what  I  wanted!"  when  Hedda  Hopper  pre- 
sented him  his  award  as  Star-of-the-Month.  Poor  Mr,  S.  hates  makeup,  wore 
down  from  175  to  155  lbs.  on  "From  This  Day  Forward"  arguing  the  point  .  . 


S3 


■  I'll  make  a  confession.  I  make  my  living 
directing  pictures;  but  underneath  I'm  a 
frustrated  song  writer.  I'd  rather  have  been 
one  Irving  Berlin  or  Jerome  Kern  than  six 
Leo  McCareys.  That's  life.  You  always  want 
to  be  something  you  aren't.  And  I  wasn't.  At 
least  not  for  Bing  Crosby  I  wasn't.  I'd  wrestle 
around  with  lyrics,  scribbling  "moon"  and 
"June"  and  "love"  and  "stars  above"  until 
I  came  up  with  something  I  thought  was  really 
pretty  hot.  Then  I'd  take  them  to  my  baritone 
beau-ideal,  Bing. 

"How  about  singing  this?"  I'd  ask.  He'd 
look  it  over,  hum  a  few  notes.  "Okay,"  he'd 
say.  "Maybe  I  can  run  it  in  tonight." 

But  he  never  could.  I'd  pay  cover  charge 
and  drink  all  the  Prohibition  ginger  ale  at 
the  Grove  waiting  for  Bing  to  croon  a  master- 
piece of  mine  and  make  me  famous.  But  no. 
I'd  hear  "I  Surrender  Dear,"  "If  I  Could  Be 
With  You,"  "Mississippi  Mud."  I  don't  think 
Bing  thought  so  much  of  me  as  a  songwriter. 
Some  people  are  that  way.  My  wife,  for  in- 
stance. She's  heard  all  my  songs,  because  all 
my  friends  get   (Continued  on  page  128) 


ma 


Leo  McCarey's  a  favorite  golf  partner  of  Bing's — even  if  he  does 
beat  the  crooner.  He  owns  stacks  of  Crosby  records,  secretly  imi- 
tates "boo-boo-boo"  style  in  his  shower!  (Bing's  next:  "Blue  Skies.") 


Bing  battled  with  his  radio  sponsors  when  he  felt  he  needed  a  rest. 
He's  due  for  competition  on  the  air  from  within  the  ranks:  One  of 
his  older  sons  will  have  his  own  radio  show  —  if  papa  consents! 


Director  of  "Bells  of  St.  Mary's" 

*  • 

NO  MAN'S  A  HERO  TO  HIS  VALET. 
AND  NO  STAR'S  A  HERO  TO  HIS  DIRECTOR.  IN  HOLLYWOOD. 

BUT  WHEN  THE  STAR'S  NAME  IS  BING  CROSBY.  WELL  .  .  .  ! 


II 


I 

I 
■ 

1 

II 


■ 


f 

■ 


j 


ED  SULLIVAN  SPEAKING  .  .  . 


■  I  never  thought,  honestly,  that  I'd  make  the  Metro- 
politan Opera!  Even  though  I've  often  played  goli  with 
Crosby  and  know  Sinatra,  Como,  Johnnie  Johnston  and 
Andy  Russell  intimately,  the  Metropolitan  Opera  had 
eluded  my  wildest  dreams.  You  can  believe,  too,  that 
if  ever  anyone  had  suggested  to  Edward  Johnson,  general 
director  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera,  that  he  permit  a  New 
York  columnist  to  participate  in  a  Saturday  matinee  of 
Ponchielli's  "La  Gioconda,"  even  the  wonderful  suavity 
of  the  "Met"  boss  could  not  have  been  maintained. 
You  can  picture  Mr.  Johnson  summoning  Barnaba,  chief 
of  police  in  "La  Gioconda,"  and  directing  him  to  toss 
me  into  the  Grand  Canal,  main  waterway  of  Venice. 


Radio  Editor  Sullivan  with  the  Met.'s  Edward  Johnson. 


However,  the  impossible  has  come  to  pass  and  on  one 
wall  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera  Guild  there  hangs  visible 
proof  that  Sullivan  achieved  the  Metropolitan  Opera  dur- 
ing the  March  16th,  1946  performance  of  "La  Gioconda." 
The  plague  which  hangs  on  the  Guild  wall  is  lettered: 

THE  MODERN  SCREEN  RADIO  AWARD 
presented  by  Ed  Sullivan 
to 

EDWARD  JOHNSON 
in  recognition  of  the  splendid  cultural  services 
rendered  by  his  Metropolitan  Opera  broadcasts. 

In  selecting  Mr.  Johnson  and  the  Metropolitan  Opera 


for  the  first  monthly  award  of  a  series  which  will  honor 
those  who  have  contributed  greatly  to  radio.  Modern 
Screen  was  very  conscious  that  here  was  a  man,  and  an 
organization,  deserving  of  the  loftiest  recognition.  Above 
and  beyond  the  broadcasts  themselves,  Americans  owe  to 
Mr.  Johnson  sincere  appreciation  for  breaking  down  the 
operatic  barriers  which  had  been  maintained  against 
young  American  singers.  Perhaps  his  decision  to  open 
the  Metropolitan  roster  to  all  singers  stemmed  from  John- 
son's own  experience.  When  he  trained  for  the  Opera 
under  Caruso's  teacher,  Vincenzo  Lombardi,  the  young 
Canadian  tenor  was  advised  to  bill  himself  as  Eduardo 
Di  Giovanni.  From  1912,  his  debut  at  Padua,  until 
1919,  when  he  returned  as  an  acknowledged  tenor 
star,  Johnson  sang  under  the  name  of  Di  Giovanni. 

In  his  eleventh  year  as  general  director  of  the  "Met," 
Mr.  Johnson  must  derive  deep  satisfaction  from  a  roster 
that  includes  such  names  as  Rise  Stevens,  James  Melton. 
Nadine  Connor,  Patrice  Munsel,  Eleanor  Steber,  Lucille 
Browning,  Robert  Men-ill,  Mimi  Benzell,  Richard  Tucker. 
Dorothy  Kiisten,  Prances  Greer,  Helen  Xraubel.  Marine 
Stellman  and  so  many  others  whose  splendid  dreams 
came  true  only  because  of  his  sympathetic  understanding. 

I'm  delighted  that  this  first  award  should  go  to  Edward 
Johnson.  My  pledge  is  that  these  monthly  awards  will 
be  on  the  same  high  level,  even  though  I  grant  you  that 
men  of  the  professional  stature  of  Edward  Johnson  are 
not  to  be  found  on  every  Crosley-Hooper  rating. 

I'd  like  to  hear  from  you  Modern  Screen  readers. 
When  something,  or  somebody  in  radio  impresses  you 
as  having  done  something  that  warrants  national  ac- 
claim, drop  me  a  memo  here  at  Modern  Screen.  Your 
suggestion  will  be  weighed  carefully.  Perhaps  youll 
call  attention  to  someone  who  might  escape  this  roving 
eye,  and  I'll  appreciate  your  cooperation. 

Of  Mice,  Men  and  Sponsors 

Artie  Auerbach,  whose  dialect  jingle  of  "A  pickle  in 
the  middle,  with  the  mustard  on  top"  added  another 
comedy  plus  to  the  Jack  Benny  program,  used  to  heckle 
me  in  my  vaudeville  act.  .  .  In  the  Detroit  Fox  Theater, 
once,  Auerbach  was  earned  into  audience  view  on  the 
enormous  orchestra  elevator.  It  had  seats  for  60  mu- 
sicians, but  Artie  came  up  on  it  alone.  .  .  When  Parks 
Johnson  and  his  "Vox  Pop"  program  fades  temporarily 
from  the  airwaves  April  22,  happiest  will  be  Parks. 
After  14  years  of  broadcasting,  the  veteran  will  be  able 
to  vacation  all  summer  at  Wimberly,  Texas  (unhappiest, 
however,  will  be  Sullivan.  Each  summer.  Parks  and 
Warren  Hull  have  used  me  as  a  pinch-hitter)  .  .  .  Steve 
Hannegan,  when  he  took  over  the  Jack  Benny  publicity 
chores,  was  amazed  at  Jack's  nervousness.  Recently, 
when  Steve  came  back  from  the  Coast,  I  was  sitting  at 
the  Stork  Club  with  him  and  Ann  Sheridan.  "How's 
Jack?"  I  asked.    "Wonderful."  (^Continued  on  page  127' 


50 


HER  RING— three 
handsome  diamonds 
set  with  severe 
beauty  in  platinum 


charming  young  daughter  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenneth  H.  Clapp 
"Apple  Meadow,"  Bedford,  N.  Y., 
is  to  be  the  bride  of 
Lt.  (j.g.)  James  R.  Neal,  Jr.,  U.S. M.S. 


BOOKS  FOR  SAILORS— At  the  Seamen's 
Institute,  Cornelia  helps  collect  books  to 
send  out  to  the  Merchant  Marine.  A 
friendly  service  as  important  in  peacetime 
as  in  wartime.  Cornelia  is  also  a  delightful 
hostess  at  a  well-known  and  popular 
officers'  club  in  New  York.  It  was  there 
she  met  her  lieutenant  fiance. 


Cornelia's  complexion  is  soft,  clear — eyes,  blue-violet — hair,  burnished  brown 


she  uses  Pond's ! 


When  Bob  comes  home  from  sea  he's 
going  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  we  hope  to  live 
in  Virginia,"  Cornelia  says. 

Cornelia  has  a  lovely  air  of  exquisite 
grooming.  And,  like  so  many  engaged 
girls,  her  complexion  is  "Pond's-cared-for." 

"Fin  awfully  choosey  about  using  a  very- 
good  cream,"  she  says.  "Pond's  is  abso- 
lutely perfect  for  me— so  cleansing  and  so/i." 

She  smooths  Pond's  Cold  Cream  over 
face  and  throat  and  pats  well  to  soften  and 
release  dirt  and  make-up.  Then  tissues  off. 

She  rinses  with  a  second  coat  of  Pond's, 
making  quick  circles  around  her  face. 
Tissues  off.  "I  cream  twice — for  extra 
softness  and  extra  clean-ness,"  she  says. 

Use  Pond's  Cold  Cream  Cornelia's  way  every 
morning,  every  night — for  in-between  fresh- 
ening-ups,  too.  It's  no  accident  more  women 
use  Pond  s  than  any  other  face  cream  at  any 
price.  Ask  for  a  biff  luxury  size  jar  today! 


You'll  love  a  big,  luxury  jar! 

A  few  of  (he  many 
Pond's  Society  Beauliew 


57 


JEANNE  CRAIN'S 
MOM  ISN'T  MAD  ANY  MORE; 
VAN'S  MENDING 
AS  WELL  AS  BREAKING 
HEARTS;  LADDIE 
CAME  HOME 


■  Ii  Susanna  Foster's  heart  was  broken  and  she 
carried  a  torch  when  Turhan  Bey  fell  in  love  with  Lana 
Turner — she  is  having  mighty  sweet  revenge. 

I  happen  to  know  that  Susanna  WAS  very  much  in 
love  with  the  Turkish  Delight  and  that  they  had  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  discuss  marriage  plans  when  Lana 
came  into  his  life. 

At  first,  the  little  Foster  girl  was  miserably  unhappy. 
It  was  around  that  time  that  she  first  started  dis- 
cussing leaving  the  screen  for  an  operatic  career — an 
idea  she  has  now  put  into  effect — but  NOT  because  she 
is  still  grieving  for  Turhan! 

With  his  romance  with  Lana  an  affair  of  the  dim, 
dear  past — Turhan  has  been  wooing  Susanna  with  all 
the  old  fire  and  ardor. 

Three  times  he  has  driven  up  to  her  home  at  Carmel 
to  beg  her  to  let  bygones  be  bygones.  On  one  occasion, 
his  mother  (who  never  approved  of  his  romance  with 
Lana)  went  with  him.  Mama  always  liked  Susanna. 

But  the  lady  says  it  is  all  over,  finished  and  definitely 
through.  The  real  big  interest  in  her  life  right  now  is  the 
five  sabbatical  years  she  is  taking  off  from  her  Uni- 
versal contract  to  study  for  the  Metropolitan  Opera. 
Movies,  Turhan  and  love  are  all  behind  her  now  while 
the  blonde  songbird  concentrates  all  her  attention  on 
her  singing  career.  And  her  heart  is  all  patched  up. 


I  say  it  is  good,  good,  good  that  Universal  is  bring- 
ing Deanna  Durbin  back  to  the  screen  as  her  old 
sweet  self  in  her  first  picture  after  the  birth  of  her  baby, 
in  "Josephine."  I  never  thought  Deanna  was  the  type 
to  go  sophisticated.  Did  you?  Leave  the  wisecracks  and 
the  brittleness  to  actresses  like  Barbara  Stanwyck. 
Deanna  was  our  baby  songbird  and  we  loved  her 
that  way.  (Continued  on  page  60) 


Fan  club  proxy  Carol  Wherchel  still  can't  believe  it — being  invited  to 
Louella  Parsons'  with  LOP  awarding  her  M.S.'s  semi-annual  Fan  Club 
Assoc.  Trophv  Cup.  Who's  the  club  for?   Dane  Clark,  but  natch.  .  .  . 


Canada's  ski  slides  provided  the  T.  Powers  (at  "Leave  Her  To  Heaven" 
premiere)  with  some  much-needed  relaxation.  Ty  and  Annabella  spent 
his  first  week  out  of  service  at  a  tourist  camp  150  miles  from  H'wood. 


58 


The  World's  Most 
Exciting  Brunette 

JANE  RUSSELL 

So  thrillingly  alive  —  she  couldn't 
live  without  love!  So  breathlessly 
b  e  a  u  t  if  u  I  —  s  h  e  couldn't  escape 
fro  m  men!  So  tensely  dramatic 
you'll  always  remember  her— and 
this  great  new  hit! 

Produced  by 

HUNT  STROMBERG 


Pornte-d  from  Irfe  by  Andre*  Loomii 


Starring 


JANE 

RUSSELL 


LOUIS 

HAYWARD 


with  FAITH  DOMERGUE    •    KENT  TAYLOR 
MARIE  WILSON   •    CONNIE  GILCHRIST 

and 

PENNY  SINGLETON 
Directed  by  Edwin  L  Marin    Re-ea»d  fan  Umw  Art*** 

Le*  Gam»e^  A-S.C    Director  of  Photography 
Screenplay  by  Richard  Macawlay  and 
Margaret  6*e1t  Wilder 
Additional  Dialogue  by 
twth  NordEi 


1 

■ 

•■  ] 

1 


*    ■  I 


■ 


■ 


63 


Academy  Award  nominee  Milland  guested  on  the  Screen  Guild 
Show  with  Jane  Wyman — and  a  beard.  Seems  he  needs  a  stubble 
for  Para,  s  "California,"  and  Rav  believes  in  growing  his  own. 


never  been  to  Phoenix — and  she  and  Dick  were 
going  to  a  dude  ranch.  You  would  have  thought 
he  was  taking  her  to  Cairo  or  to  a  Palace  in  Persia, 
she  was  that  excited. 

"Will  I  ride?"  she  kept  asking  him,  "will  we 
take  hikes?  Isn't  it  wonderful?  We're  going  away 
together — oh,  I'm  so  happy!"  And  all  that  isn't 
an  "act"  on  the  part  of  little  Junie,  either.  She 
was  genuinely  happy  to  be  going  away  with 
Dick  and  to  be  going  to  Arizona  for  the  first  time. 

She  was  wearing  a  brand  new  Howard  Greer 
dress.  "My  Pappy  gave  me  six  of  these,"  she 
said — Pappy  being  Dick,  of  course.  I  noticed  she 
wore  little  pumps  with  buckles  and  gloves. 

June  said,  TO  never  again  give  any  of  these 
commentators  a  chance  to  criticize  me  for  going 
around  in  slacks  and  bandanas." 

Dick  grinned  and  said,  "You  look  good  to  me, 
honey,  no  matter  what  you  wear."  That's  the  way 
it  is  with  the  Powells. 

But  I  think  June  is  sensible  to  get  a  little  clothes 
conscious.  Stars  should  always  look  their  best  at 
all  times,  on  all  occasions. 


This  month  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
you  about  something  that  is  happening  with  fre- 
quency in  our  movietown— and  must  be  happen- 
ing elsewhere,  judging  (Continued  on  page  66) 


That  $40,000  platina  fox  coat  C.  Colbert  (here  with  producer 
Frank  Ross)  graces  was  from  the  "Tomorrow  Is  Forever"  wardrobe. 
But  Claudette  was  so  sensational,  studio  gifted  her  with  it. 


"Adventure"  makes  Greer's  ninth  film  to  open  at  N.Y.'s  Music 
Hall,  but  now  that  ex-sea  dog  Richard  Ney  is  home,  wifie  plans  to 
do  fewer  pix  per  year.  If  possible,  she'll  co-star  with  Dick.  For  luck? 


9  »  ^  -  V 


Are  you 
a  modern  in 


•  Are  you  eager,  energetic : 
keyed  to  the  tempo  of  a  rapidly 
changing  world? 
Then  for  you.  streamlined 
gabardine  and,  of  course, 
Solitair  Cake  Make-Up. 


It 


1  Mi  « 


modern,  round-the-clock  make-up— Solitair  will  actually 
ur  complexion  the  smooth,  clear,  faultless-freshness 
always  wanted— never  before  found.  And  since  it's 
'.  your  make-up  looks  naturally  lovely,  because  it's  the 
weight,  precision  blended  cake  make-up  that  never  looks 
ke.  Rich  in  lanolin.  Solitair  guards  your  skin  against 
>.  too.  Takes  only  seconds  to  apply.  No  need  for  loose 
.  Try  it— you  modern  in  gabardine!  $1,  60c,  25(l. 

nal  Gabardine  suit  by  Anthony  Blotta 

leading  skin  specialists  say,  "Solitair  won't  clog  pores!" 


cake  make-up 


from  letters  from  unhappy  daughters  I 
have  been  receiving. 

It  is  the  old,  old  problem  of  mothers 
disapproving  of  the  engagements  and 
marriages  of  teen-age  daughters. 

Believe  me,  there  was  much  excitement 
over  the  mother-daughter-fiance  fracas 
just  before  Jeanne  Grain's  marriage  to 
Paul  Brooks.  Now  Jeanne  is  saving  that 
it  was  never  as  serious  as  the  gossips 
and  the  newspapers  made  out.  But .  I 
think  that  even  Jeanne  cannot  deny  that 
there  were  many  stormy  scenes  and 
tears  when  she  told  her  mother  she  was 
marrying  Paul. 

Mrs.  Grain  had  refused  him  permis- 
sion to  their  home.  One  night,  he  came 
pounding  on  the  door.  Jeanne  rushed 
out  into  the  night  and  later  eloped  with 
the  good  looking  boy  who  looks  so  much 
like  Errol  Flynn  that  he  could  pass  for 
his  double. 

Well,  accusations  and  recriminations 
flew  thick  and  fast  for  a  few  days.  Mrs. 
Grain  sobbed  (Continued  on  page  68) 


66 


eta 


BRACELET 


The  newest  and  most  popular  friendship  bracelet  .  .  .  starts 
on  a  dainty  black  ribbon  and  when  finished  is  a  lovely  Sterling 
Silver  Friendship  Bracelet. 

The  nation's  newest  craze.  A  sentimental  note  in  Jewelry.  You 
start  with  one  "Forget-me-not"  link,  and  your  friends,  family 
and  sweethearts  add  to  it!  Exchange  links  with  your  girl  friends. 
When  you  have  9  "Forget-me-not"  links,  store  will  join  them 
together  with  Sterling  Silver  connecting  links,  into  a  beautiful, 
solid  Sterling  Silver  "Forget-me-not"  Bracelet. 


This  sentimental  note  in  Jewelry  can  be  ob- 
tained at  the  following  leading  dept.  stores: 

Abraham  &  Straus  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Auerbach  Co  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah 

L.  S.  Ayres  Co  Indianapolis,  Ind. 

Gus  Blass  Co  Little  Rock,  Ark. 

Block  &  Kuhl  Co  Illinois 

The  Bon  Marche  Seattle,  Wash. 

The  Boston  Store  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

J.  L.  Brand eis  Omaha,  Neb. 

Burdine's.  Inc  Miami,  FJa. 

Carl  Company  Schenectady,  N.  Y. 

Denver  Dry  Goods  Co  Denver,  Colo. 

The  Emporium  San  Francisco,  Calif. 

The  Fair  Store  Chicago,  III 

Famous  Barr  Co  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

G.  Fox  &  Co  Hartford,  Conn. 

B.  Gertz,  Inc  Jamaica,  N.  Y. 

Gold  a  Co  Lincoln,  Nebr. 

The  Golden  Rule  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

Wm.  Hengerer  Co  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 

Hess  Brothers  Allentown,  Pa. 

The  Hecht  Co  Washington,  D.  C. 

Joseph  Home  Co  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 

J.  L.  Hudson  Co  Detroit,  Mich. 

Hutiler  Bros.  Co  Baltimore,  Md. 

Jordon,  Marsh  Co  Boston,  Mass. 

Kohn  Dept.  Stores,  Inc  Oakland,  Calif. 

Kresge  Newark,  N.  J. 

La  Salle  Koch  Co  Toledo,  Ohio 

F.  &  R.  Lazarus  Co  Columbus,  Ohio 

Mandel  Bros  Chicago,  III. 

T.  S.  Martin  Co  Sioux  City,  la 

The  May  Company  Los  Angeles,  Calif. 

John  G.  Myers  Co   Albany,  N.  Y. 

Myers  Bros  Springfield,  III. 

Olds  Wortman  *  King  Portland,  Oregon 

M.  O'Neil  Co  Akron,  Ohio 

Pomeroy's  Inc  Pennsylvania 

Powers  Drug  Goods  Co  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Rhodes  Bros    Tacoma,  Wash. 

Rike  Kumler  Co  Dayton,  Ohio 

Robertson  Bros  South  Bend,  Ind. 

Leo  S.  Senear  Co  Evansville,  Ind. 

John  Shillito  Co  Cincinnati,  Ohio 

Spokane  Dry  Goods  Co  Spokane,  Wash. 

Stewart  Dry  Goods  Co  Louisville,  Ky. 

Strauss  Hirshberg  Co  Youngstown,  Ohio 

Strawbridge  &  Clothier  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

Wm.  Taylor  Son  &  Co  Cleveland,  Ohio 

Thalhimer  Bros  Richmond,  Va 

Wolf  &  Dessauer  Co  Fort  Wayne,  Ind. 

Younker  Bros  Des  Moines,  la 

and  many  other  dept.  stores  together  with 
many  leading  jewelers  from  coast  to  coast 


STERLING  SILVER 
LINKS 


STERLING  SILVER  CLASPS  35° 

It  becomes  an  everlasting  remembrance  of  family, 
friends  and  sweethearts.  You'll  want  several  of  them 
.  .  .  it's  smart  to  wear  3  or  4  complete  bracelets.  Just 
add  "Forget-me-not"  links  and  your  friends  are  linked 
together  forever.  Start  yours  TODAY — the  dealer 
carrying  "Forget-me-not"  Sterling  Silver  Friendship 
Bracelets  in  your  town  is  listed  at  the  left. 


Special 


"Message"  bracelet  .  .  .  same  as  "Forget-me-not"  name 
bracelet,  but  you  choose  the  message  ...  9  words  .  .  . 
$2.60  complete  plus  tax. 


DES.  PATENT  132,31  1 


VIRGINIA  MAYO,  STARRING  IN  SAMUEL  GOLDWYN'S 
TECHNICOLOR  COMEDY  "THE  KID  FROM  BROOKLYN" 


LEARN 
FROM 


How  to  have  the  most  adorable  hands. 
Use  Jergens  Lotion,  as  Virginia  Mayo  does. 

Hand  Care  of  the  Stars  is  Jergens  Lotion,  7  to  I 

EVEN  FINER  NOW.     Using  knowledge  gained  in 
wartime,  Jergens  scientists  now  make  this 
favorite  Jergens  Lotion  even  more  effective. 

"Protects  even  longer"  ;  women  said  after 
making  tests. 

"Makes  my  hands  even  smoother,  softer." 
So  wonderful.     Part  of  the  magic — 
those  2  ingredients  many  doctors  use  for 
skin-softening,   smoothing  effect. 

This  even  finer  Jergens  is  in  the  stores, 
very  same  bottle,  still  100  to  $1.00 
(plus  tax).     No  hampering  oiliness  ; 
no  sticky  feeling. 

Toft  ~tke  SofkstJ  CUonabk  -H-awfls 

JERGENS  LOTION 


9 


Now  more  Effective  than  ever — thanks  to  Wartime  Research 


that  she  had  not  even  been  invited  to  hex 
daughter's  wedding.  Jeanne's  little  sister  al- 
most had  a  breakdown  crying,  " — nnrf 
Jeanne  said  she  would  never  be  married 
unless  1  was  her  bridesmaid!"  Now  things 
seem  to  be  patched  up — but  this  is  not  the 
only  tangle  of  Cupid  with  Mammas  in  Hol- 
lywood. 

Mrs.  Haver  was  deeply  upset  when  she 
•  thought  her  cute,  blonde  trick  of  a  daughter, 
June,  was  falling  in  love  with  Victor  Mature 
and  might  marry  him 

Diana  Lynn's  mother  disapproves  of  all  her 
beaux  who  threaten  to  become  serious. 
"Diana  is  much  too  young  to  think  of  marry- 
ing anyone,"  her  mother  says. 

What  a  wise  woman  Gertrude  Temple  was 
when  her  curly-headed  little  17-year-old  Shir- 
ley came  to  her  and  said,  "Mother,  I  am  in 
love  and  want  to  be  married."  Of  course, 
Mrs.  Temple  knew  that  John  Agar  was  a  fine 
boy.  But  when  she  realized  that  Shirley  was 
deeply  and  sincerely  in  love  she  said  to  me, 
"Shirley  brought  a  great  deal  of  happiness 
to  other  people  when  she  was  a  little  girl  on 
the  screen.  Now  that  little  girl  is  growing  up 
— and  she  is  entitled  to  happiness  of  her 
own." 

I  say,  of  course,  if  there  are  any  real  ob- 
jections to  a  suitor — that  is  something  else 
again.  But  don't  object  to  Love  on  the  grounds 
of  youth.  Mother  frequently  knows  best,  as 
the  old  saying  goes — but  not  always! 


Never  in  your  life  have  you  seen  a  bed- 
room set  like  the  "boodwah"  David  Niven 
and  Loretta  Young  are  working  on  in  "The 
Perfect  Marriage." 

When  I  dropped  over  to  visit  the  popular 
David  (just  returned  to  the  movies  after 
five  years  in  the  British  Army)  and  Loretta. 
I  found  them  having  tea — Loretta  arrayed  in 
a  nightgown  (!)  and  David  in  a  knockout  of 
a  lounging  robe. 

Of  course,  that  is  what  they  are  wearing 
in  the  scenes  before  the  cameras  and  not 
what  they  might  have  chosen  for  the  tea  hour. 

"Do  women  stars  really  just  wear  night- 
gowns as  sheer  as  they  look  on  the  screen — 
and  with  all  those  men  around?"  is  a  popular 
query  I  receive  from  my  readers. 

Since  Loretta  was  wearing  one,  I'll  let  her 
tell  you  about  it: 

"Believe  me,  Louella,  and  you  can  tell  the 
fans — we're  just  as  fully  clothed  in  these  night- 
gowns as  we  would  be  in  an  evening  gown. 
Usually  they  are  made  of  satin,  and  lined, 
and  getting  that  very  sheer  effect  is  just  a 
little  trick  of  the  cameraman's  which  he  gets 
with  the  right  lighting,"  she  laughed. 

So,  now  you  know. 

CHUCKLES  OF  THE  MONTH: 

Gene  Tiemey's  remark:  "My  husband  and 
I  have  our  spats.  But  I  give  in  a  little,  he 
gives  in  a  lot — so  we  remain  very  happy." 

The  cagey  maneuver  of  one  of  our  best 
known  actors  who  had  a  terrific  crush  on  o 
certain  girl.  He  gave  her  fur  coats  and 
jewelry.  Then  when  the  spark  was  no  longer 
there,  he  suggested  she  let  him  have  all  the 
gifts  for  an  insurance  estimate.  You  guessed 
it— she  never  saw  them  again! 


■•  U 


Lana  Turner's  request  to  M-G-M  that  her 
South  American  tour  be  "absolutely  without 
fanfare  and  minus  interviews!"  Oh,  Lana — 
hubba,  hubba,  hubba  and  a  yuk-yuk!  (Now 
you  know!) 

*  *  * 

Guy  Madison  and  Gail  Russell  are  maaad 
for  each  other  (at  this  writing!)  Maybe  it 
means  marriage — and  then  again,  maybe 
it's  just  a  little  fond  affection.  Anyway,  Guy's 
boss,  David  Selznick,  isn't  any  too  happy 
about  the  romance.  He  has  nothing  against 
Gail — but  he  thinks  Guy  should  get  a  couple 
of  hit  pictures  to  his  credit  before  he  says 
1  do." 

*  *  * 

Richard  Jaeckel,  Dick  to  you,  got  leave  from 
the  Merchant  Marine  to  take  three  months  off 
to  make  a  movie  while  his  boat  was  in  dry- 
dock  in  Long  Beach  harbor. 

The  picture  his  studio  had  lined  up  for  him 
was  "Margie"  with  Jeanne  Crain.  I  say  "was" 
because  Dick  read  the  script,  put  his  foot 
down  and  bowed  out  of  it.  That  might  sound 
temperamental  from  a  young  actor  who  has 
been  off  the  screen  so  long,  and  who  had 
but  one  screen  appearance  to  his  credit, 
"Guadalcanal  Diary,"  before  he  entered  the 
service,  but  Dick's  side  of  the  argument  is 
this:  The  part  calls  for  him  to  play  a  typical 
rah-rah  high  school  boy  in  a  raccoon  coat 
with  nothing  on  his  mind  but  his  next  date. 

"That  stuff's  just  not  for  me,"  says  Dick, 
"I've  grown  up  in  the  Merchant  Marine. 
The  guys  would  sure  rib  me  ragged  if  I 
played  such  a  part." 

*  *  * 

Ann  Blythe,  the  glamorous  "daughter"  who 
was  so  good  being  bad  in  "Mildred  Pierce"  is 
completely  recovered  from  the  serious  acci- 
dent of  some  six  months  ago  when  she  broke 
her  back. 

She'll  be  starred  in  Mark  Hellinger's  first 
Universal  movie,  "A  Swell  Guy,"  with  one  of 
our  top  name  romantic  actors  playing  oppo- 
site her. 

Incidentally,  I  heard  a  very  nice  thing  about 
Ann.  All  the  time  she  was  ill  she  corre- 
sponded regularly  with  Susan  Peters,  our 
other  little  invalid  who's  been  making  such 
a  brave  try  at  a  comeback. 

I  still  think  Susan  could  return  to  the  screen 
in  just  the  right  story.  "The  King's  General," 
a  very  exciting  book,  has  a  heroine  who  is 
confined  to  a  wheel  chair.  How  about  that 
for  Susan,  M-G-M? 

«        *  * 

I  thought  I  would  go  crazy  denying  all  the 
telephone  calls  and  rumors  that  Bing  Crosby 
was  dead! 

The  happy  truth  is — Bing  was  in  the  East 
taking  his  first  real  holiday  and  vacation  in 
years.  His  brother  Everett  wired  me,  "Bing's 
fine!  I'm  the  one  who  is  wilting — trying  to 
keep  up  with  him." 

And  now  we  come  to  the  end  of  another 
chapter — I  won't  be  seeing  you  until  next 
month.  But  once  again  I  want  to  thank  all 
of  you  who  have  been  writing  me — and  I 
do  mean  ALL 


"Water-Colors*" 

Pond's  new  Make-up  Pat  washes  gorgeously 
smooth,  natural  color  over  your  face. 

"'Camouflages'* 

Make-up  Pat  hides  little  blemishes,  freckles. 
Gives  your  skin  a  young,  ''poreless"  finish. 

"De-Shines'* 

No  more  shiny  nose!  Make-up  Pat  gives  a 
velvety-  just-made-up  look  that  lasts  and  lasts! 


IT  PROTECTS  your  skin  from  wind 
and  weather.  Wear  Pond' s  Make-up 
Pat  every  day!  39t,  plus  lax. 


MRS  JOHN  A.  ROOSEVELT  joins  other  beautiful 
society  leaders  in  praising  Pond's  new  Make-up  Pat. 

Pond's  double-formula  discovery 
gives  clearer  blonde  shades 
.  .  .  richer  brunette  shades 

Pond's  Make-up  Pat  is  the  only  cake  make-up 
we  know  of  that's  made  with  a  double  formula! 

A  featheriveight  formula  makes  the  blonde 
shades  go  on  clearer,  softer— never  "masky." 

A  richer  formula  gives  Pond's  brunette  shades 
a  richer,  rosier  glow— never  "stagey." 

Apply  Make-up  Pat  sparingly  with  a  damp- 
to-wet  sponge  or  cotton.  While  moist,  blend 
evenly  with  your  fingertips. 

"Make-up  Pat  gives  such  a  fresh,  all-over- 
smooth  look  to  my  skin!"  Mrs.  Roosevelt  says. 
Try  Pond's  new  Make-up  Pat  today.  We  be- 
lieve you'll  like  it  better  than  any  make-up 
you've  ever  tried. 


TIPS  FOR  FINGERTIPS!  HERE  ARE  NOTES  FROM  HOLLYWOOD 
ON  HOW  TO  KEEP  THEM  COLORFUL  AND  GLEAMING. 

HELP  YOUR  HANDS  TO  SOME  FOUR-STAR  GLAMOR. 

by  Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor 


Anne  Jeffreys,  who  is  so  pretty  in 
RKO's  "Step  by  Step,"  never  skips  a  step  in  her 
manicure  routine!   Here  she  smooths  on 
hond  lotion  and  finishes 
a  neat  job  of  polish  application. 


■  The  Beauty  Department  has  something 
for  you.  Hold  out  both  hands  .  .  .  we're 
going  to  cram  'em  full  of  beauty!  Let's 
begin  by  striking  a  colorful  note.  We'll 
do  away  with  fingertip  monotony  by  re- 
membering that  there's  a  particular  nail 
polish  to  team  with  every  wardrobe 
color  from  that  cherry  jumper  to  char- 
treuse suit. 

F'rinstance,  there's  a  lilting,  singing 
"fire  fly"  scarlet,  so  grand  with  pastels 
and  prints.  Or,  could  be  that  you  want 
a  strong,  serene,  true  red  to  team  with 
a  clear  green?  Then  by  all  means  con- 
sider "flare  red."  Check  off  "red  plum" 
to  highlight  mauves,  violets  and  purples. 
Not  planned  to  transcend  red,  but  to 
supplement  it  for  special  occasions,  there 
is  "tortoise  shell,"  a  burnished,  dramatic 
russet.  And  "proud  pink"  will  do  you 
proud  when  worn  with  Spring  Navy 
blue! 

Get  the  idea?  Let  your  fingertips 
share  in  your  glamor.  Don't  keep  'em 
in  the  background  by  dabbing  on  the 
same  red  over  a  period  of  weeks.  Have 


70 


repertoire  as  wide  as  Sinatra's.  After 
U.  he  doesn't  sing  the  same  tune  over 
nd  over  again,  does  he? 

The  best  way  to  give  your  digits  the 
Dice  of  variety  is  to  practice  the  "quick 
•ick"  technique.  For  lasting  fingertip 
Hare,  apply  one  durable  base  coat,  two 
oats  of  polish.  When  time  is  short,  or 
hen  you  want  to  match  a  special  polish 
3  a  special  outfit,  apply  one  base  coat 
nd  one  coat  of  polish. 

In  the  last  few  years  some  of  us  fe- 
lales  have  fallen  into  the  rather  lazy 
abit  of  quickly  swishing  on  polish  and 
overing  the  entire  nail.  The  results  are 
retry  and  I've  nothing  against  that 
ractice.  But  here  again  we  can  do  with 

bit  of  variety.  First,  of  course,  there 

this  business  of  sheathing  the  entire 
ail.  But  for  a  different  finger  makeup 
ou  might  try  leaving  your  half  moons 
cposed.  A  third  variation  for  your 
lilored  and  business-like  moods  is  to 
ave  both  moons  and  tips  exposed. 

With  fingertips  so  colorful,  they  are 
Dund  to  attract  the  public's  eye  ...  so 
?ep  them  pretty  with  a  regular  weekly 


manicure.  Begin  the  procedure  by  ar- 
ranging the  "fixings"  on  a  nearby  table 
so  you  won't  have  to  dash  up,  half  way 
through,  to  retrieve  the  polish  or  cuticle- 
remover  you've  forgotten.  Then  turn 
on  the  radio  to  your  favorite  program 
and  devote  fifteen  cozy  minutes  to  the 
business  at  hand! 

For  a  clean  start,  remove  old  enamel 
with  oily  polish  remover.  Shape  your 
nails  with  an  emery-  board  or  a  fine 
grained  metal  file.  A  gentle  oval  is  the 
most  becoming  outline.  Scrub  your 
dainty  digits  with  a  brush  and  a  fluff 
of  warm  suds. 

Remove  cuticle,  using  a  cotton-tipped 
orangewood  stick  dipped  in  a  special 
cuticle  remover.  Or  you  might  try  us- 
ing the  wonderful  fountain-pen  shaped 
gadget  that  holds  a  supply  of  oily  cuticle 
remover  and  has  a  "nib'"  that  neatly 
disciplines  wayward  cuticles. 

Before  going  to  work  with  your  polish 
brush,  apply  a  colorless  base  coat  to 
smooth  out  any  bumps  and  to  provide 
a  strong  mooring  ground  for  the  color- 
ing. Now,  one  or  two  coats  of  polish, 


as  you  will,  and  finish  with  one  of 
those  grand  "toppers""  that  speeds  dry- 
ing time. 

When  polish  has  dried,  pamper  your 
glorified  fingers  with  hand  lotion  or 
cream.  In  fact,  don't  reserve  this  beauty 
treatment  for  manicure  time.  Make  it 
a  daily  practice.  The  results  will  show 
in  smooth,  soft,  unchapped  hands.  Use 
lotion  beforehand  when  vou"re  about  to 
embark  upon  any  messy  chores.  And 
keep  a  bottle  of  lotion  on  tap  to  be 
used  every  time  your  hands  have  been 
in  water,  whether  you've  been  washing 
dishes,  stockings  ...  or  you! 

*        *        *  « 

All  set  note?  Fine!  But  just  in  case 
you're  wondering  about  polish  brands 
or  manicure  item's,  or  even  about  the 
beautification  of  face,  figure  or  top-knot, 
remember  that  Carol  Carter  is  here  to 
help  you.  For  a  prompt  reply  send  your 
problem,  together  with  a  stamped,  self- 
addressed  envelope,  to:  Carol  Carter, 
Dept.  B„  MODERN  SCREEN,  149 
Madison  Ave.,  Neiv  York  16,  N.  Y. 


i 


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WATCH  MARK  STEVENS! 

(Continued  from  page  53) 


young  man,"  I  began  to  boil,  "suppose  you 
keep  your  shirt  on  .  .  ."  Then  I  saw  this 
tall  guy  with  the  crinkly,  ginger-colored 
hair  and  the  dark  brown  eyes  crack  a 
charming,  disarming  grin,  and  I  melted.  I 
found  I  had  the  Gruen  watch  in  my  hand, 
and  was  forking  it  over.  Mark  Stevens 
looked  at  it,  turned  it  around  admiringly, 
latched  it  on  his  wrist  and  patted  it 

"Just  what  I've  been  wanting,"  he 
grinned.  Then  he  looked  reflective  for  a 
second  and  sighed.  "You  know  what?"  he 
said.  "I  was  just  thinking.  It's  funny.  I 
wouldn't  sell  this  watch  today  for  ten 
times  its  price — but  a  couple  of  years  ago, 
Td  have  chased  right  off  to  Uncle  Benny's 
and  hocked  it  for  whatever  I  could  get!" 

Maybe  I  was  chugging  my  jaloppy  out 
over  Cahuenga  Pass  toward  Warner 
Brothers  studio  that  morning  when  Mark 
was  jerking  his  thumb  at  a  stream  of 
whizzing  drivers  who  never  gave  him  a 
tumble.  Could  be.  Maybe,  if  I'd  been  the 
seventh  daughter  of  a  seventh  son  or  some- 
thing, I'd  have  slammed  on  the  brakes  and 
said,  "Hop  in,  for  a  ride  to  fame." 

the  hard  way  .  .  . 

But  it  doesn't  work  that  way.  Mark 
hiked  the  whole  six  miles  from  Hollywood. 
He'd  spent  his  last  two  bits  getting  up  that 
far  from  Long  Beach,  where  he  was  sleep- 
ing on  the  sands  and  eating  hamburgers 
He  was  headed  for  a  test  at  Warners'.  He 
was  late  but  they  shot  it.  He  wore  an  old 
suit  of  Humphrey  Bogart's  that  pinchec 
him  in  the  shoulders  and  split  up  the  back 
The  wind  ruffed  his  wavy  hair  around  lik« 
a  Hottentot's  and  he  was  too  self-consciou; 
to  comb  it  in  front  of  the  camera  crew 
But  somehow  he  got  a  stock  contract  anc 
he  hung  around  a  while,  doing  nothing 
good,  getting  nowhere.  Then  he  was  fired 
Washed  up  in  one  easy  lesson.  A  Holly- 
wood discard,  like  a  hundred  others,  bille; 
for  oblivion.  Just  a  couple  of  years  ago. 

Sometimes  I'm  tempted  to  sit  down  an 
write  my  Congressman.  "Please,  can't  yo 
pass  a  law  making  more  months  out  of  th 
year?"  It's  like  this — new  stars  are  pop 
ping  up  around  Hollywood  like  corn  ove 
hot  coals.  The  pressure's  terrific.  What 
a  gal  to  do  with  Dreamboaty  Dates  wit 
Fate  everywhere  she  looks?  I  could  pic 
a  peck  of  Star-of-the-Month  prospec 
every  week  and  not  be  far  off  the  bubble 
Then  how  come  it's  Mark  Stevens?  Wei 
you  want  a  capsule  scenario  of  "The  Wir 
ning  of  Hopper's  Topper?"    Okay  .  .  . 

First,  Mark  has  proved  he's  a  swe 
actor,  parlaying  a  small  part  in  "With: 
These  Walls"  right  into  a  co-starring  le£ 
with  Joan  Fontaine  in  "From  This  Dj 
Forward,"  filling  acting  shoes  designed  f< 
Jimmy  Stewart  or  Hank  Fonda  there.  Th« 
I  went  to  a  premiere,  "Leave  Her 
Heaven,"  at  the  Carthay  Circle  a  fe 
weeks  ago.  I  watched  Ty  Power,  just  ba< 
from  the  wars,  walk  down  Peacock  La: 
with  Annabella — and  I  heard  the  cro\ 
roar.   Next  came  Mark  Stevens  and  1 
pretty  wife,  Annelle,  and  the  bleach* 
busted  just  as  wide  open.  Hmmm  .... 
He  clicked  with  the  fans.  Then  I  talk 
to  Darryl  Zanuck,  Steve's  boss  at  Twe 
tieth   Century-Fox.    He   said:  "Heck 
Mark  Stevens  tops  my  new  star  list  i 
'46."  Then  I  checked  the  fan  mail— we 
Over  to  RKO  next,  and  a  producer  tt 
me  a  story.  Says  Bill  Pereira: 

"I  wanted  Mark  opposite  Joan  Fonta 
in  'From  This  Day  Forward.'  Anotl 
executive  wanted  an  actor  with  a  bet 
reputation,  a  bigger  name.  We  got  stt  ] 
born,  bucked  horns.  So  we  made  a  b  ■ 
gain:  Run  off  both  tests  of  both  actf 


give  no  names.  Invite  24  studio  secretaries. 
Let  their  verdict  be  final." 

"And  .  .  .?"  I  asked. 

"We  did,"  grinned  Bill.  "The  vote: 
twenty- four  to  nothing — in  favor  of  Mark, 
of  course!" 

Then  I  went  into  a  huddle  with  myself — 
and  you  should  huddle  with  Hopper.  I've 
a  Hollywood  memory  like  an  elephant  and 
the  minute  I  looked  at  Mark  Stevens, 
names  ran  across  my  mind  like  ticker  tape. 
Lew  Ayres,  yep,  looks  like  him.  Dana 
Andrews,  too.  A  touch  of  Alan  Ladd.  Lots 
of  Tim  Holt's  looks  and  charm.  Errol 
Flynn.  Even  David  Niven,  if  you  look 
close.  Those  boys  were  stars.  But  I  think 
the  final  clincher  on  the  case  was  this: 
Mark  Stevens  is  so  typically  untypical  of 
Hollywood  fortune — if  I  make  myself  clear. 
He's  the  kid  who  did  it  when  it  wasn't 
done — crashing  the  town  cold,  friendless, 
unafraid— getting  his  breaks  in  preposter- 
ous fashions  (like  those  secretary  votes), 
doing  all  the  wrong  things  and  coming  out 
right.  Getting  in  jams,  sassing  producers, 
walking  off  sets,  getting  married  when 
he  was  out  of  a  job.  Making  the  grade 
and  keeping  his  spunk  and  independence. 

fireworks  .  .  . 

Mark  Stevens  should  have  been  born 
on  the  Fourth  of  July.  He's  a  walking 
Declaration  of  Independence,  and  that's 
something — even  in  Hollywood,  where  you 
see  all  kinds  of  things  ambling  along. 

You  can  tell  it  the  minute  you  spot  his 
square-cut  jaw.  It's  a  good-looking  face 
Steve  wears,  but  on  the  cocky,  belligerent 
side.  He's  almost  a  real  redhead;  as  a  kid, 
you  just  know  he  had  copper  freckles. 
Talks  with  a  quiet,  even  voice  with  no 
apology-for-living  in  it.  Maybe  Mark 
packs  a  slightly  cynical  demeanor — well, 
he's  been  batted  around  a  lot  Ever  see  a 
redhead  without  a  temper,  anyway? 

Some  time  ago,  while  making  "From 
This  Day  Forward,"  Mark,  his  producer 
and  director  came  out  of  lunch  at  Lucey's 
Restaurant,  right  around  the  corner  from 
RKO.  A  picture -snatcher  was  grabbing 
shots  of  stars  because  that's  a  great  Para- 
mount-RKO  lunch  hangout  The  RKO  big 
shots  knew  the  bulb-boy.  Mark  didn't  and 
vice  versa.  They  told  the  cameraman: 
"Here's  a  picture  for  you.  Mark  Stevens. 
He's  playing  opposite  Joan  Fontaine  in  her 
new  picture.  Better  grab  a  shot." 

But  the  lens  clicker  was  not  impressed. 
In  fact,  he  was  pretty  rude. 

"Nuts  to  him,"  he  barked.  "I  don't  give 
a  damn.  WaitTl  he  gets  famous  and  then 
maybe  Fll  shoot  him.  Right  now,  I  don't 
want  to  waste  film."  All  this  right  to 
Mark's  face.  It  turned  pale.  He  stepped 
up  to  the  photographer. 

"Fll  remember  you,"  said  Steve,  icily. 
"Youll  never  take  a  picture  of  me,  Bud! 
So  don't  ever  try  it!"  The  photographer's 
jaw  dropped  like  a  ripe  apple.  He'd  been 
jostling  actors  around  rudely  for  years  and 
nobody'd  called  him.   What  made  Mark 
sore  was  not  the  go-by  but  the  rudeness. 
He's  sensitive,  and  he's  flash-tempered, 
and  he's  proud.  That's  a  recipe  for  per- 
petual hot  water,  sure,  almost  anywhere, 
and  particularly   in  Hollywood,   but  if 
you've  got  the  stuff  behind  it  youll  get 
:  by.  Look  at  Errol  Flynn,  Peck's  Bad  Boy, 
if  Hollywood  ever  saw  one,  but  he  can 
write  his  own  ticket 

Errol's  a  friend  of  Steve's,  by  the  way. 
:  Because  it  was  at  Warner's  that  Mark 
I  first  ran  into  the  frustrations  of  Hollywood, 
which  was  something  like  an  irresistible 
;  force  meeting  an  immovable  object.  The 
result — comets,  shooting  stars  and  loud 
I  explosions  most  of  the  time.  Errol  still 
-ihuckles  about  two  times  that  tickled  'his 
b  own  wicked  funnybone.  Once,  when  Mark, 
i  just  a  measly  bit  player,  actually  stopped 
i  production  on  Errol's  picture,  "Objective 
:  Burma,"  by  walking  off  the  set  and  an- 


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Fresh  contains  the  most  effective 
perspiration-stopping  ingredient 
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Cms  i 


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rcshly  Laundered  jabot  adds  chic  to  your 
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voiles  and  rayons  take  on  new  freshness  and 
beauty  when  they  are  Linit-laundcred. 

Linit  restores  the  original  finish  to  all  house- 
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©  Corn  Products  Sales  Co. 


74 


LINIT  adds  the  ''finishing  touch". 


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other  time  when  Errol  had  a  party  at  his 
house  and  injudiciously  invited  Mark.  Be- 
fore the  evening  was  over  this  unknown 
kid  had  told  all  the  grand  moguls  of 
Hollywood  off,  right  to  their  faces.  Yet 
he  was  so  unknown  at  the  time  that  half 
of  them  don't  even  remember  him  now — 
in  fact,  instead  of  pasting  him  on  their 
blacklists,  some  of  them  are  the  very  ones 
who  are  boosting  Stevens  to  stardom  to- 
day! 

During  that  first  Hollywood  contract, 
Mark  managed  to  keep  his  copper  head 
bloody  but  unbowed  It's  too  scrappy  a 
saga  to  handle  without  boxing  gloves  but 
here  are  some  samples:  His  first  "part" 
turned  out  to  be  a  mere  tails  and  white  tie 
atmosphere  dress  job.  "I'm  no  extra,  I'm 
an  actor,"  said  Mark  to  the  director.  He 
took  off  the  tail  coat,  hung  it  on  the  wall 
and  walked  home.  Next  time  they  sent 
him  on  location  in  a  picture.  "Where's  my 
dressing  room?"  asked  Mark.  "Oh,"  said 
the  assistant  director,  "just  put  your 
clothes  on  over  there  behind  the  wagons, 
with  the  extras."  "Not  me,"  replied  Steve. 
He  walked  off  again.  Again,  the  studio 
gateman  barred  him  roughly  from  entering 
the  studio  one  day  when  he  was  on  call. 
"Okay,  Bud,"  said  Mark.  He  went  home. 
Mark  got  tired  of  a  nasty  assistant  direc- 
tor "hey,  you-ing"  him  around.  He  popped 
him.  That  did  it.  He  got  fired — but  was 
Mark  Stevens  through?  Not  on  your  life. 
Darfyl  Zanuck  snapped  up  his  contract 
like  a  trout  snaps  up  a  fly. 

Steve's  real  name  is  Richard  Stevens 
and  he's  mostly  canny  Scotch-English. 
He's  a  Cleveland,  Ohio  boy  by  birth,  and 
his  Dad  was  an  American  flyer  in  the  last 
war,  who  couldn't  settle  down  to  family 
responsibilities  after  the  fighting  was  over. 
So  his  Mother  took  Mark  over  to  Folke- 
stone, England,  when  he  was  three,  to  live 
with  her  parents.  When  they  died,  she 
came  to  live  with  her  sister  in  Montreal, 
Canada,  and  that's  where  Mark  grew  up. 

Only  he  didn't  grow  very  fast  and  prob- 
ably, '  he  thinks,  that's  what  made  him 
such  a  problem  child.  You'd  never  believe 
it  today,  when  you  size  up  Mark's  six  foot, 
lean-muscled  165-pound  body,  but  he  was 
a  peewee — only  5'-2"  when  he  was  six- 
teen. Result:  He  knocked  himself  out 
proving  size  wasn't  important,  like  a  lot 
of  short  orders  have  been  doing,  ever  since 
Napoleon.  Football,  basketball,  tennis, 
hockey — at  King  School,  Argyle  and  West- 
mount  Highs  in  Montreal.  Mark  was  a 
mighty  atom.  He  even  played  some  pro 
hockey,  and  he  trained  for  the  Canadian 
Olympic  Diving  Team,  until  the  high 
springboard  betrayed  him  on  a  two-and- 
a-half  gainor  and  he  smacked  his  back 
so  hard  that  years  later  it  kept  him  out 
of  the  Army.  He  sailed  off  the  big  180-foot 
Cote  des  Neiges  jump  on  skis — and  busted 
his  collar  bone.  He  got  to  be  a  boxing 
whiz  in  the  ring  and  tied  into  a  champ 
who  beat  his  ears  in. 

masquerade  .  .  . 

What  Mark  wanted  he  could  always  get 
— like  athletic  applause — and  an  illegal 
look  at  the  movies.  That's  what  I  said — 
illegal;  because  about  that  time  in  Canada 
there  had  been  four  disastrous  theater 
fires  which  killed  hundreds  of  children, 
so  a  law  was  passed  prohibiting  all  mop- 
pets under  sixteen  from  passing  the  ticket 
taker.  Mark  fixed  that.  He  stole  a  pair  of 
his  mother's  high  heeled  shoes  and  rose 
up  in  the  world  so  he  could  pass  at  the 
box  office.  He  was  movie  mad,  as  far  back 
as  he  can  remember,  and  he  saw  every- 
thing that  came  to  town. 

Of  course,  from  what  Mark  admits,  it 
was  some  sort  of  a  small  miracle  that  he 
ever  got  through  school  at  all  before  his 
beard  turned  white.  Because,  what  he 
didn't  want,  Steve  promptly  gave  the  back 
of  his  hand  to — as  he  does  today.  He  didn't 


ike  lessons,  for  instance,  and  he  has  a 
perfect  record  of  getting  booted  out  of 
;very  school  he  attended,  public  or  private. 
Mark  sort  of  regrets  this  sorry  academic 
record  now,  mainly  because  he  realizes 
what  a  headache  he  must  have  been  to 
lis  fond  mother  and  doting  stepdad.  Mrs. 
Stevens  remarried  when  Mark  was  twelve. 
She  couldn't  have  picked  a  nicer  father  for 
Mark.  James  Cooke  has  helped  his  step- 
son out  of  many  a  pickle  and  always 
backed  him  to  the  hilt. 

what's  he  got?  .  .  . 

Henry  Hathaway,  one  of  the  best  direc- 
tors in  our  town,  thinks  a  lot  of  Mark 
Stevens.  Henry's  a  rugged  man's  director 
and  a  tough  audience  and  he's  directed 
the  best  of  them.  So  when  I  heard  he'd 
tossed  a  birthday  party  for  Mark,  lent  him 
his  car  when  Mark's  was  laid  up  and 
palled  around  on  the  set  between  scenes,  I 
knew  Mark  Stevens  had  something.  Henry 
Hathaway  isn't  won  easily.  I  gave  him  a 
jingle  right  on  the  set  of  "The  Dark 
Corner."  "What's  Mark  Stevens  got  that 
rings  the  bell?"  I  asked. 

"That's  easy,  Hedda,"  came  back  Henry. 
"He's  got  depth,  assurance,  authority.  He 
knows  what  it's  all  about.  He's  been 
around.  He's  not  acting  in  the  dark,  like  a 
drama  school  dope." 

What  sent  Mark  off  on  a  flock  of  tangents 
was  that  old  Yankee  independence  streak 
he  was  born  with.  He  disagreed  with  his 
Mom  that  the  best  place  to  be  was  in  his 
stepdad's  plant,  although  he  took  a  good 
crack  at  that  first,  and  worked  in  every 
department  in  the  place,  from  eight-to- 
five  for  six  months.  But  after  hours  he 
strayed  from  the  fold.  He  could  sing  like 
a  thrush,  so  in  no  time  at  all  he  was  nosing 
his  way  inside  Montreal's  night  clubs,  like 
the  Edgewater  Inn  and  the  Norgate,  taking 
a  turn  with  the  band  and  handing  out  patter 
at  the  mike  between  numbers.  He  snagged 
another  after-hour  job  with  the  Corona 
Barn  Players  of  Montreal.  Right  away  Mark 
qualified  for  leads,  even  though  half  the 
time  the  Corona  crew  played  in  beer 
halls,  where  rowdy  customers  heaved 
empty  bottles  when  they  didn't  like  the 
show.  Mark  drew  fifteen  dollars  a  week 
and  his  share  of  the  bottles.  But  he  ducked 
most  of  them. 

He  couldn't  dodge  that  stubborn  streak 
of  his,  though.*' And  when  the  glittery  lures 
of  a  show  business  life  beckoned  him 
away  from  his  factory  desk,  and  there 
were  complaints,  Steve  struck  out  on  his 
own.  The  baits  that  hooked  him  were  leads 
in  a  repertory  stock  company,  the  Atter- 
bury  Players,  which  held  out  a  glamorous 
tour  around  Canadian  cities  like  Winnipeg, 
Ottawa,  Toronto  and  Quebec.  And  after  a 
heady  sip  of  acting  in"  Canadian  Broad- 
casting Company  radio  thrillers,  such  as 
"Miss  Trent's  Children"  and  the  "Canada 
Comes  On"  show,  Mark  thought  Happy 
Days  were  here  for  keeps.  He  was  only 
seventeen  and  the  world  was  his  oyster.  So 
he  plopped  right  into  the  stew,  abandoning 
the  advice  of  his  parents.  When  the  pot 
ran  dry  Steve  was  far  too  independent  to 
come  crying  back  home. 

He  sold  punchboards — until  the  cops 
got  after  the  company.  He  pumped  gas  in 
a  garage  until  a  customer  bawled  him  out. 
He  collected  bills  for  a  hardware  •  store, 
but  when  the  boss  didn't  pay  off,  Steve 
knocked  down  enough  shelves  of  glass- 
ware to  get  even.  He  drove  midget  racing 
cars.    He  peddled  haberdashery  until  he 
1  had  a  scrap  with  the  manager.    He  drove 
■  trucks,  jerked  sodas,  ran  a  general  store 
in   a   country   town.    He   studied  com- 
I  mercial  art   (painting's  still  his  hobby) , 
'■  and  painted  window  signs.    He  tied  up 
<  with  a  miracle  stocking  wash  that  kept 
*   a  dies'    hose    from    nxnning.     Only  the 
J  niracle  dip  ate  the  hose  right  to  pieces, 
•'  and  he  almost  got  killed  by  angry  house- 


LANA  TURNER. .  STAR.MNC  IN  M  G  f 


^  Z  **  •  •  •  ^  •  "  'ire  flatted 
the  povdct  J  masVs  UnY 


LOVE-ly 
LANA 
is  the 

Woodbury 

FLESH 

type! 


YOUR  MATCHED  MAKE 


I.  Big  $1  box  oi  Woodbury  Film-Finish  Powder 
2.  Stor-styled  lipstick — your  just-right  shade 

3.  Matching  rouge — your  just-right  shade 
Boxes  of  Film-Finish  Powder,  2S£  and  I0£  plus  tax. 


er 


*plus  tax 


Bearer  of  a  historic  1000-year-old  Norman  name,  the  Countess  de 
Petiteville  is  active  in  the  French  Red  Cross  and  in  the  cultural  life 
of  Paris.  She  has  a  fine,  cameo  type  of  beauty,  with  dazzling  white 
skin.  'The  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  gives  my 
skin  a  clearer,  brighter  look,"  she  says.  "Makes  it  feel  smoother!" 


beauty  dlSC 


The  Countess  says:  "The  Mask  refreshes  my  skin,  gives  it  a  more  wide-awake  look!" 

Make  your  skin  look  lovelier  — in  one  minute! 

Follow  the  Countess  de  Petiteville's  beauty  lead!  Mask  your  face- 
all  but  eyes— with  luxurious  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream. 

The  Mask  works  by  what  skin  specialists  call  "keratolytic"  action. 
It  has  the  power  to  loosen  and  dissolve  bits  of  chapped,  curling  skin 
and  dirt  particles!  After  one  minute,  tissue  off  the  Mask.  Off  comes 
loosened  debris,  too! 

Your  "re-styled"  complexion 
looks  so  much  clearer  and  fresher 
.  .  .  feels  so  much  softer !  And  all  in 
just  one  minute! 


"A  quick,  light  powder  base,  too!" 

"7  use  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  another  way, 
too — as  a  powder  base.  It  goes  on  so  smoothly 
— holds  powder  so  we//.'"  says  the  Countess. 


Get  a  BIG  jar  of  glamour-making  Mads! 


wives.  He  walked  floors  in  a  department 
store,  peddled  electric  razors  door -to -door. 
He  sang  in  waterfront  cafes. 

All  along,  Mark  Stevens  kept  his  red 
topknot  belligerently  blazing.  His  radio 
experience  in  Akron,  Ohio,  is  typical  of  the 
chip  he  packs  around  on  his  shoulder, 
which  falls  off  very  easily. 

This  time  in  Akron,  Ohio,  Mark  came 
up  with  a  job  as  turntable  boy  on  station 
WAKR.  He  was  an  announcer  inside  of  a 
month,  an  engineer  next,  a  writer  and 
a  producer  in  a  few  more  weeks.  He 
worked  fourteen  hours  a  day,  hopping 
around  like  grease  on  a  griddle,  and-  before 
that  job  was  over  there  wasn't  anything 
you  could  tell  Steve  about  radio  stations. 
He  opened  the  joint  up  at  six  ajn,  and  he 
closed  it  at  midnight,  running  the  turn- 
table, control  board,  the  mixing  machine, 
anouncing  news  when  the  news  was  full 
of  tongue  twisters  like  "Sevastopol"  and 
"Veliki-Luki."  Mark  thinks  the  tuner- 
inners  must  have  had  some  bewildering 
programs  the  first  week  the  station  en- 
gineer went  to  war.  His  boss  was  an  im- 
perious guy  who  told  him:  "If  you  can't 
handle  the  job> — you're  through" 

So  Mark  handled  it,  although  half  the 
time  he  mixed  up  Charlie  McCarthy  with 
Mister  Anthony  and  had  Bing  Crosby 
singing  in  soap  operas.  But  when  he 
finally  learned  his  stuff  (and  he  can  take 
a  radio  station  apart  and  put  it  together 
blindfolded  now),  terrible-tempered  Steve 
discovered  that  the  bone-breaker  job  he 
was  doing  for  $35  a  week  had  paid  $125 
for  the  chap  who  was  there  before  him 
and  who  did  half  his  work.  That  did  it. 
He  quit  cold,  with  a  "Kindly  go  to  heck!", 
walked  over  to  the  rival  station  WJW, 
and  went  right  to  work.  Nobody  has  yet 
discovered  a  way  to  fool  Mark  Stevens 
for  long,  or  push  him  around. 

WJW  lifted  Steve  right  up  to  a  top  an- 
nouncer, handed  him  the  national  pro- 
grams, put  him  covering  elections  and 
special  events,  and  finally  gave  him  a  man- 
in-the-street  broadcast  show  of  his  own. 
He  made  decent  dough  at  last  and  radio 
was  a  rosy  future.  But  even  with  his 
marathon  working  hours  Mark  had  found 
himself  running  off  up  to  Cleveland, 
thirty-five  minutes  away  on  the  inter- 
urban,  and  trying  out  for  leads  at  the 
Cleveland  Playhouse — winning  them,  too. 
That  acting  bug  was  still  stinging  away. 
One  morning  he  rolled  out  of  bed  and  quit, 
walked  to  the  depot  and  bought  a  ticket 
to  California — just  like  that. 

pop  pitches  in  .  .  . 

It  took  him  three  tries  to  get  past  Chi- 
cago, but  he  finally  made  it  The  third 
time,  on  a  thousand  dollars  his  ever  pitch- 
ing stepdad  advanced  him,  he  rolled  all 
the  way  to  the  Coast  He  still  had  most 
of  the  thousand  when  he  arrived,  and  that 
turned  out  to  be  a  big  mistake.  The  sun 
and  the  stars  and  the  glamor  got  Mark. 
But  that's  one  thing  in  his  favor  today. 
He  got  "going  Hollywood"  out  of  his  sys- 
tem early — and  when  it  hurt  least 

Anyway,  he  forgot  what  he  came  to 
Hollywood  for,  temporarily,  and  he  got 
around  to  tackling  just  one  studio  all  that 
time.  An  agent  took  a  chance  and  got  him 
an  interview  with  the  casting  director  of 
a  minor  lot. 

The  exec  took  one  look  at  Mark  and 
turned  to  the  agent.  "Are  you  kidding?" 
he  said,  and  then  to  Mark,  "My  advice  to 
you,  Bud,  is  to  go  on  back  home." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Mark.  "I 
will."  And  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
departed.  The  agent  shrugged,  "Why  don't 
you  forget  this  whole  idea?" 

"Okay,"  said  Mark.  But  he  didn't  mean 
it.  He  just  acts  that  way  when  he's  hurt 
He  visited  Nat  Goldstone,  another  agent 
he'd  known  from  back  East  ramblings, 
and  Nat  said  he'd  see  what  he  could  da 


fVhile  he  was  seeing,  Mark  turned  beach- 
comber. For  two  months  he  slept  on  the 
»ands  down  around  Belmont  Shores,  get- 
ing  by  the  best  he  could.  He  had  just 
wo  bits  cash  when  his  headquarters  (the 
corner  drug  store) ,  reported  Nat  Goldstone 
//anted  to  see  him. 

That's  when  Mark  walked  those  six 
niles  over  the  Pass  to  Warners.  And  be- 
cause his  thumb  wasn't  working,  that  hike 
nade  him  late  for  the  test.  The  Humphrey 
3ogart  suit  with  the  pinched-in  back  and 
;hort  sleeves  didn't  help.  Nor  the  wild 
lair  he  "was  too  self-conscious  to  comb. 
*Ior  the  fact  that  the  makeup  they 
aneared  on  him  made  him  look  like  a 
:ombie,  nor  Mark's  camera  greenness — 
le'd  never  looked  into  one  before.  But 
/ou've  got  to  hand  it  to  the  Warner 
3rothers — they've  got  sharp  eyes  for  tal- 
ent. In  a  couple  of  days,  Nat  Goldstone 
called  Mark  at  his  drug  store  office. 

"It's  a  contract  if  you  want  it,"  he  said. 
*$100  a  week."  That  sounded  like  all  the 
noney  in  the  mint  to  Mark. 

"Shall  I  take  it?"  he  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Nat,  "I've  got  Metro  and 
fwentieth  Century  interested,  too.  If  you 
can  wait." 

aostage  stamp  purse  .  .  . 

"How  can  I  wait?"  asked  Mark.  "I've 
*ot  three  cents." 

Being  Mark  Stevens,  that's  probably  one 
jood  reason  why  he  had  a  battle  royal 
dl  the  year-and-a-half  he  was  on  the 
W arner  payroll.  The  contract  took  him  off 
he  beach  and  made  him  beholden.  Ask 
rour  favorite  psychologist  about  that,  not 
tae.  But  the  record  is  clear:  All  that 
ime  Mark  and  his  bosses  didn't  see  eye 

0  eye  on  a  single  issue  and  it's  certainly 
xue  that  his  dinky  bit  jobs  in  "Objective, 
3urma,"  "God  Is  My  Co-Pilot"  and  "Pride 
if  the  Marines"  got  him  nowhere  very 
ast  IH  take  that  back — and  so,  I  think, 
vill  Mark.  One,  "Objective,  Burma,"  was 

1  very,  very  lucky  role. 

Because  while  he  was  having  his  scuffles 
>n  that  set,  he  met  another  bit  player,  and 
his  character  happened  to  be  in  a  Warner 
>ffice  one  day  when  Annelle  Hayes,  a 
»retty  Texas  University  co-ed,  whom  he'd 
net,  was  waiting  and  glancing  around  the 
vail  at  the  contract  players'  portraits,  to 
jass  away  the  time.  She  had  been  brought 
•ut  from  the  Austin  campus  by  a  talent 
■cout  for  a  test.  Her  eyes  rested  on  Mark 
itevens'  handsome,  cocky  face  and  she 
ibserved,  "111  bet  he's  nice." 

"I'm  working  on  the  set  with  that  guy," 
aid  the  master  fixer.  "Like  to  meet  him?" 

"Well  .  .  ."  said  Annelle. 

I'm  afraid  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first 
ight.  Although  at  first,  Annelle  con- 
esses,  she  sized  up  Mark  as  a  pure  Holly - 
vood  playboy  and  a  wolf  with  a  line  a 
nile  long.  But  love  has  X-ray  eyes  and 
innelle  soon  saw  through  the  crusty  shell 
>f  cockiness  hard  knocks  had  draped 
•lark  with.  As  for  Mark,  how  could  any- 
x>dy  resist  the  dainty  little  Texas  doll 
hat  Annelle  is,  with  her  pretty,  heart- 
haped  face  and  winning  Dixie  ways?  He 
lidn't  long.  They  let  the  housing  short- 
age stall  their  plans  for  a  while,  but 
inally  Mark,  typically,  took  no  sass  from 
Tupid.  Even  though  Annelle  had  to  keep 
»n  staying  at  the  Studio  Club  and  he 
mnking  around  with  his  friends;  they 
led  the  knot.  Funny  thing,  too,  the  num- 
jer  13's  their  lucky  matrimonial  charm. 
Mark's  a  13-birthday  boy,  so's  Annelle. 
They  were  wed  on  a  13th  and  spent  their 
loneymoon  in  a  motel — of  all  places — in 
abin  13!  Typically  Steve,  too,  he  picked 
he  hungry  spell  right  after  Warners  had 
,iven  him  the  heave-ho,  to  take  a  wife. 
Being  out  of  a  job,"  Steve  explained  to 
Annelle,  "I  can't  afford  to  court  you.  So 
et's  get  married." 

Their  lucky  number  paid  off  again  the 


ONE  MOTHER  TO  ANOTHER 

You  may  have  heard  the  saying  Mwe  are  what  we 
eat."    How  true  that  is  of  our  babies I    For  the 
quality  and  purity  of  the  food  we  give  our  ba- 
bies has  much  to  do  with  the  kind  of  men  and 
women  they  will  become  t  7^/^^^ 


Time  to  eat,  I  hope  / 

That's  the  kind  of  feeding-time  welcome  that 
mothers  who  serve  Gerber's  Baby  Foods  come  to  ex- 
pect! First  of  all,  the  choice  vegetables  and  fruits  that 
go  into  Gerber's  are  carefully  washed  in  pure,  artesian 
water,  then  cooked  by  steam  ...  to  retain  precious 
minerals  and  vitamins.  The  same  tender  care  produces 
uniform,  "just-right"  texture;  and  of  course,  Gerber's 
Baby  Foods  taste  extra  good.  Laboratory  -  checked 
all  along  the  line.  Be  sure  to  get  Gerber's  —  with 
"America's  Best-Known  Baby"  on  the  label! 

Two  Special  Baby  Cereals  — 

suitable  as  starting  cereals  and  all  through  babyhood. 
Both  Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and  Gerber's  Strained  Oat- 
meal are  pre-cooked,  ready-to-serve.  Both  cereals  rich 
in  added  iron  and  B  complex  vitamins,  needed  by  most 
babies.  Serve  each  cereal  turnabout  to  give  baby  variety. 


4 


v 


jOiee  sample 


erber's 

FREMONT,  MICH  OAKLAND,  CAl 

Cereals       Strained  Foods      Chopped  Foods 


Remember,  it  is 
wise  to  check 
baby's  feeding 
program  with 
your  doctor. 

&  lMJfi.  {J.  IV  (■ 


Address:  Gerber  Products  Co.,  Dept.  DE4-6,  Fremont,  Mich. 


My  baby  is  now  months 

old.  Please  send  me  free  samples 
of  Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and 
Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal. 

Address  


Same.. 


.City  and  State   77 


/Here's  how  I  put  color  "magic"  in  my  kitchen!  In  just  a  few  minutes,  for  only  a  few  pennies, 
I  make  drab  shelves  sparkle— with  gay,  colorful  Royledge  Shelving.  What  a  difference 
it  makes— like  letting  golden  sunshine  into  the  kitchen!  Choosing  the  most  charming 
designs  makes  you  feel  like  a  real  decorator— and  vou  win  compliments. 


CiSr 

21  make  linen  closets  sing  with  color . . .  vivid 
Royledge  Shelving  makes  linen  closets 
look  beautiful,  makes  linens  look  crispy- 
clean,  brightens  other  closets,  too! 


2  I  decorate  lamps,  picture  frames,  etc.  with  col- 
orful  Royledge  "left-over"  pieces.  I  get 
lovely,  unusual  decorative  effects  all  over 
the  house,  at  no  extra  cost! 


Your  borne  "looks  like  new"  after  you  decorate  with 

rainbow-colored  Royledge  Shelving.  Dozens  of 

patterns  and  color  combinations  to  choose  from. 

So  easy  to  use,  just  place  Royledge  on  shelf  and 

fold.  Double-thick  edge  stays  crisp,  won't  curl 

or  wilt.  Buy  Royledge  Shelving  now  at  5-and-10"s, 

neighborhood  and  dept.  stores. 


"<kM 


ftoijledqe 


78 


SHELVING 


very  next  month  when  Darryl  Zanuck  put 
Mark  on  his  team  at  Twentieth  Century- 
Fox.  And  it  came  through  on  another 
thirteenth  when  they  moved  into  their 
first  home  as  Mister  and  Missus — the  cute 
little  hillside  guest  house  that  looks  right 
down  on  Pickfair,  which  used  to  house  a 
perfect  Hollywood  romance,  that  of  Mary 
Pickford  and  Doug  Fairbanks. 

I  doubt  if  Doug  and  Mary,  in  their 
honeymoon  hey-days,  had  a  cozier  nest 
than  Steve  and  Annelle,  or  "Baby,"  as 
he's  likely  to  call  her,  have  found  to  start 
their  bride-and-groom  days.  Mark  took 
me  up  to  meet  his  wife  the  day  I  saw  him. 
Mark's  twenty-seven  now  and  Annelle's 
twenty -one  and  he  treats  her  like  a  china 
doll.  When  I  asked  about  his  hobbies, 
Steve  grinned  and  said,  "Well,  I  still  like 
to  fool  around  with  watercolors  and  oils, 
but  my  real  hobby's  Annelle." 

the  big  boss  .  .  . 

That  old  declaration  of  independence 
doesn't  work  around  his  pretty  wife, 
either,  and  Mark  doesn't  want  it  to.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he's  being  bossed — 
and  he  loves  it.  Annelle  doles  him  out  two 
dollars  a  day  to  toss  recklessly  around, 
because  she  discovered  money  had  a  way 
of  leaking  out  of .  his  pockets.  She's  his 
business  manager,  too,  and  signs  the 
checks.  Annelle's  given  up  any  acting  am- 
bitions for  the  present  to  pitch  full  time 
as  Mrs.  Stevens,  cook  Mark's  favorite 
food,  steak  and  asparagus  with  Hollandaise 
(when  she  can  find  the  makings),  coax 
him  out  of  chain-smoking  cigarettes,  and 
let  Steve  beat  her  at  gin  rummy  to  keep 
him  happy. 

Mark  manages  to  keep  lean  and  tough 
working  out  with  the  bar  bells  in  Eastern's 
gym,  now  and  then,  although  he  can 
eat  potatoes  and  cake  all  night  and  not 
put  on  an  ounce.  That  old  diving  back 
injury,  which  kept  him  out  of  the  Army, 
still  haunts  him  enough  to  keep  him 
away  from  what  he  likes — tennis  and 
golf,  but  these  days  he  wouldn't  have  time 
anyway.  The  way  parts  are  popping  at 
20th-Fox,  Mark  Stevens  should  be  twins. 
Sometimes  he  and  Annelle  get  away  for 
an  evening's  talk  or  bridge  session  with 
their  friends,  the  Cornel  Wildes,  Zach 
Scotts,  Cesar  Romero  or  the  Vincent 
Prices.  But  most  of  the  time  they're  parked 
right  by  their  own  hearth,  where  Mark 
finds  it  an  added  attraction  to  be  married 
to  an  actress. 

Because,  one  of  Mark's  biggest  problems 
to  date  has  been  to  shake  the  clipped 
Canadian-English  accent  he  grew  up  with, 
and  he's  been  practicing  out  loud  on  An- 
nelle in  the  evenings.  He  thinks  it's  sort  of 
funny  that  the  minute  he  got  his  diction 
right  in  the  groove,  up  popped  the  part 
of  an  ex-jailbird  in  "Within  These  Walls," 
followed  by  a  factory  toughie  in  "From 
This  Day  Forward"  and  then  a  slangy 
detective  in  "The  Dark  Corner." 

back  where  he  started  .  .  . 

So  now  that  he's  talking  out  of  the  side 
of  his  mouth,  what  happens?  Why,  Darryl 
Zanuck's  decided  to  star  Mark  Stevens 
in  "32  Rue  Madeleine,"  a  war  under- 
ground thriller.  And  where  will  it  be 
shot?  Why,  right  back  in  Mark's  adopted 
country,  Canada.  But  that's  Hollywood 
for  you.  And  confoozin'  as  it  all  is,  Mark 
really  doesn't  mind  a  bit. 

It's  been  three  years  since  he's  seen 
his  mother,  and  that's  a  long  time.  Es- 
pecially when  youVe  got  the  sweetest  girl 
in  the  world  for  a  wife,  who's  long  over- 
due to  meet  the  folks. 

But  when  the  picture's  made  and  the 
visit's  over,  all  I  can  say  is — Canada  had 
better  give  Mark  Stevens  back.  If  they 
don't,  from  the  way  things  look,  a  million 
fans  will  spring  to  arms  and  Hollywood 
will  declare  war,  atom  or  no  atom. 


- 1  -  i  l,i 


EAGER  BEAVER 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


jractically  Celebrities!" 

"He  only  knows  us  because  he  saw  the 
;uest  list,"  Don  sighed. 

Jimmy  Stewart  passed  by,  clustered 
vith  blondes. 

"Umm,  what  I  wouldn't  do  to  meet  him," 
trowed  Phyl.  "My,  what  a  uniform  does 
or  a  man." 

"But  he's  not  in  his  uniform,"  her  hus- 
3  and  pointed  out. 

"No  matter,"  she  glowed,  "a  man  like 
hat  doesn't  need  a  uniform." 

Jimmy  passed  again,  his  eyes  overbright. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Stewart,"  Don  piped  from  his 
:orner,  "I'm  from  Pittsburgh,  too." 

No  answer. 

"So  we're  Names?   Hah!"  Don  snorted. 

"Never  mind,  honey,"  his  wife  comforted, 
after  three  years  in  the  Army,  you  can't 
rxpect  a  man  to  notice  every  little  thing." 
Don  threw  her  a  bitter  look. 

After  a  while  he  got  desperate.  "Hello, 
VIr.  Stewart,"  he  squeaked,  "I'm  from 
Pittsburgh,  too."  Then,  "I'm  from  PITTS- 
3URGH."  Then,  "I'm  from  Pittsburgh." 

No  soap,  Jimmy  wasn't  playing  old  home 
week.  Three  years  in  a  war  and  he  should 
mow  from  Pittsburgh? 

Not  that  Don  had  really  expected  any 
ecognition.  They'd  never  been  introduced 
aid'  probably  Jim  hadn't  even  seen 
'Winged  Victory,"  Don's  only  movie  ap- 
jearance.  But  he  couldn't  help  remem- 
oering  that  day  long  ago,  when  he  and  his 
ud  sister,  Janet,  had  spent  long  minutes 
«vith  their  noses  pressed  flat  against  a 
tore"  window,  worshipping  at  the  Oscar 
Ar.  Stewart,  Senior,  kept  on  display  there. 

"You  know  what?"  he'd  muttered,  yank- 


ing Janet  up  Main  Street,  "I'm  gonna  get 
me  one  of  those  some  day." 
"One  of  what?" 

"An  Oscar.  That's  Jimmy  Stewart's  Os- 
car. Jim  got  it  for  being  the  best  actor  of 
the  year." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  he  have?  He's  old 
enough.  Anyway,  you'll  never  get  a  Os- 
car 'cause  you'll  never  be  a  actor. ,  Daddy 
told  Mom.  I  heard  'em." 

"Yup,  he  sure  is  old  enough.  And  I 
heard  'em,  too." 

What  a  crazy  world  it  was.  Here  a  fel- 
low wanted  to  be  an  actor,  wanted  to  be 
such  a  good  actor  that  some  day  he'd  win 
an  Oscar — and  his  folks  had  to  go  and 
queer  the  whole  thing. 

"learn  a  trade"  .  .  . 

David  Edwin  Taylor  never  believed 
in  the  proud  parent  routine.  You  had 
children  and  taught  them  right  from 
wrong.  After  that  God  bless  them  and 
when  they  made  their  bed  they  had  to  lie 
in  it.  Only  thing,  first  they  had  to  have 
a  bed.  Ever  since  Don  was  old  enough 
to  understand,  his  Dad  tried  to  drum  it 
into  him.  "Learn  a  trade,  son,  any  trade. 
Carpenter,  school  teacher,  book  binder. 
Then  go  ahead  with  a  career.  That  way 
you'll  always  have  something  to  fall  back 
on  if  things  shouldn't — work  out." 

At  first  it  made  fine  sense  to  Don.  "Sure. 
Yeah,  sure,  Dad."  Then,  as  he  realized 
he  wanted  to  act,  "But  Dad,  that  takes 
time.  And  I  don't  have  time.  I  can't  wait." 

Don  never  could  wait.  Couldn't  wait  long 
enough  after  breakfast  to  brush  his  hair 
for  school,  couldn't  wait  till  he  could  date 


girls  instead  of  pulling  their  pigtails, 
couldn't  wait  till  he  found  The  Girl.  Don's 
the  boy  who'd  handed  out  three  Sigma 
Nu  frat  pins  to  three  different  coeds  one 
term,  and  then  had  to  put  an  ad  in  the  col- 
lege paper:  Would  the  wearers  please  step 
forward?  He  couldn't  remember  who  had 
'em!  It  wasn't  that  he  hadn't  liked  the  girls, 
he  just  never  had  a  head  for  details. 

Not  that  there  was  anything  he'd  ever 
really  wanted  that  he  couldn't  get.  Except 
maybe  that  once,  that  long-ago  once  when 
he  was  about  seven.  The  baby  fat  all  gone 
and  the  bones  at  his  throat  showing  young 
and  tender  under  the  rumpled  pajamas, 
his  eyes  crackle-bright  with  excitement. 
It  was  Christmas  morning  and  he'd  been  a 
good  boy  and  maybe,  oh,  Our  Father  which 
art  in  heaven  make  it  a  bike,  oh  make  it 
a  bike.  With  red  wheels. 

They  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  Don 
quivering  with  excitement,  Janet  all  red 
and  bleary-eyed,  her  moon  face  still  dopey 
with  sleep.  Hypnotized,  they  crept  down, 
the  big  tree  twinkling  unbelievable  red 
and  green  and  silver  magic  at  them.  Mom 
and  Dad  were  down  already,  waiting  near 
the  packages  that  were  big  enough  for  a 
sweater,  a  doll,  a  train,  but  not  very  big. 
Not  that  big — 

"Merry  Christmas,  Merry  Christmas, 
God  bless  you,  Don.  God  bless  you  Janet," 
they  called  to  one  another.  They  kissed 
and  tore  open  packages  and  kissed  again. 

"Well,  son,"  asked  Mr.  Taylor.  "Santa 
been  good  to  you?" 

"I  s'pose  so,"  Don  quavered,  his  big  toe 
busy  poking  the  green  excelsior  grass 
under  the  tree.    "I  mean,  yes  thank  you, 


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Dad.  I — I  guess  HI  go  up  now  .  .  ." 

As  he  turned  to  go,  he  spotted  his  mother 
in  a  far  corner  of  the  room.  Funny.  Funny 
place  for  Mom  to  be  standing.  Looked 
almost  as  though  she  were  hiding — "Mom! 
Dad!  Mom-Dad-golly-oh-golly — a  bike.'" 

Pennsylvania  had  solid  ice  for  six  weeks 
that  winter  and  everybody  said  the  Tay- 
lors were  crazy,  letting  the  boy  go  biking 
on  solid  ice.  But  the  Taylors  couldn't  help 
it — Don  couldn't  wait. 

He  didn't  even  like  the  idea  of  having 
to  sweat  it  out  for  nearly  a  year  waiting 
for  that  baby  sister. 

"Aw,  why  you  wanna  go  and  mess  up 
the  place  with  a  baby?"  he  quavered. 
"Cries  and  makes  things  dirty.  Aren't  I 
good  enough,  Mom?" 

"Good  enough?"  Jesse  Taylor  cried, 
catching  him  up  in  her  arms.  "Why  son, 
you're  the  finest  ever,"  she  crooned  "But 
you're  five  now,  too  old  for  me  to  baby." 

But  it  still  nagged  at  him.  Maybe  it  was 
that  fog  he  was  lurching  around  in  ever 
since  the  news  of  the  b?by,  maybe  it  was 
just  plain  bad  luck,  but  six  weeks  before 
Janet  was  born  he  fell  and  broke  his  wrist. 
Then  got  bit  by  a  dog.  And  finally  capped 
the  climax  by  knocking  all  his  front  teeth 
out  on  the  porch  railing  the  same  day  his 
hand  caught  in  the  washing  machine. 

woman  hater  .  .  . 

Not  that  he  was  a  bad  boy — but  just  a 
boy,  with  too  much  energy  to  prevent  his 
heart  from  running  away  with  his  head. 
Maybe  that  was  the  trouble,  he  needed  af- 
fection and  because  in  his  code,  men 
couldn't  be  softies,  he  didn't  dare  show  it. 

He  found  a  kitten  once,  rolling  and  leap- 
ing over  on  its  back,  scampering  after  a 
fluttering  leaf.  He  decided  kittens  only 
rolled  and  leaped  on  their  backs  when  they 
were  hungry,  so  he  bought  a  cone  with  his 
last  nickel  and  forced  the  poor  animal  to 
lick  up  the  whole  gob  of  ice  cream. 

"My,  but  tbat  was  mean  of  you,  Don," 
Mom  scolded.  "You  probably  killed  that 
poor  beast  with  your  thoughtlessness.  You 
know  animals  can't  eat  frozen  things!" 

"But  ice  cream's  only  very,  very  cold 
milk.    And  she  was  hungry." 

"A  flame's  only  very,  very  hot  air  but 
I  don't  let  you  play  with  it,  do  I?" 

His  lower  lip  was  starting  to  quiver 
and  he  didn't  like  the  idea.  "Well,  I  don't 
care,  so  there!  01'  dirty,  oF  silly  cat!"  he 
cried  and  ran  off  to  his  room.  Everybody 
expected  him  to  be  wise  and  grown  up 
but  as  soon  as  he  tried  doing  something  on 
his  own,  "Donald,  you're  mean." 

That  was  why  this  new  baby  idea  scared 
him.  No  matter  what  Mom  said,  bet  she'd 
pay  lots  more  attention  to  it  and  he'd  be  out 
in  the  cold  more  than  ever.  "Donald,  don't 
wake  the  baby.  Donald,  fetch  some  milk, 
Donald  this,  Donald  that.  .  .  ." 

When  Janet  finally  did  get  born,  he  was 
amazed.  This  was  no  threat,  this  was  a — 
a  pink  nothing.  Just  a  bunch  of  waving 
arms  and  legs.  Woman-like,  as  Janet  grew 
older,  the  more  he  snubbed  her,  the  more 
she  went  out  of  her  mind  trying  to  please 
him.  He  heckled  her  during  homework, 
tied  her  clothes  in  knots,  made  fun  of  her 
looks  and  buried  her  favorite  dolls.  But 
if  there  was  an  apple  to  be  snitched  or  ar, 
alibi  provided,  Janet  was  always  in  there 
pitching.  And  man-like,  Don  accepted 
these  favors  as  his  due.  But  the  one  time 
she  did  turn  the  tables  by  kicking  him 
in  the  slats  for  knocking  down  her  sand 
castle,  he  was  joyously  flabbergasted. 

"He's  a  growing  boy,"  Jesse  Taylor  used  tc 
say  defensively,  as  she'd  fill  Don's  plate 
for  the  third  time.  And  Don  always  cleaned 
it  up,  for  didn't  he  need  all  his  strength? 
He  sold  magazine  subscriptions.  He  had  i 
garbage  route  twice  a  week  that  paic 
25  cents  an  afternoon.  And  twice  a  weet 
he'd  buy  25  cents  worth  of  crullers  anc 
tootsie  rolls  and  stow  them  under  the  bee 


"for  an  emergency."  He  had  an  orchestra 
with  four  other  kids  that  charged  a  penny 
a  performance.  He  even  went  into  the 
promotional  field  by  staking  out  a  Tom 
Thumb  golf  course  on  the  family  back 
yard.  That  netted  Don  a  penny  a  round 
and  Mr.  Taylor  a  bill  for  $86  at  the  end 
of  the  "season"  for  reseeding  the  torn  up 
lawns.  Of  course  Don  had  to  sit  through 
an  hour-long  lecture  on  the  family  equiv- 
alent of  One  World  but  privately,  Mr.  Tay- 
lor rubbed  his  chin  ruefully  and  grinned 
"Glad  it  happened,"  he  chuckled,  "shows 
the  boy  has  gumption." 

But  the  night  Don  nearly  froze  to  death, 
that  "gumption"  crack  lost  some  of  its 
flavor  for  the  Taylors.  He'd  gone  off  camp- 
ing with  another  boy.  Nothing  unusual 
about  that.  He  often  went  off  10  or  15 
miles  away  from  home,  set  up  camp,  and 
spent  the  afternoon  swimming  and  roast- 
ing wienies.  Six  o'clock  came,  seven,  eight, 
nine  and  then  it  was  midnight.  Gradually, 
Mr.  Taylor's  loud  whistling  faded  away, 
Mrs.  Taylor  stopped  darning  the  sock  she'd 
been  mending  ever  since  dinner. 

"Something's  happened  to  the  boy,"  she 
said  quietly. 

"Nonsense,  Mother." 

"Go  and  look  for  him,  Edwin.  We'll 
train  him  to  be  self-reliant  when  it's  day- 
light ..." 

those  wonderful  girls  .  .  . 

So  Mr.  Taylor  hopped  in  the  car  and 
went  off  cruising  in  search  of  his  son. 
He  found  the  boy  tramping  along  the  State 
Highway,  his  hps  blue  with  cold,  drag- 
ging the  remains  of  the  tent  with  one 
hand,  his  exhausted  pal  with  the  other. 
What  had  happened?  Oh,  nothing  much. 
The  tent  had  blown  down,  no  cars  came 
through  because  of  a  new  detour  sign, 
they  were  hopelessly  lost  and  you  know 
what,  dad?  It's  swell  to  see  you.  But  with 
that  incident,  Don  had  seen  just  about 
the  last  of  his  little  boyhood.  Because  he 
hit  his  Girls,  Girls,  Oh  Those  Wonderful 
Girls  stage  comparatively  early.  Tall,  loose- 
jointed,  with  an  easy  grin  and  grace,  he 
was  a  tantalizing  date:  A  wisecracking  gal- 
lant. Up  to  the  time  of  Betty,  however, 
he'd  just  been  speed  crazy. 

There  wasn't  a  jaloppy  in  the  neighbor- 
hood whose  insides  he  didn't  know  inti- 
mately. The  way  some  people  have  a 
green  thumb  with  growing  things,  Don 
had  a  tinker's  heart — motors  purred  for 
him.  But  as  he  grew  older,  dating  got  to 
be  fun.  Until  Betty,  wonderful,  sympa- 
thetic Betty,  queered  the  game. 

He  was  a  frosh  at  Perm  State  that  semes- 
ter and  having  a  wonderful  time;  basket- 
ball, band,  school  paper,  little  theater,  an 
all-round  man.  The  news  seeped  through 
that  the  Jennerstown  Little  Theater  (where 
he  finally  did  act  in  the  summers  of  '41  and 
'42)  was  holding  auditions.  No  point  in  ask- 
ing Mom  to  let  him  play  hookey,  she'd  only 
say,  "Ask  your  father,  Don."  And  he  knew 
Dad's  theme  song  by  heart,  "We're  Scotch 
Presbyterian,  Donald.  Solid.  Level  headed. 
Learn  a  trade."  So  Don  hopped  the  10: 40  to 
New  York.  At  dinner  some  feline  female 
friend  of  Mother's  was  cooing,  "Don's  look- 
ing so  well,  dear.  I  saw  him  at  Pennsyl- 
vania Station  today.  I  didn't  know  that 
Perm  State  gave  mid-week  vacations  .  .  ." 

Dad  didn't  speak  to  him  for  a  week  and 
Mother,  who  didn't  believe  in  precipitat- 
ing crises  until  she  was  prepared  for  them, 
strung  along,  Betty  was  his  only  weeping 
post.  It  was  all  quite  tragic,  in  a  poetic 
way,  she  pointed  out,  if  you  looked 
at  it  properly — .  Then  Betty's  mother 
took  to  phoning.  Don's  mother  took 
to  wondering.  What  was  this?  Was 
Don  being  given  the  rush  act?  She  pointed 
it  out  to  Don.  He  got  the  idea.  "Thanks 
for  the  tip,  honey.  Anyhow,  it  just  oc- 
curred to  me  that  I  want  a  wife  who'll 


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depend  on  me.  Betty's  a  brick  but  I'd 
probably  die  of  acute  lovin'  in  a  week." 

But  all  Betty  did  was  make  him  matri- 
mony-shy. He  still  liked  girls.  Only  thing, 
now  he  plunked  them  in  the  same  cate- 
gory as  his  auto  buggies.  Swell  if  they 
were  trim  and  smooth  with  a  slim  chassis 
and  good  lines.  But  nothing  built  to  last 
a  lifetime.  Not  yet. 

By  now  Don  was  getting  to  be  a  big  man 
on  the  campus.  He  was  still  sticking  pretty 
close  to  his  pre-legal  curriculum  ("Learn 
a  trade,  son,  learn  a  trade  .  .  .")  but  more 
and  more  he  found  himself  yearning 
towards  the  theater.  Some  nights  he'd  get 
to  his  dorm  bone  tired  from  waiting  on 
tables  in  the  frat  mess  hall,  but  he'd  just 
rest  quietly  for  a  moment  and  then,  almost 
without  knowing  it,  find  himself  dragging 
over  to  the  Little  Theater.  And  when  the 
head  of  the  Drama  Department  yanked  him 
out  of  a  song-and-dance  sketch  to  play 
the  anguished  Mio  in  the  big  production 
of  "Winterset,"  it  was  like  God  slipping 
him  a  one-way  ticket  to  heaven. 

When  Don  and  Leon  Rabinovitz  and 
Doris  Disney  announced  that  they'd  teamed 
up  and  become  the  "We  Three"  acting 
group,  the  campus  rocked.  The  tall, 
fidgety  redhead,  square,  emotional  Leon 
and  the  delicate  Doris  acting  together? 
Ridiculous!  So  the  kids  gave  up  the 
drah-ma  idea  and  became  a  vaudeville 
team,  sort  of  a  First  Nighter  company 
with  songs  and  snappy  sayings  thrown  in. 
Don  used  the  most  props.  Carted  along 
a  bagful  of  trick  hats  and  did  impersona- 
tions to  fit.  The  only  time  he  ever  hit  a 
snag  was  when  he  came  on  with  his  Dotty 
L  amour  number.  Nobody  thought  he 
should've  used  a  trick  hat 

Commencement  Day  the  two  Taylor  men 
attended  a  Father-Son  luncheon.  Mr.  Tay- 
lor remembers  it  very  vividly;  the  long 
rows  of  white  draped  tables,  the  tinkle  of 
ice  in  glasses,  the  steady  drone  of  man 
talk,  with  here  and  there  a  big  boom  laugh 
echoing  against  the  clatter.  And  he  re- 
members how  quiet  they  were,  he  and  his 
son,  every  time  a  hearty  father  guf- 
fawed, "Well,  it's  about  time  we  old  ones 
started  preparing  for  a  back  seat!  Suppose 
your  young  fella  is  taking  over  your  en- 
gineering business,  eh,  Taylor?"  He 
couldn't  snub  the  man  so  he'd  wince  and 
answer  gently,  "No,  no  we're  not  quite 
sure,  Sir."  And  carefully  trace  a  crazy 
pattern  on  the  cloth  with  his  thumb  nail. 

They  were  starting  to  take  pictures  out 
on  the  front  lawn  and  Don  was  standing 
tall  and  straight  beside  him,  the  wind 
whipping  at  his  black  gown,  the  sun  mak- 
ing blue -crinkled  slits  of  his  eyes. 

"Well,  Don,  are  you  still  set  on  going 
ahead  with  this  Hollywood  notion?" 

"I'm  afraid  so,  Dad.  But — " 

"Yes?" 

"But  I'll  always  do  the  best  job  I  know. 
Ill  always  be  honest  with  myself,  like  you 
taught  me.  But  get  off  my  back,  Dad." 

"I'm  sorry,  Don,"  his  father  answered, 
turning  to  the  cameras.  "I'm  sorry  for  us. 
I'm  sorrier  for  me — I've  just  lost  a  son." 

It  wasn't  a  question  of  being  selfish  or 
thoughtless,  Don  just  couldn't  wait. 

"At  least  stay  with  us  until  you're  in- 
ducted," his  mother  pleaded. 

"But  that's  no  good,  Mom.  Whatever 
acting  I  do  before  I  hit  the  Army  will  be 
that  much  gained.  And  I  know  I  will  act. 
The  Epstein  brothers  saw  me  at  State. 
They  promised  me  a  job  in  Hollywood." 

"Promises!  You  know  better  than  that. 
And  your  father's  had  so  little  of  you.  He's 
getting  older,  Don,  he  needs  you." 

"Golly,  Mom,  don't  make  me  feel  more 
of  a  heel  than  I  do  already.  The  Epsteins 
are  State  alumna,  they'll  come  through. 
And  as  to  Dad,  well,  I'll  be  no  good  hang- 
ing around.  The  heart's  gone  out  of  it." 

The  family  took  him  down  to  the  sta- 
tion.   Very  casual,  very  subdued.  The 


train  was  just  pulling  in,  its  smoke  billow- 
ing against  the  towering  grey-faced  moun- 
tains, when  Don  gave  a  start. 

"Mom,  Dad,  wish  me  luck,"  he  cried. 
"All  of  a  sudden  I'm  scared.  I  feel  I'm 
never  going  to  see  these  hills  again. 
Please — wish  me  luck!" 

Gently,  his  father  shook  hands  and 
walked  off.  But  he  wouldn't  say  goodbye. 

That  was  in  June,  1942.  Four  months 
later  Don  signed  a  contract  with 
M-G-M.  And  four  months  after  that  he 
was  a  GI  and  Pinky  in  "Winged  Victory" 
and  very  wild  in  love.  Right  off,  he  went 
for  her,  the  lead  in  the  show.  She  was  so 
high  with  a  wriggly  bunny  nose  and  that 
haunting  voice  that's  half  shrill  child  and 
half  Bergman.  Sure  he  went  for  her,  but 
what  was  this  about  Phyl  being  the 
daughter  of  writer  Stephen  Morehouse 
Avery  with  three  or  four  carloads 
of  junior  deb  glamor  trailing  behind  her? 
Could  be  she  was  a  Blue  Book  jerk. 

They  met  under  a  dripping  stage  door 
one  night,  Phyl  still  with  her  makeup  on, 
Don  shivering  without  his  overcoat. 

"Silly  thing,  that,"  she  remarked  casual- 
ly. "You  can  die,  you  know." 

"Who  can't!"  he  retorted. 

"I  mean  walking  off  without  a  coat."  And 
then  as  the  little  alcove  started  bulging 
with  kid  fans,  "I  love  'em,  don't  you?" 

"Uh-huh.   Gonna  have  32  of  'em." 

"My  sentiments  exactly,"  she  agreed. 
And  then  eyeing  him  judiciously,  "But 
if  I  were  you  I'd  throw  out  all  the  ones 
that  didn't  have  red  hair." 

After  that  there  was  nothing  else  they 
could  do.  They  had  to  fall  in  love. 

They  handed  him  the  telegram  after  the 
second  act,  thrust  it  in  his  hand  as  he 
came  offstage  weak  and  spent  from  the 
terrific  emotional  scene  he'd  just  finished. 
"Mother  desperately  ill.   Come  at  once." 

They  had  to  bounce  an  A -priority  man- 
ufacturer to  do  it,  but  he  caught  the  plane 
at  Akron.  After  a  while,  it  got  all  mixed 
up.  The  steady  roar  of  the  engines,  the 
cramped  hardness  of  his  soapbox  seat, 
the  little  nag  that  kept  pulsing  behind 
his  eyeballs,  "Will  I  make  it  in  time?  Will 
I  get  there  to  see  her — ?"  He  didn't  want 
to  put  ideas  in  God's  head,  he  couldn't 
finish,  " — to  see  her  alive?" 

It  was  nearly  two  in  the  morning  when 
they  got  in.  As  the  plane  quivered  to  a 
stop,  vaguely  Don  could  make  out  his 
father's  figure  in  the  grey  mist,  his  shoul- 
ders unbelievably  sagging,  his  head  bent. 
He  leaped  down  the  steps.  "How  is  she, 
Dad?"  he  called,  his  voice  thin  with  worry, 
"How's  Mom?" 

Slowly,  his  father  looked  up,  patted  the 
boy's  arm.  "It's  touch  and  go,  son,"  he  said 
carefully.  "We  don't  know  how  long  well 
have  her  with  us." 

Don  cleared  his  throat.  His  lips  were 
dry.  "I  prayed  all  the  way  in,  Dad.  I 
prayed  so  hard  my  heart  hurts." 

Jess  Taylor  didn't  know  Don  was  home 
for  almost  three  weeks.  She'd  been  too 
doped  up  to  know  anything  at  all.  Every- 
thing had  happened  so  quickly.  She'd  been 
shopping  when  her  heel  caught  on  a  small 
stone  and  pitched  her  forward.  When  they 
got  her  to  the -hospital,  the  doctor  said  a 
fractured  leg.  Days  later  it  was  a  blood 
clot,  a  blood  clot  that  they  couldn't  dis- 
solve and  was  traveling  dangerously  near 
her  heart.  She  lay  in  the  hospital  for  80 
days.  The  family  blessed  every  one  of  those 
days.  Mother  was  in  the  hospital,  Mother 
was  in  the  hospital  and  alive.  .  .  . 

Now  that  it's  over,  they  can  almost  joke 
about  it,  about  the  way  Janet,  who's 
20  now  and  so  gently  pretty,  snapped  out 
of  her  worry  to  tear  into  her  brother. 

"Lock  up  your  room,  Don,"  she  blazed. 
"Lock  it  up  and  let  the  mice  take  over!" 

"What  did  I  do?" 

"You  listen  to  me.  God  knows  I  didn't 
mind  leaving  college  when  Mom  got  sick — 


JaN  CLAYTON,  M-G-M's  lovely  singing 
star  of  Broadway's  great  hit,  "Show  Boat," 
wears  an  enchanting  town  cotton  by  Margot. 
We  call  it  a  town  cotton  because  it  is  tailored 
with  all  the  loving  care  that  goes  into  your  best 
wool  suit,  because  it  has  the  new  and  ve""y  flat-: 
tering  full  cuffed  sleeve,  because  it  is  precision 
tailored  of  Vanetta  striped  pique.  Wear  it  as 
Jan  does,  spiked  with  bright  red,  or  for  more 
subtle  contrast,  try  yellow  or  bright  pink.  The 
bag,  convertible  from  shoulder-strap  to  over- 
arm is  by  Dofan. 

*         *  * 

To  find  out  where  to  buy  this  dress,  as  well 
as  the  other  fashions  in  MODERN  SCREEN'S 
fashion  pages,  write  to:  Toussia  Pines,  Fashion 
Editor,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Madison  Ave- 
nue, New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


but  I  will  not  pick  up  four  sweaters,  three 
pairs  of  pants,  a  box  full  of  old  hats  from 
the  'We  Three'  days  and  two  chewed  base- 
balls for  a  nit-wit!  Tell  me,"  she  implored, 
"how  do  your  baseballs  get  chewed?" 

"I  get  hungry.  And  lay  off  those  hats. 
I  may  need  'em  some  day  for  a  living. 
Better  than  eating  baseballs  .  .  ." 

"Eat  the  bats  for  all  I  care,  but  I  will  not 
—Oh,  Nelly,  lookit  the  time!  Gotta  go!" 

Sometimes  the  nurses  couldn't  stand  it, 
having  Don  around  all  day.  He'd  sidle  into 
Mom's  room  with  a  big  grin  in  case  she 
was  up  and  could  see  him.  If  she  was  he'd 
tiptoe  over,  his  bones  creaking  from  trying 
not  to  make  any  noise. 

"How's  the  gal?"  he'd  whisper,  bending 
low  over  the  bed,  "perking  up  for  that 
movie  contract,  lady?" 

With  an  effort  she'd  open  her  eyes, 
stare  at  him  dully.  "Don.  How  nice — " 
Then  fall  back  asleep,  smiling  a  little. 

Gently,  Don  would  ease  himself  into 
the  big  chair,  his  arms  dangling  over  the 
sides,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyesi 
squeezed  so  tight  shut  the  lashes  looked 
black  against  the  fair  skin. 

"Go  home,  boy,"  the  nurse  would  say, 
nudging  him  awake.  "Go  home  and  brush 
your  hair,  you  look  awful." 

So  he'd  go  home  and  brush  his  hair. 
But  he'd  still  look  awful. 

Once  Mr.  Taylor  was  jolted  awake  by  a 
thumping  and  a  sawing  from  the  kitchen. 
He  flipped  on  the  lights — five  o'clock — and 
padded  downstairs.  There  was  Don  sur- 
rounded by  a  gnawed  salami  and  two 
empty  milk  bottles,  busily  carpentering  a' 
half  finished  end  table. 

"You're  up  early,  Don." 

"Uh-uh,  gonna  get  to  bed  late.  Haven't! 
turned  in  yet  Coffee?" 

And  as  the  morning  sky  slowly  light- 
ened, the  two  men  sat  down  face  to  face 
across  the  cluttered  table,  sipping  coffee' 
and  marveling  at  how  time  heals  as  wellj 
as  hurts. 

There  are  two  Mister  Taylors  now.i 
Don,  Jr.'s,  out  of  the  Army,  tickled? 
that  his  old  civvies  span  across  thej 
shoulders,  dying  to  get  back  into  harness.1 
Phyl  was  in  a  show  while  he  was  in  ser- 
vice and  her  letters  gave  him  such  a  yen 
for  Broadway  he's  dying  to  do  a  play  be- 
fore Metro  hauls  him  back  to  finish  that 
contract.  But  whatever  he  decides  to  do 
hell  do  in  a  hurry.  Don  can't  wait.  Can't 
even  wait  out  the  year  for  the  first  of  those 
32  little  Taylors.  Hasn't  changed  a  bit I 
Except  maybe  for  one  thing.  He  won't 
throw  out  the  ones  that  haven't  red  hair. 


See,  two  new  members  of 
that  versatile  nylon  family! 
A  dress  of  Nyleen  and  a 
suit  of  Nyponge 
made  by  Junior  League  Frocks. 

Wear  them-  forever! 


Above:  Nyleen  makes  this  love  of  a  cap 
sleeved  dress,  with  its  full  skirt,  deep 
pockets,  fabulous  gold-studded  calfskin 
belt,  to  make  your  waist  tiny.  And  come 
Summer,   you'll  love   its   airy  coolness! 

Below:  Nyponge  is  the  name  of  this  new 
shantung-like  fabric,  glamorous  is  the 
word  for  this  softly  tailored  two-piece 
suit.  Its  pannier  pockets,  bow  neckline 
and  flared  skirt  are  just  the  Last  Word! 


FOR  YOUR  SUIT 


YOUR  GLOVES— beautiful  finger- 
free  ones.  American-made  cape- 
skin  by  Daniel  Hays.  Available 
in  brown  or  tan.   Price:  $4.00. 


YOUR  BAG — by  Dofan,  transforms 
from  over-your-arm  to  over-your- 
shoulder  with  a  quick  flick  of 
your  finger.  Price:  About  $13.00. 


YOUR  SCARF — is  a  provocative 
taffeta  "Flirtation  Plaid"  by  Glen- 
tex.  Crisp  and  pert,  it  adds  spice 
to  new  spring  suits.  Price:  $3.00. 


Write  for  tfie  name  of  your  nearest  store 


SCHILLER-DUBROW 

460  FOURTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


11  IT. 


SSEANCre  CAMtli 
19.45  Mm  StofdusI 


STARDUST  1946  CSKTEST  .  .  . 

Your  chance  for  feme  oik!  fortune  .  .  . 
$500  first  prize  and  27  other  awardsl 
Just  semi  recent  non-returnable'  photo, 
with  height,  weight,  bust,  waist  end  hip 
measurements  before  May  31,  19*6.  De- 
cisions of  famous  beauty  judges  are  fina). 
Mai!  entry  to  P.O.  Sox  65,  Station  F,  N,  Y, 


*  MADE  OF 

BY  THE  MAKERS  OF  $tardu*t  FASHION -WEAR 


85 


the 

COTTON 
STORY 


Cottons  go  to  town!   These  are  new 
feminine  two-piecers,  fashioned  with  a  knowing 
touch,  dressed  up,  fascinating!  Made 
by  Margot,  they  are  worn  by 
Jan  Clayton,  lovely  star  of  "Show  Boat." 


IN  TWO  PARTS 


How  we'd  love  to  show  you  the  colors  of  this  dressed  up  lovely,  with 
w'hite  embroidered  scallops  on  its  tiny  cap  sleeves,  its  gay  gathered 
peplum.    It  goes  to  work,  on  dates,  all  with  the  same  crisp,  fresh  look. 


Striped  chambray  makes  this  young  two-piecer,  with  its  gored  flarin 
skirt,  and  with  a  fascinating  jacket.  See  how  it's  gathered  and  tiei 
with  an  engaging  bustle  bow!   The  front  is  plain,  but  just  turn  'rounc 


Black  nailheads  scat- 
tered on  that  black  and 
white  checked  gingham 
give  a  party-dress  look. 
Note  the  very  full  gath- 
ered peplum.   It's  cute! 


87 


hj  Jl 

'I 


Fine  Mesh  Nets 


Outdoors,  indcors..  wherever  you  go,  whatever 

you  do,  a  Vogue  Mesh  Net  insures 

the  charm  of  your  loveliest  hair-do. 

Wonderful  for  capturing 

straying  strands  ...  for  giving  your  hair-do 

that  well-groomed,  glamorous  look. 

In  seven  hair-matching  shades. 

On  sale  at  5-and-IOi-  stores  and  department  stores 


!!!!!?  For 


J 


Endorsed  by 
John  Robert  Powers 

in  fine  rayons 
.  about  $1.79 
•$  at  better  stores 


Louis  Herman  &  Co. 
creators  of 
MOVIE  STAR  SLIPS 

Dept.,  I 

59  Madison  Ave.,  N.Y.  16,  N.Y. 


4w  , 
\\\\ 


KEEPS  HARM  FROM  YOUR  CHARM 


LIGHT  AS  AIR,  TRANSPARENT,  WATERPROOF 

Tailored  sharp  as  lightning! 

RAINCOAT 


.95  Postage 

Prepaid 


Simply  terrific!  And  just 
about  the  surest  anti-rain 
protection  you  can  have. 
Transparent,  waterproof 
coat  that  won't  crack, 
stick,  peel  or  rot.  PLAS- 
TIC. Greaseproof.  Acid- 
proof.  Clean  with  soap 
and  water.  Raglan  sleeves 
.  .  .  nipped-in  waist  .  .  . 
soft,  flaring  skirt.  Rein- 
forced seams.  All  sixes. 
Be  sure  to  state  regular 
coat  size  when  ordering. 


ORDER  TODAY  .  .  . 

ENJOY  RIGHT  AWAY 


(If  CO.  D.  send 
$1.00  with  order) 

Dept.  MG 
CINCINNATI  2,  0. 


w 


aist- 


1.  If  your  waistline  is  tiny,  flatter  it 
with  this  belt  of  lush  red  and  navy  cape- 
skin  by  Criterion.  It  is  called  "Spotlight," 
and  that's  just  what  it  will  do  to  your 
waist  in  a  basic  dress  o_  a  navy  suit.  Spot- 
light also  the  enormous  round  buckle, 
cause  it's  news!  Try  bright  red  gloves,  if 
you"re  wearing  navy.  Price:  About  ?4.00. 


2.  Your  waist  is  up  in  lights  in  this 
gorgeous  "Mazda"  belt  by  Criterion.  Art- 
fully curved  rows  of  nailheads  blaze  on 
brightly  colored  strips  of  capeskin,  set  on 
the  contrasting  color  of  the  belt.  Its 
tapered  corselet  shape  gives  that  very  new 
whittled  waist  look.  Looks  best  with  a 
neutral  outfit.    Price:  Just  under  $11.00. 


3.  This  double  buckle  swagger  belt  is  a 
steal  from  the  polo-playing  set!  Made  by 
Criterion  of  natural  saddle  leather  with 
bright  strips  of  color,  it's  the  perfect  fin- 
ishing touch  to  all  your  sport  clothes,  from 
your  play  suits  to  your  handsomest  blouses 
and  skirts.  Try  it  on  that  shirt-collared 
chic  gabardine  suit.  Its  price:  About  $5.00. 


4.  The  buttons  off  Pop's  shirt  march 
around  your  waist  in  this  newest  belt  de- 
signed by  Criterion.  The  buttons  are  set 
against  a  colorful  faille  band  between  two 
strips  of  contrast  colored  capeskin.  Wear 
it  on  that  simple  shirtwaist  dress  with  man- 
nish buttons,  or  with  your  plain  and  lovely 
white  blouses.    Its  price:  About  $7.00. 


w 


hittl 


ers 


1.  Spotlight  a  tiny  waist 


2.  Waistline  up  in  lights 


"nlft  date  blouse 
quaint  lace  trim 
sweet  pearly  but- 
ns.    Angel  white 
ty.  Sizes  32  to  38. 


PERM  A- LIFT 

The  Miracle  Girdle 
with  the  Magic  Inset 

Here  is  one  of  the  greatest  girdle 
miracles  of  the  century — an  amaz- 
ing construction  that  every  wom- 
an has  dreamed  of,  yet  has  never 
enjoyed  until  now. 

"Perma-lift"  has  created  a  new 
—  thrilling  —  youthful  —  light- 
weight girdle  with  all  the  advan- 
tages of  boning — but  With  No 
Bones.  A  "Perma-lift"  Girdle  won't 
wrinkle,  won't  roll  over,  ban- 
ishes the  discomfort  that 
boning,  even  in  the  light- 
est garment,  has  caused 
you — withstands  count- 
less washings  and  wear. 
"Perma-lift"  Girdles 
assure  37ou  undreamed-of 
comfort  for  the  life  of  your 
garment.  Smartly  styled, 
youthful,  lightweight 
"Perma-lift"  Girdles, 
Panties,  Foundations — 
$5  to  $10 — at  fine  stores 
everywhere.  The  per- 
fect companion  to  your 
"Perma-lift"  Brassiere, 
America's  Favorite 
Bra  "The  Lift  that 
never  lets  you  down." 


At  ieading  stores  or  write: 

BAR-fiODA  BLOUSE  CO. 

1  35  West  36  Street,  New  York 


3.  From  the  polo-playing  set 


4.  Buttons  'round  your  waist 


"Perma-lift"  and  "Hickory" 
are  trademarks  of  A.  SteiD  &. 
Company.  (Reg  U.S.  Pat. Off . ) 

TRUST  THE  TRADEMARKS  THAT 
HAVE  STOOD  THE  TEST  OF  TIME 


^OUT  STAYs 


MILLY  and  TELLY 

$1.95  per  pair 

Plus  20%  Fed.  Tax 

Here  they  are — the  newest,  cutest, 
eye-catchiest  pins  that  ever  pranced 
into  fashion  favor.  Mount  a  pair  on 
your  lapel,  bag  or  hat.  Gold  or  silver 
plated. 

MAIL  ORDERS  PROMPTLY 
FILLED 

Write  to  Dept.  MS3 
FREE — Write  for  costume  jewelry 
catalogue 


501  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK  17, 


89 


JENNIFER 
JONES 

is  one  of  the  stars  of 


90 


M  a  a  e  by 

SELZNICK  /^TECHNICOLOR 


SWEET  AND  HOT 

(Continued  from  page  20) 

work  on  what  we've  got  lined  up  here. 

BEST  POPULAR 

DAY  BY  DAY — Frank  Sinatra  (Co- 
lumbia), Bing  Crosby  (Decca),  Jo  Staf- 
ford (Capitol),  Monica  Lewis  (Signature) 
— Monica  Lewis,  who  recorded  this  with 
the  newly  expanded  Signature  Record 
Company,  is  a  pretty  little  redhead.  She 
once  sang  with  Goodman,  but  she's  better 
known  for  the  Chesterfield  show  on  which 
she  worked  with  Johnnie  Johnston.  She's 
now  one  of  Signature's  big  stars. 

DON'T  YOU  REMEMBER  ME?— Johnny 
Desmond  (Victor) — Here's  the  first  post- 
war swoon  singer  to  get  a  terrific  buildup 
— they're  calling  him  the  ex-GI  Sinatra. 
Johnny  was  a  big  favorite  in  Paris,  where 
he  was  a  sergeant  singing  in  Glenn  Mil- 
ler's Army  Air  Forces  band.  He's  twenty - 
five  years  old,  very  good  looking,  has  black 
hair.  Before  he  went  into  the  army,  he 
sang  with  Bob  Crosby  and  Gene  Krupa. 
This  is  his  first  solo  record,  and  it  was 
made  while  he  was  playing  his  first  solo 
engagement — at  New  York's  Strand  The- 
ater. As  a  result  of  which  he  started  re- 
cording at  11  p.m.,  didn't  get  through  un- 
til three-thirty.  So  you  thought  those 
wispy  threads  of  sound  meant  romartce, 
huh?    Don't  be  silly,  the  kid  was  tired. 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

BLACK,  BROWN  &  BEIGE— Duke  El- 
lington (Victor) — Whether  you  consider 
this  hot  jazz  or  not  is  unimportant.  The 
important  thing  is  that  it's  wonderful 
music,  and  the  most  ambitious  thing  Duke 
has  ever  done.  Originally  fifty  minutes 
long,  it  was  cut  down  to  its  most  im- 
portant parts,  and  you  can  now  have  the 
heart  and  soul  of  it  on  two  twelve-inch 
records.  Most  people  think  "Black,  Brown 
&  Beige"  was  unveiled  for  the  very  first 
time  at  Carnegie  Hall,  but  actually  it  had 
a  much  less  formal  debut — at  Rye  High 
School,  Rye,  N.  Y.  The  story  is  this.  Dr. 
J.  T.  H.  Mize,  then  Principal  of  Rye,  was  a 
terrific  jazz  fan  (he's  currently  writing 
a  book  on  jazz)  and  he  invited  Duke  down 
to  school  to  play  his  new  work.  I  went 
too  (they  gave  us  a  wonderful  dinner) 
and  Duke  played  for  the  students,  and  got 
suggestions  and  comment.  As  a  result  of 
these,  he  made  some  changes  in  the  music 
before  giving  the  Carnegie  concert. 

By  the  way  fans,  there's  a  book  out 
called  "Duke  Ellington"  by  Barry  Ulanov, 
editor  of  Metronome,  and  it's  swell. 

HEY!  BA-BA-RE-BOP— Lionel  Hamp- 
ton (Decca) — The  title  of  this  number  is 
queer,  I'll  admit.  It's  really  nothing  but  a 
little  blues  riff,  only  everybody  sings  it  a 
different  way,  and  everybody  takes  credit 
for  composing  it.  Helen  Humes  started 
the  whole  thing  off  on  a  Philo  record.  Her 
version  of  the  riff  goes  Be-Baba-Luba. 
Lionel  uses  this  Hey!  Ba-Ba-Re-Bop  in 
his  rendition,  which  is  hot,  and  he  takes 
the  vocal  himself.  On  the  West  Coast,  the 
phrase  is  E-Bob-O-Le-Bob,  and  it's  such  a 
craze  out  there  that  a  certain  band  has 
taken  to  calling  itself  the  Boboli  Bans. 

BLUE  SKIES— Andre  Previn  (Sunset) 
— The  other  side  of  this  is  "Good  Enough 
to  Keep,"  and  the  title  might  very  well 
apply  to  Andre  Previn,  the  new  sensation 
on  the  West  Coast.  He's  sixteen  years  old, 
a  French  refugee  who's  only  been  in  this 
country  two  or  three  years.  He  hardly 
ever  heard  any  jazz  before  he  came  over 
here,  in  spite  of  which  he  now  plays  like  a 
combination  King  Cole-Art  Tatum.  On  this 
Sunset  platter,  Andre's  ably  abetted  by 
Dave  Barbour,  the  guitarist  who's  featured 
on  several  radio  shows,  such  as  "Blondie." 
He's  also  Peggy  Lee's  husband,  which  is 
rather  nice  too. 


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IT'S  THE  TALK  OF  THE  TOWN— 
Shorty  Sherock  (Signature) — The  band 
that  recorded  this  wasn't  really  Shorty's 
at  all.  Record  was  made  in  January,  1945, 
when  Shorty  was  trumpet  player  with 
Horace  Heidt,  and  in  my  first  column  for 
Modern  Screen,  almost  a  year  ago,  I  wrote 
about  getting  this  session  together  while 
I  was  in  Hollywood.  I  teamed  Shorty  with 
six  men  from  the  Harry  James  band  at 
that  time.  "Talk  of  the  Town"  is  by  Corky 
Corcoran,  young  tenor  sax  man  who's 
leaving  Harry  to  form  a  band  of  his  own. 
BEST  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

THE  ROAD  TO  UTOPIA— "Welcome  to 
My  Dream"  is  the  number  that  was  born 
along  the  latest  "Road."  Bing  himself's 
done  it  for  Decca,  Dinah  Shore  for  Victor 
and  Jack  Leonard  for  Majestic.  Jack 
Leonard's  another  ex-GI.  He  was  the  first 
big  name  band  singer  to  be  drafted,  'way 
back  when  he  was  singing  with  Tommy 
Dorsey.  Dinah  Shore's  waxing  of  this  same 
"Welcome  to  My  Dream'  may  be  her  last 
Victor  release;  she's  already  signed  with 
Columbia. 

THE  STORK  CLUB— This  picture  in- 
troduced "Love  Me,"  and  Andy  Russell 
(who  did  it  in  the  movie)  has  recorded  it 
for  Capitol,  while  Frances  Wayne  does 
the  vocal  with  Woody  Herman  and  the 
boys  for  Columbia.  By  the  time  you  read 
this,  however,  Frances  won't  be  with 
Woody  any  more.  She's  going  out  on  her 
own.  Neal  Hefti,  Frances'  husband — who 
used  to  play  trumpet  with  Woody — left  the 
band  early  in  January  to  join  Joe  Marsala. 


RECORDS  OF  THE  MONTH 

Selected  by  Leonard  Feather 

BEST  POPULAR 

DAY  BY  DAY— Frank  Sinatra  (Columbia), 
Bing  Crosby  (Decca),  Jo  Stafford 
(Capitol),  Monica  Lewis  (Signature) 

DON'T  YOU  REMEMBER  ME? — Johnny  Des- 
mond (Victor) 

I  DON'T  WANT  TO  DO  IT  ALONE— Kay 
Kyser  (Columbia) 

I'VE  GOT  THE  WORLD  ON  A  STRING — 
Woody  Herman  (Columbia),  Hot  Lips 
Page  (Melrose) 

MONEY  IS  THE  ROOT  OF  ALL  EVIL— The 
Andrews  Sisters  (Decca) 

OH!  WHAT  IT  SEEMED  TO  BE— Frank  Sin- 
atra (Columbia) 

PERSONALITY— Johnny  Mercer  (Capitol) 

PROVE  IT  BY  THE  THINGS  YOU  DO — Bing 
Crosby — Mel  Torme  (Decca),  Erskine 
Hawkins  (Victor) 

SLOWLY— Kay  Kyser  (Columbia),  Dick 
Haymes  (Decca) 

WAVE  TO  ME  MY  LADY— Elton  Britt  (Vic- 
tor), George  Paxton  (Majestic) 

WE'LL  BE  TOGETHER  AGAIN— Les  Brown 
(Columbia) 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

JOHNNY  BOTHWELL— I'll  Remember  April 

(Signature) 
DUKE  ELLINGTON— Black,  Brown  &  Beige 

(Victor) 

LIONEL  HAMPTON— Hey!  Ba-Ba-Re-Bop 
(Decca) 

ERSKINE  HAWKINS— Holiday  For  Swing 
(Victor) 

JOE  MARSALA— East  of  the  Sun  (Musi- 
craft) 

ANDRE  PREVIN— Blue  Skies  (Sunset) 
ARTIE  SHAW'S  GRAMERCY  5— Misterioso 
(Victor) 

SHORTY  SHEROCK— It's  The  Talk  of  the 

Town  (Signature) 
BOBBY  SHERWOOD— Cotton  Tail  (Capitol) 
WILLIE  SMITH— September  In  The  Rain 

(Keynote) 

BEST  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

HOLIDAY  IN  MEXICO— "Walter  Winchell 
Rhumba"  by  Xavier  Cugat  (Columbia) 

STATE  FAIR — Album  of  Six  songs  from 
"State  Fair" — Dick  Haymes  (Decca) 

TARS  AND  SPARS— "I'm  Glad  I  Waited 
For  You"— Frankie  Carle  (Columbia) 

THE  DOLLY  SISXERS— "I'm  Always  Chas- 
ing Rainbows" — Harry  James  (Colum- 
bia) 

THE  ROAD  TO  UTOPIA— "Welcome  To  My 
Dream" — Dinah  Shore  (Victor),  Bing 
Crosby  (Decca),  Jack  Leonard  (Ma- 
jestic ) 

THE  STORK  CLUB— "Love  Me"— Andy 
Russell  (Capitol),  Woody  Herman- 
Frances  Wayne  (Columbia) 

CHARLES  LAUGHTON— Moby  Dick 
(Decca) 

THOMAS  M  I T  C  H  E  L  L— Treasure  Island 
(Decca ) 


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"Nonchalant" 


91 


GREGORY 
PECK 

is  one  of  the  stars  of 


1  ' 
j 

r  ''I 


92 


Made  by 

SELZNICK 


CO-ED  LETTER  BOX 

(Continued  from  page  26) 


Gosh,  J.J.,  you're  going  to  hate  us  for 
this,  but  we're  on  your  guy's  side  this 
time.  Granted  you've  had  a  long  pull,  we 
think  you're  taking  a  very  short  view  of 
the  question.  Just  skim  through  a  "help 
wanted"  column  and  count  the  jobs  that 
say  "high  school  graduate."  There  are 
quite  a  few,  you'll  notice,  and  the  salary 
offered  is  invariably  higher  than  that 
offered  to  non-grads.  The  question  you 
should  ask  yourself  is  this:  "Do  I  want  to 
be  a  potential  tycoon  in  1947,  or  a  perpetual 
office  boy  in  1946?  We're  pretty  sure  you 
know  the  right  answer. 

What  preparations  can  I  be  making 
toward  getting  a  summer  job?  D.  A., 
Harrisburg,  Pa. 

You  can  be  thinking  over  the  possi- 
bilities— department  store  work,  baby- 
minding,  tutoring,  office  work—and  then 
dream  up  a  really  good  letter  stating  your 
qualifications  which  you'll  send  out.  Nine 
out  of  ten  jobs  are  landed  through  well- 
written  letters  of  application. 

Is  it  all  right  to  invite  a  boy  over  to  your 
house  if  he  has  never  dated  you?  "Jonesy," 
South  Dennis,  Mass. 

Yes,  if  you  do  it  ever  so  casually.  S'pose 
you're  walking  home  from  school,  or  brew- 
ing up  a  stew  in  Chem  lab  (the  two  of 
you,  we  mean,  natch),  toss  the  invitation 
lightly  and  see  how  it  hits  him.  If  he 
pounces,  make  the  time  and  day  on  the 
spot.  If  he  hedges,  for  gosh  sakes,  don't 
pin  him  down.  You  know  what  to  say, 
don't   you?    "I've   got   a   gorgeous  new 


Ellington,"  or  "Ever  eat  a  really  terrif\< 
Dagwood  sandwich?"  It's  easy! 

I  adore  my  best  friend's  brother.    Wouh : 
it  be  awful  if  I  took  her  into  my  confidenc 
and  got  her  to  plug  me  to  him?   N.  M. 
Stamford,  Conn. 

On  the  contrary,  it  would  be  a  verij 
sharp  maneuver.  Get  her  to  give  yoi 
hints  about  what  he  likes  and  doesn't  like 
and  have  her  relay  on  comments  abou 
you  so  that  you  can  mend  your  ways  o 
give  him  more  in  the  same  vein. 

I  am  a  mother  of  two  girls,  fifteen  anc 
sixteen.  They  both  have  lots  of  dates,  anc 
in  my  opinion  stay  out  much  too  late 
When  I  step  on  them  they  tell  me  I'n 
obsolete.  What  would  you  consider  ; 
reasonable  curfew?  M.  W.,  St.  Louis,  Mc 
Curfew  times  differ  so  in  various  locali 
ties  that  we  hate  to  issue  an  ultimatum 
However,  for  occasional  school  night  stay 
outs  ten-thirty  should  be  the  deadline 
Fridays  and  Saturdays,  we'd  say  eleven 
thirty  to  twelve,  depending  on  how  lat\ 
your  local  movie  gets  out.  And  for  ver\ 
fancy  fun — proms  and  holiday  parties,  on 
o'clock  should  be  late  enough. 

*     *  * 

Lots  of  you  scan  this  column  montJ 
after  month  waiting  for  someone  to  ash 
your  question.  Shame  on  you,  lazy  bona 
Why  not  speak  for  yourself?  Put  you 
question  in  writing  while  you  think  of  i 
and  a  red-hot  solution  will  be  on  its  wa: 
to  you.  Write  to:  Jean  Kinkead,  Moder: 
Screen,  149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y 


FREE  OFFER! 

Maybe  you  readers  never  figured  before  just  how  important  you  are  to  MODERN 
SCREEN.  Why,  Editors  Al  Delacorte  and  Henry  Malmgreen  would  no  sooner 
think  of  making  up  the  magazine  without  consulting  you  than  they'd  forget  to 
water  Gregory,  their  pet  grapefruit  plant.  And  just  to  prove  it,  we're  giving  away 
absolutely  FREE  the  May,  June,  July  AND  August  issues  of  MODERN  SCREEN 
to  the  first  500  of  you  who  fill  in  the  Questionnaire  below  and  mail  it  to  us 
IMMEDIATELY.  And  that  means  this  very  minute  because  free  subscriptions  to 
MS  go  faster  than  griddle  cakes  (with  syrup)! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  April  issue?  Write  1,  2, 
3  at  the  right  of  your  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  choices. 


Dream  Boss  (The  Ladds)  □ 

The  Little  Woman  (June  Allyson)  .  .  □ 
Their  Hearts  Are  Young  and  Gay 

(Guy  Madison)  □ 

"And  So  They  Were  Married" 

(Jeanne  Crain)   O 

Dennis  Morgan's  Life  Story 

( Concluded)   Q 


Oh,  Johnnie!  ( Johnston)  O 

I'm  a  Crosby  Fan!  by  Leo  McCarey .  □ 

Blithe  Spirit  (Elizabeth  Taylor)  □ 

Eager  Beaver  (Don  Taylor)  O 

Watch  Mark  Stevens!  by  Hedda 

Hopper   □ 

Ed  Sullivan  Speaking  □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST? . 


What  3  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?    List  them  1,  2,  3, 

in   order   of  preference  

My  name  is  

My  address  is  City   Zone   State  

I  am  years  old. 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


"want  the  loveliness  that  wins! 
Active-lather  facials  give  skin  fresh  new 
beauty  that  makes  pulses  beat  faster! 


Why  don't  vou  try  Judy  Garland's 
Active-lather  facials  -with  Lux  Toilet 
Soap?  It's  wonderful  how  thev  leave 
skin  softer,  smoother!  Smooth  the 
creamv  lather  well  in,  rinse  with 
warm  water,  splash  on  cold.  As  vou 
pat  gentlv  to  dry  with  a  soft  towel, 
skin  takes  on  fresh  new  beautv. 

Don't  let  neglect  cheat  you  of 
Romance.  This  gentle  care  famous 
screen  stars  recommend  will  make 
you  lovelier  tonight! 

In  recent  tests  of  Lux  Toilet  Soap  facials 
by  skin  specialists,  actually  3  out  of  4  com- 
plexions improved  in  a  short*time! 


"My  Beauty  Facials 
bring  quick  new 
loveliness !" 

one  of  the  Stars  of 
Metro-Go  Id  wyn-Mayer's 

"Ziegfeld  Follies" 


9  out  of  10  Screen  Stars  use  this  Beauty  Care  ^^J|l 

&/r/s  are  face/Ser  f 


FIGHT  WASTE  —  Soap  uses 
vital  materials.  Don't  waste  it! 


93 


"AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED . . ." 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


the  world,  a  beautiful  dreamer  of  beau- 
tiful dreams. 

This  Sunday  morning  she  slipped  into 
a  gold  linen  slack  suit,  ran  a  comb  through 
her  extravagantly  beautiful  hair,  added  a 
faint  touch  of  lipstick  .  .  .  and  went  out 
to  meet  Destiny  who — at  the  moment  when 
Jeanne  was  readying  herself  for  the  party 
— was  shaving  in  the  Brinkman  family 
bathroom  and  had  just  nicked  his  chin. 
Destiny,  in  this  case,  was  named  Paul. 

falling  in  love  .  .  . 

He  also  had  another  date.  When  Mrs. 
Kester,  who  is  called  Bobby  by  her  friends, 
introduced  the  foursome,  none  of  them 
caught  the  names  of  the  others.  Jeanne 
looked  at  Paul  and  thought,  "Good  look- 
ing." Paul  looked  at  Jeanne  and  uttered, 
under  his  breath,  the  1943  equivalent  of 
"Hubba,  hubba,  hubba." 

There  were  so  many  people  at  the  party 
that  no  conversation,  other  than  the  po- 
litely mumbled  acknowledgment  of  intro- 
ductions, took  place  between  Miss  Crain 
and  the  man  she  now  refers  to  occasion- 
ally as  "Mister  B." 

After  breakfast,  the  Kesters  showed  a 
series  of  16  mm.  movies,  and  then  the 
party  broke  up,  so  that  was  that. 

Not  for  several  months  did  Paul  and 
Jeanne  see  one  another  again.  One  after- 
noon, Jeanne  and  her  mother  were  driving 
down  Sunset  Boulevard  and  stopped  for  a 
red  light.  Up  alongside  them  drew  a  sleek 
convertible  with  Mr.  Brinkman  at  the 
wheel;  he  looked  at  Jeanne,  remembered 
that  Sunday  morning,  but  couldn't  remem- 


ber her  name  for  his  very  life.  His  mem- 
ory tore  his  brain  into  excelsior  in  search 
of  that  missing  gem — meanwhile  he  gave 
her  the  big  eye. 

Jeanne  looked  away,  demurely.  She  re- 
membered him,  too,  but  she  would  have 
sold  pencils  at  Hollywood  and  Vine  before 
she  would  have  admitted  it.  The  two  cars 
moved  away  from  the  signal,  hub  cap  to 
hub  cap,  with  Mr.  Brinkman  doing  his  best 
to  look  like  an  old  friend  of  the  family, 
and  Jeanne  hoping  that  the  amenities  could 
be  satisfied  in  some  way. 

No  use.  Traffic  honked  and  swirled  to 
separate  the  two  cars.  The  resourceful 
Mr.  Brinkman  memorized  the  license  num- 
ber, drove  to  the  nearest  Motor  Vehicle 
Department  station  and  tried  to  talk  the 
boys  with  the  badges  out  of  the  name, 
address  and  telephone  number  of  the  reg- 
istered owner  of  Jeanne's  car.  The  boys 
were  understanding — sympathetic  even — 
but  unmoved.  "No,"  they  said  firmly. 

But  Cupid,  though  lazy  and  absent- 
minded,  never  gives  up  a  project  entirely 
as  long  as  he  is  getting  mental  cooperation 
from  the  two  persons  most  closely  in- 
volved. He  decided  on  a  prank. 

He  arranged  for  Paul  and  Jeanne  to  go 
to  the  Farmer's  Market  for  luncheon  on 
the  same  day.  The  Farmer's  Market  is  a 
vast  bazaar  covering  several  acres  on  the 
northeast  corner  of  Third  and  Fairfax  in 
western  Los  Angeles,  where  one  can  buy 
everything  from  a  pair  of  diamond  ear- 
rings to  a  package  of  mothballs  or  a  talk- 
ing Mynah  bird.  It  swarms  with  people 
from  dawn  until  closing  time  at  six,  and 


the  chances  against  one  person  seeing  an- 
other he  knows  is  something  that  would 
interest  Lloyd's  of  London. 

Jeanne  was  standing  at  the  pie  conces- 
sion when  an  ingratiating  masculine  voice 
said,  "I  beg  your  pardon  for  not  recalling 
your  name,  but  I  met  you  one  Sunday  at 
the  Kesters.  I  saw  you  on  Sunset  Boule- 
vard a  while  back,  and  did  my  best  to 
flirt  with  you,  but  you  didn't  recognize 
me.  In  case  you  don't  remember  me, 
either,  I'm  Paul  Brinkman." 

"And  I'm  Jeanne  Crain,"  said  the  girl 
who  wouldn't  admit  that  she  had  any  rec- 
ollection of  the  Sunset  Boulevard  epi- 
sode. "Won't  you  join  us?  My  mother 
and  I  have  a  table  near  the  china  shop." 

Their  first  formal  date  occurred  on 
New  Year's  Eve,  1943,  when  Paul  escorted 
Jeanne  to  Tex  Feldman's  Watch  Party. 
Jeanne,  so  excited  she  could  scarcely 
breathe,  wore  a  white  frock  over  a  hoop 
skirt  with  the  bodice  and  skirt  decorations 
embroidered  in  gold. 

ould  long  syne  .  .  . 

At  midnight  everyone  sang  "Auld  Lang 
Syne."  Paul  linked  his  arm  through 
Jeanne's  so  that  she  could  have  the  first 
sip  from  his  glass  of  champagne,  just 
as  she  had  the  first  from  his.  And  then, 
quite  solemnly,  Paul  leaned  down  and 
kissed  Jeanne. 

"Happy  New  Year,"  he  murmured  after- 
ward.  "Happy  1944." 

It  was  a  wonderful  year.  Paul  started 
to  teach  Jeanne  to  play  tennis,  but  she  was 
so  busy  making  pictures  that  she  didn't 


94 


Philip  morris!— proved 

less  irritating  to  nose  and  throat 
.  .  .  famed  for  finer  flavor  and 
aroma  .  .  .  keener  smoking  pleasure! 


have  much  time  to  perfect  that  back  stroke. 
On  weekends,  however,  they  could  drive 
down  to  Laguna — one  of  the  loveliest  re- 
sort towns  on  the  Pacific  Coast — to  swim. 
One  night  they  strolled  into  Victor  Hugo's 
romantic  restaurant  in  Laguna,  and,  as 
they  passed  between  the  tables  on  the  way 
to  the  spot  selected  for  them  by  the  head 
waiter— Jeanne  could  hear  the  sibilant 
comment  race  through  the  room.  "There 
goes  Errol  Flynn.  There  goes  Errol  Flynn." 

She  thought  rebelliously,  "No.  He  doesn't 
look  like  Mr.  Flynn." 

He  doesn't.  Paul  is  much  younger  than 
Mr.  Flynn,  of  course,  and  his  coloring  is 
much  darker.-  Tall  as  Paul  is,  he  is  not 
quite  as  tall  as  the  Blitzkrieg  Boatman,  nor 
is  his  frame  as  matured. 

misunderstanding  .  .  . 

During  this  period  there  was  only  one 
misunderstanding.  Wynn  Rocamora  was 
giving  a  party  for  Louella  Parsons,  to 
which  Jeanne  and  Paul  were  invited.  Paul 
had  been  hunting,  but  had  promised  to  call 
for  her  around  seven. 

At  seven-thirty,  she  repaired  her  lip- 
stick. At  eight,  she  re-combed  her  hair. 
At  eight-thirty  she  began  to  stand  at  the 
window — discreetly  out  of  sight,  of  course 
—and  scan  the  street  for  passing  cars.  At 
nine  she  gave  up,  removed  her  party  dress 
with  her  blithe  anticipations,  and  went  to 
bed  with  dire  resentment  and  a  book. 

In  the  meantime,  Paul's  car  had  flat- 
tired  him  to  the  extent  of  an  hour's  tardi- 
ness. He  had  called  Jeanne  as  soon  as  he 
could  reach  a  telephone,  but  received  no 
answer — simply  the  usual  ringing  sound 
which  is  a  sound  effect  and  nothing  more. 
(The  Crains  didn't  discover  until  late  the 
following  afternoon  that  their  telephone 
was  out  of  order.) 

Thinking  that  Jeanne  had  gone  to  the 
party  with  other  friends  when  he  failed  to 
arrive  on  time  to  escort  her,  Paul  scorched 
to  the  house,  bathed,  shaved,  hopped  into 
dinner  clothes  and  went  to  the  affair.  He 
asked  several  people  if  they  had  seen 
Jeanne.  Said  some  helpful  soul,  "Yes,  she 
was  here'about  thirty  minutes  ago.  I  think 
she  left  with  someone — can't  remember 
who  it  was." 

If  Jeanne,  lying  disconsolately  at  home, 
was  smarting  with  the  hurt  of  her  first 
experience  at  being  stood  up,  Paul  was 
equally  disgruntled  before  what  he  thought 
was  a  brush-off. 

When  Paul  called,  after  the  telephone 
was  restored  to  service,  and  said  rather 
shortly,  "Sorry  I  missed  you  the  other 
night,"  he  was  greeted  by  as  crackling  a 
sound  as  ever  came  over  short  wave.  "I'll 
be  right  over  to  explain,"  he  cried. 

boy  gets  girl  .  .  . 

It  was  quite  a  discussion.  Jeanne  said 
he  should  have  known  that  she  wouldn't 
have  gone  to  the  party  without  him,  not  to 
speak  of  leaving  without  him,  and  Paul 
wanted  to  know  how  he  should  have 
guessed  that  the  telephone  was  out  of 
order.  By  the  time  each  side  had  aired  its 
grievances,  they  were  at  the  beach.  It  is 
very  difficult  to  cling  to  both  dignity  and 
anger  on  a  roller  coaster.  End  of  argument. 

By  this  time  Jeanne  and  Paul  had  been 
seen  together  enough  around  town  for 
their  friends  to  grow  curious  about  their 
romance.  It  was  clear  to  anyone  with  eyes 
that  they  were  in  love  with  one  another. 
Mrs.  Crain  began  to  object,  not  to  Paul  as 
a  person,  but  to  Jeanne's  seeing  any  one 
person  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others. 

"Go  out  with  other  people,"  Mrs.  Crain 
begged.  "Don't  become  serious.  This  is 
one  of  the  loveliest  times  of  your  life,  and 
you  should  live  it  to  the  full  without  think- 
ing of  the  responsibility  of  marriage." 

Jeanne  and  her  mother  have  always 
been  very  sympathetic  to  one  another's 
viewpoints,  so  Jeanne  agreed.    For  four 


lyjisttgig.  arid  noiuj£.  ^Fhr?  ga<\  ■en<2&vzf 
ypvthJi  i>exzidZ{-  bomncL  ~fe  e$.oo>e 

in,  <x  hahrncrn'iZinq  fini" 


(f^p^j^^f  creme  base  of  satin  sheen  and  incredible  clinging  power.  9  luscious 
shades.^^u^e^reme  or  dry,  to  match.  ^^Zjna^e&^^t  with  the  creme-y  base 
that  protects  as  it  beautifies.  6  harmonizing  shades.  At  cosmetic  counters  everywhere.  95 


■»  O  »  T  W  /I  R      /%  R  R  ■ 


stops  perspiration  and  odor 
so  effectively,  yet  so  safely  \  1 

It's  the  improved  deodorant  you've  been  waiting  for! 
The  new,  soft,  smooth,  creamy  deodorant  that  gives 
you  the  maximum  protection  possible  against  perspi- 
ration and  odor  with  safety  to  vour  skin  and  clothes  ! 
No  other  deodorant  of  any  sort . . .  liquid  or  cream  . . . 
meets  the  standard  set  by  this  wonderful  new  Postwar 
Arrid  for  stopping  perspiration  and  odor  with  safetv ! 

so  Soft!  so  Smooth!  so  Creamy! 


>^hX«u^MmSL>  ^//eW/vUj,  'J^)'Wrn/o 


The  new,  long  Sarong  skirt  .  .  .  slim  and  sleek. 
The  casual  Mack  top,  with  the  season's  smart- 
est  sleeve!  Wear  it  with  short  da>lime  skirts, 
too  .'  .  .  hut  _always  protect  it  (ami  you)  from 
perspiraliofi  and  odor.  Use  Arrid  daily!  No 
other  deodorant  stops  perspiration  and  odor 
so  effectively,  yet  so  safely  .  .  .  only  Arrid! 


-ft  In  the  same  familiar  package  .  .  . 
marked  with  a  star  above  the  price 

gives  tjou  this  thorough  protection 

1.  No  other  deodorant  stops  perspiration  and  odor  so 
effectively,  yet  so  safely. 1 

2.  Nearly  twice  as  effective  in  stopping  perspiration  as 
any  other  leading  deodorant  cream. 

3.  Does  not  rot  clothes.  Greaseless  and  stainless,  too. 

4.  Safe  for  shin.  Non-irritating.  Antiseptic. 

5.  Soft,  smooth,  creamy  .  .  .  easy  to  apply.  Just  rub  in 
well,  no  waiting  to  dry! 


39? 


Also  lOp  and  59(4 


Black's  the  thing  this  Spring! 

And  heavy  gold  jewelry  is  lovely  with  it !  But 
you'll  spoil  your  dress  and  glamour,  if  you  don't 
guard  against  perspiration!  Use  Arrid  daily!  Arrid 
is  nearly  twice  as  effective  in  stopping  perspiration 
as  any  other  leading  deodorant  cream. 


A  R  R  I  P. . .  mJAAhy  twlxiib  afrJ^&cXlu^ 


[1)  Based  on  tests  of  leading  and  other  deodorants. 


Some  of  the  many  Stars  who  use  Arrid 

Grace  Moore  •  Georgia  Gibbs  •  Jessica  Dragonette  •  Jane  Froman 
Diana  Barrymore  •  Carol  Bruce  •  Barbara  Bel  Geddes 


long,  aching  months,  she  and  Paul  did  not 
see  one  another.  Each  went  out  with  other 
friends;  each  tried  to  disperse  his  interest. 

Came  Christmas  Eve,  1945.  Jeanne  had 
made  a  date  with  Paul,  but  Mrs.  Crain  was 
unhappy  over  the  idea.  She  said  that 
Christmas  Eve  was  a  family  holiday,  and 
that  she  wanted  Jeanne  at  home  on  that 
evening.  Because  both  she  and  Jeanne 
were  tired  and  overwrought,  each  said 
things  that  they  didn't  mean  and  quickly 
resented,  but  the  misunderstanding  ended 
with  Jeanne's  going  out  to  San  Fernando 
to  the  Kesters.  Jeanne,  Paul  and  the  Kes- 
ters  discussed  the  problem. 

Before  Paul  left  that  night,  they  decided 
to  be  married  on  the  morning  of  December 
29  in  Jeanne's  parish  church.  What  they 
had  forgotten,  in  their  upset  state,  was 
that  the  wartime  dispensation  excusing 
three  readings  of  the  banns,  had  been  re- 
voked. A  church  decision  was  handed 
down:  They  couldn't  be  married  until 
January  6th. 

Frantically,  the  two  devout  Catholic 
communicants  went  to  Bishop  McGucken 
to  explain  their  reasons  for  seeking  a  dis- 
pensation. And  the  Bishop,  a  wise  and 
kindly  man,  granted  their  plea.  He  said 
they  might  be  married  on  December  31st. 

Actually,  they  hadn't  planned  to  be  mar- 
ried on  the  second  anniversary  of  their 
3rst  date — that  was  a  fillip  added  by  Fate. 

So  these  were  the  things  of  which 
Jeanne  Crain  thought  as  the  minutes 
dipped  by  and  became  the  dawn  of  her 
redding  day.  Without  having  slept  a  wink, 
she  slipped  out  of  bed  at  six,  shivering,  and 
^egan  to  get  dressed. 

She  donned  the  suit  and  the  white 
lat,  and  went  downstairs  when  she  heard 
Paul  park  in  the  driveway.  His  expression, 
as  he  kissed  her  good  morning,  was  mys- 
teriously triumphant.  From  one  pocket  he 
produced  a  jeweler's  box.  Jeanne  lifted 
:he  velvet  lid  and  gasped:  It  was  the  most 
beautiful  wedding  ring  she  had  ever  seen: 
\  design  of  interwoven  orange  blossoms 
studded  with  diamonds  and  baguette  ru- 
oies.  "I  thought  it  would  be  a  wedding- 
jngagement  ring  combination,"  he  said. 

By  this  time,  everything  had  begun  to 
aappen.  Jeanne  moved  in  a  roseate  daze 
;o  the  church  where  a  nuptial  mass  was 
celebrated  by  the  Reverend  Eugene  Ivan- 
:ovich,  S.J.  As  she  made  the  responses  of 
he  service  and  the  ring  was  slipped  on 
ler  finger,  her  chin  brushed  the  orchids 
)f  the  corsage  Paul  had  brought  her. 

Afterward,  after  the  last  triumphant 
:hord  from  the  organ,  and  just  before  the 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

I  am  a  sailor, 
and  while  on  leave 
managed  to  get  to 
Hollywood,  where 
I  sneaked  into  a 
studio.  Wandering 
around,  I  was 
stopped  by  a  guard 
who  asked  me  if  I 
was  one  of  the 
sailors  working 
on  a  nearby  set. 
Thinking  fast,  I  said  yes,  and  that's 
how  I  got  in  to  the  set  where  John 
Payne  was  playing  a  sailor  role. 
"Say,"  he  said  to  me,  "how  do  you 
keep  that  hat  on  the  back  of  your 
head?"  "Search  me,"  I  replied,  "but 
I'll  fix  yours  for  you."  Johnny  sure 
liked  it  that  way,  but  I  had  to  laugh 
when  the  director  made  him  change 
it  to  the  regulation  squared  cap  for 
the  scene,  in  spite  of  Johnny's  protests. 

Dave  Williams,  Sic 
Santa  Ana,  Calif. 


photographer's  flash  bulbs  began  to  pop, 
Paul  said  to  his  wife,  "Say,  here's  some- 
thing you  might  like  to  have!"  and  slipped 
a  platinum  ring  on  which  was  set  a  huge 
square-cut  diamond  onto  Jeanne's  finger. 
This  was  incredible  .  .  .  dreamy  ...  all 
part  of  a  blissful  unreality.  "I  want  to 
telephone  Mother,"  she  murmured. 

But  first  they  must  go  to  Paul's  home 
so  that  proper  pictures  could  be  taken. 
Paul  wanted  to  carry  his  bride  over  the 
threshold.  The  studio  wanted  those  pic- 
tures. Meanwhile,  a  newspaper  man  had 
taken  it  upon  himself  to  call  Mrs.  Crain 
and  tell  her  that  Jeanne  had  been  married. 
The  news,  broken  in  this  way,  was  difficult 
for  Mrs.  Crain  to  bear — she  left  the  house. 
And  when  someone  told  Jeanne  how  the 
news  had  been  relayed,  Jeanne  broke  down 
and  cried  desperately. 

However,  a  meeting  was  arranged  the 
next  day  at  which  Mrs.  Crain  gave  her 
blessing,  and  currently  she  is  a  regular 
dinner  guest  at  the  Brinkmans'  borrowed 
house,  a  cottage  loaned  by  Huntington 
Hartford,  Paul's  great  friend. 

perfect  honeymoon  .  .  . 

After  the  wedding  breakfast  at  the  Kes- 
ter  home,  Paul  and  Jeanne  hopped  into 
Paul's  father's  Cadillac  and  drove  to  Fur- 
nace Creek  Inn,  a  delightful  retreat  on  the 
Mojave  desert.  Jeanne,  who  has  never 
spent  even  a  weekend  in  Palm  Springs 
had  never  before  had  the  experience  of  a 
long  desert  vacation,  so  the  five  days  they 
honeymooned  there  were  glorious.  They 
went  horseback  riding,  they  drove  to  the 
top  of  the  six  thousand  foot  mountain 
that  rises  towerlike  above  the  Inn,  which 
is  below  sea  level;  they  spent  one  whole 
day  exploring  old  mine  shafts. 

At  the  end  of  five  days,  the  honeymoon- 
ers  had  to  return  to  Los  Angeles  because 
Jeanne  had  committed  herself  to  enact  a 
radio  version  of  "Seventh  Heaven"  with 
Tyrone  Power,  one  of  her  favorite  people. 

While  driving  anywhere  together,  the 
Brinkmans  talk  about  their  new  house.  All 
during  the  spring  of  1945,  Paul  and  Jeanne 
examined  hill  tops — which  was  the  only 
spot  on  which  either  of  them  wanted  to 
live.  They  found  one  magnificent  spot, 
and  Paul  was  about  to  buy  it  when  he  dis- 
covered that  having  the  utilities  (electricity, 
water,  etc.)  installed  on  the  promontory 
would  cost  about  ten  thousand  dollars. 

Finally  Huntington  Hartford  suggested 
that  they  look  at  some  property  not  far 
from  his  own  home.  Together,  they  trudged 
to  the  spot,  turned,  and  held  their  breaths 
out  of  sheer  awe  before  the  grandeur  of 
the  scene.  Below  stretches  Los  Angeles, 
Hollywood,  Beverly  Hills,  and — in  clear 
weather — the  beach  towns.  And  behind  the 
site  rise  peaks  which  reveal,  through  in- 
termittent canyons,  the  San  Fernando 
Valley  beyond.  Paul  slid  his  arms  around 
Jeanne's  waist  and  kissed  her  solemnly. 
"Here,  we  will  really  live,"  he  said. 

With  curtains  drawn  against  the  night, 
with  a  fire  roaring  in  the  fireplace,  with 
only  candles  burning  in  the  far  corners, 
the  Brinkmans  plan  to  spend  a  good  many 
evenings  listening  to  music  and  murmur- 
ing in  low  voices  about  their  plans. 

"I've  always  wanted  to  go  to  Africa  and 
make  a  real  safari,"  Jeanne  will  say,  as  she 
has  so  often  in  the  past. 

"We'll  do  it  as  soon  as  I  can  train  some 
one  to  trust  with  the  business  for  a  few 
months,"  Paul  will  promise.  "But  I  also 
want  to  take  you  to  Banff  and  to  Lake 
Louise,  to  Victoria  and  Vancouver  and 
Alaska.  And  to  Mexico  City,  then  to 
South  America.  We're  really  going  to  be 
busy  people." 

The  title  of  one  of  the  songs  Jeanne 
sings  in  "Centennial  Summer"  is  "Two 
Hearts  Are  Better  Than  One."  It  is  a 
joyous  thought  with  which  to  begin  mar- 
ried life. 


JOSEPH 
COTTEN 

is  one  of  the  stars  of 

Dm 

Sun 


in 

the 


Made  by 

SELZNICK  m  TECHNICOLOR 


97 


"I  like  to  sit 
home  and  knit'* 


KEEP  FRESH!  Bathe  daily.  Then 
shower  Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc  all 
over  your  body,  into  every  curve  and 
ripple.  It  leaves  you  fresh,  divinely 
dainty. 

FEEL  SMOOTH!  Treat  chafable 
places  to  extra  Cashmere  Bouquet 
Talc.  That  gives  your  skin  a  silken 
sheath  of  protection.  Makes  you  feel 
slick,  smooth. 

STAY  DAINTY!  Pamper  your  body 
often  with  Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc. 
Hours  after  you  use  it — your  skin 
whispers  its  beguiling  scent  .  .  .  the 
fragrance  men  love. 


In  IOC.  tiOc 
and  M.lc  sizes 

For  the  luxury  size 
with  velour  puff  ask  for 
Cashmere  Bouquet 
Dusting  Powder  65( 


BLITHE  SPIRIT 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


Roosevelt,  you're  in  a  hurry,  aren't  you? 
You  can  leave  now  if  you  like." 

The  tall  young  man  smiled.  "Thanks  a 
lot.  Goodbye,  everyone."  He  bowed  to 
Mrs.  Truman  and  started  across  the  room 
with  his  long,  boyish  stride. 

Elizabeth  stared  in  utter  consternation 
from  his  retreating  back  to  the  muff  on  her 
mother's  lap,  twenty  feet  away.  Her  auto- 
graph book!  There  was  Mr.  Roosevelt  dis- 
appearing like  a  mirage,  while  she  stood 
posing  with  Mrs.  Truman.  Her  face  mir- 
rored her  agonized  indecision  for  thirty 
seconds,  and  then  Elizabeth  moved.  Like 
a  small,  black-haired  streak  of  lightning, 
she  raced  to  her  mother,  grabbed  the  muff, 
and  tore  to  the  door,  calling,  "Mr.  Roose- 
velt! Oh,  Mr.  Roosevelt,  please,  just  a 
minute!" 

remember  me  long  .  .  . 

Franklin  wrote  for  so  long  that  Elsa 
Maxwell,  who  was  standing  nearby,  said 
jovially,  "Looks  to  me  as  if  you're  writing 
her  a  letter,  not  just  an  autograph." 

He  looked  up  gravely.  "I  want  Elizabeth 
to  remember  who  I  am,  and  where  she 
was." 

The  minute  Elizabeth  got  back  from  her 
trip  East,  she  tore  ^across  the  street  to 
Anne's  house.  Anne  is  an  ideal  confidante. 
She's  never  catty  or  envious,  and  she  gets 
a  big  kick  out  of  the  things  that  happen  to 
Elizabeth. 

"I  went  to  the  theater  in  New  York!" 
Elizabeth  announced  gleefully.  "And  I 
wore  my  first  black  dress,  and  my  first  long 
stockings,  and  my  first  nail  polish!" 

"Colored  nail  polish?"  Anne  demanded 
incredulously. 

"Of  course  not,  silly.  I  wouldn't  be 
caught  dead  with  colored  polish  on.  It 
would  look  ridiculous  at  my  age."  If 
Elizabeth  was  quoting  her  mother,  she  had 
serenely  forgotten  it. 

Clothes  are,  at  this  point,  all-important 
to  Elizabeth.  Which  is  pretty  funny,  be- 
cause a  year  or  so  ago  all  she  wanted  in 
the  way  of  a  wardrobe  was  a  pair  of  blue 
jeans  and  a  boy's  shirt.  But  by  last  sum- 
mer she  showed  a  tendency  to  linger  be- 
fore dress  shop  windows,  and  came  Christ- 
mas the  burning  question  in  her  life  was 
how  she  could  inveigle  her  family  into 
getting  her  a  white  lambs'  wool  coat.  She 
tried  all  the  arguments  she  could  think  of 
and  got  nothing  but  a  monotonous  series 
of  "When  you're  older,  dear." 

"She  means  sixteen,"  Elizabeth  confided 
gloomily  to  Anne  on  Christmas  Eve.  "She 
always  means  sixteen  when  she  says  that. 
I  knew  I  wouldn't  get  it  this  year.  It  would 
be  too  good  to  be  true." 

happiness,  inc.  .  .  . 

"Maybe  they'll  give  you  something  just 
as  nice,"  Anne  said.  Anne  always  tried  to 
be  comforting.  "And  anyway,  your  white 
blanket  coat  is  very  becoming." 

The  next  morning  she  got  up  and  dashed 
across  the  street  to  Anne's  in  her  woolly 
housecoat  and  slippers.  She  always  went 
there  first  because  the  Westmores  opened 
their  presents  before  breakfast,  the  Taylors 
afterwards.  When  she  had  exclaimed  wildly 
over  Anne's  heavenly  new  sweater  and  the 
toy  panda — promptly  named  Andy  Pandy 
— the  girls  went  back  to  breakfast  at  the 
Taylors'.  There  were  lots  of  packages  un- 
der the  tree  in  the  living  room.  Scarlet 
and  white  and  green,  with  bright  ribbon 
bows.  It  was  fun  opening  them.  There 
were  ties  and  slippers  for  Dad,  and  per- 
fume for  Mummy,  and  brushes  for  How- 
ard, Elizabeth's  sixteen-year-old  brother. 
There  was  the  most  exciting  new  grey  suit 


HOW  POLLY  PICKED  HER  PATTERN 


Polly  paid  attention  to 
Holmes&Edwards  because 
it's  Sterling  Inlaid  with  wo 
blocks  of  sterling  silver 
at  the  backs  of  bowls  and 
handles  of  the  most  used 
spoons  and  forks 


HOLMES&EDWARDS 

STERLING  INLAID0 
SILVERPLATE 


Copprijrht  1946.  International  Silver  Co..  Holmes  &  Edwards  Dh\. 
Meriden. Conn.  In  Canada:  TheT.  Eat*>n  Co  .Ltd.  OReff.U.S.Pat.Ofl 


WHERE  FORM  COUNTS— IT'S 


IfflPV^J    I     A  '  ETER  PAN  BRA 

Backstage  at  "UP  IN  CENTRAL  PARK,"  the 
candid  camera  gives  Pete;  Pan  Bras  top  honors. 

*  the  bra  with  C<uiculLan.(ftla&.— 
stitching  and  bias  encircle  the  cup. 

.  •  '     BRASSIERES  •  GIRDLES 


for  Elizabeth,  with  wide  shoulders  and  a 
tiny  waist  way  in  to  here,  and  a  lovely 
straight  skirt, 

"I  thought  it  would  be  pretty  with  your 
blanket  coat,  dear,"  Mrs.  Taylor  said. 

"Oh,  it  will.  It'll  be  sweet  with  it.".  It 
would,  of  course.  Only  .  .  . 

"Mother,  do  you  think  when  I'm  six- 
teen I  can  have  a  lamb  coat?"  Elizabeth 
asked  wistfully. 

"Gosh,  what  a  single  track  mind,"  How- 
ard remarked  with  masculine  disgust. 
Howard  is  her  adored  older  brother. 

Mrs.  Taylor  smiled  at  them  both.  She 
turned  to  her  husband.  "Oh,  we  forgot  that 
little  brown  package,  dear.  I  didn't  even 
get  it  wrapped.  Would  you  go  upstairs  for 
it?"  Suddenly  Elizabeth's  eyes  got  bigger 
and  bigger.  She  jumped  up  and  stood  there, 
holding  her  breath  till  her  chest  ached.  All 
the  world  seemed  to  be  waiting  in  that  mo- 
ment of  Christmas  morning.  Then  suddenly, 
there  was  daddy  holding — holding  a  white 
lamb  coat! 

Elizabeth  shrieked.  She  ran — not  to  the 
coat,  but  to  Mummy,  and  kissed  her,  and 
cried  like  crazy.  Then  she  rushed  to  her 
father,  who  held  the  coat  helplessly  in  one 
hand  while  his  daughter  gave  him  a  wild 
bear  hug.  "It's  too  beautiful,"  she  gasped. 
'  Oh,  Anne,  isn't  it  delirious!" 

"I  knew  about  it  all  along,"  Anne  said 
smugly.  "But  I'd  promised  not  to  tell." 

lady  in  distress  .  .  . 

So — when  Elizabeth  went  to  the  White 
House,  she  had  the  lamb  coat  to  wear. 
And  when  they  got  to  New  York,  there 
was  the  theater,  and  she  was  dressed  all  up 
in  the  black  velvet  dress  and  the  white 
coat  and  a  corsage.  It  was  her  first  corsage 
from  a  boy  named  Peter  and  Elizabeth 
could  hardly  believe  it.  Young  Peter,  son 
of  Metro's  publicist,  Dorothy  Day,  sent  it. 

She  did  look  lovely  when  she  was  ready 
for  the  theater.  A  rosy  glow  enveloped  the 
dress  and  coat  and  corsage,  a  glow  that 
came  from  the  expression  of  bliss  on  her 
face.  She  and  her  mother  went  down- 
stairs to  get  a  taxi.  As  they  came  out  to 
the  street,  they  saw  what  they  had  been 
too  busy  to  notice  before.  It  was  pouring 
rain.  Elizabeth  saw  it  first  and  decided  to 
try  a  rush  act. 

"There's  a  taxi,  Mummy,"  she  cried. 
'  Let's  dash  and  grab  it.  We  simply  must 
not  be  late  for  the  theater." 

But  Mrs.  Taylor  ignored  the  slim  hand 
tugging  at  her  sleeve.  She  surveyed  the 
teeming  night,  and  then  looked  at  Eliza- 
beth's ensemble. 

"It's  too  bad,  dear,"  she  said,  "but  you'll 
have  to  go  upstairs  and  change  your  coat. 
Put  on  a  raincoat." 

"A  raincoat!  But,  Mummy,  I'm  wearing 
a  corsage!  And  we're  going  to  the  theater!" 

"I  know.  In  the  rain.  And  we  can't  af- 
ford to  ruin  your  lovely  new  coat.  So  go 
up  and  change,  dear.  Here's  the  key." 

Elizabeth  departed  like  Marie  Antoinette 
going  to  the  guillotine.  Head  high,  but 
heartbroken.  It's  tough  for  a  mother  to 
stick  to  her  'guns  in  a  case  like  that,  but 
it's  also  essential,  if  discipline  is  to  be 
maintained,  and  Mrs.  Taylor  knew  it.  Eliza- 
beth was  back  in  a  short  time,  with  a  hope- 
ful look,  still  wearing  the  white  coat.  "You 
gave  me  the  wrong  key,  Mummy.  And  I 
don't  think  it's  raining  as  hard  now." 

But  Mrs.  Taylor  fished  in  her  bag  and 
came  up  with  the  right  key.  "Hurry,  darling." 

Elizabeth  hurried.  When  she  came  back, 
she  had  the  violets  pinned  to  the  raincoat. 
She  winked  gravely  at  her  mother.  "You 
were  perfectly  right.  It's  raining  much 
too  hard  for  a  white  coat." 

That  was  a  typical  Elizabethan  reaction. 
She  never  sulks.  She's  always  gay  and 
enthusiastic,  with  a  vast  affection  for  peo- 
ple. Children  adore  her  on  sight.  Little  Mar- 
garet O'Brien  and  Jackie  "Butch"  Jenkins 
are  her  devoted  slaves.  Not  long  ago,  the 


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studio  school  gave  an  informal  entertain- 
ment. Elizabeth  perched  on  one  of  the 
desks  to  watch.  Butch  promptly  came  over 
and  wriggled  up  on  the  desk  beside  her. 
Margaret  came  shyly  across  the  room  and 
pulled  up  a  chair  by  the  desk,  but  that  was 
still  too  far  away — Butch  was  much  closer. 

He  '  had  grabbed  Elizabeth's  hand  and 
was  playing  with  the  bangle  on  her  brace- 
let in  a  proprietory  manner.  He  smiled 
triumphantly  at  Margaret,  who  looked 
wistfully  unhappy.  Elizabeth  saw  it,  and 
moving  back  a  little  on  the  desk,  held  out 
her  hands  in  an  inviting  gesture.  Instantly, 
Margaret  was  up,  and  into  her  lap.  The 
three  of  them  sat  there  in  cherubic  con- 
tentment throughout  the  evening. 

nibbles  and  twinkles  .  .  . 

Elizabeth  has  a  passion  for  animals  that 
has  had  one  curious  consequence,  besides 
getting  her  the  role  in  "National  Velvet." 
She  has  a  chipmunk  named  "Nibbles,"  and 
she  has  written  a  book  about  him  which 
is  to  be  published  in  the  spring.  The  book 
came  about,  believe  it  or  not,  because  of 
Louella  Parson's  party  for  Modern  Screen. 
Elizabeth  was  excited  about  that  party  for 
weeks  ahead  of  time.  She  and  Anne  had 
endless  telephone  conversations  about  it, 
which  drove  their  respective  families  mad. 
The  party,  when  it  came  at  last,  was  sheer 
delight.  Elizabeth  met  so  many  stars  it 
made  her  dizzy,  and  they  were  all  as 
charming  to  her  as  if  she  had  been  grown- 
up. She  also  met  Albert  Delacorte,  Modern 
Screen's  young  executive  editor,  and  con- 
fided to  Anne  next  day  that  he  was  "too 
handsome  for  words.  I  simply  drooled 
when  I  saw  him."  She  met  Van  Johnson, 
who  is  in  a  photo-finish  at  the  moment 
with  Gene  Kelly,  as  her  favorite  male  star. 
So  with  all  this  excitement,  it  was  only 
natural  that  the  next  week  when  she  was 
asked  to  write  a  theme  at  school,  she  wrote 
it  about  the  party.  Then  she  handed  it 
over  to  the  teacher  and  forgot  about  it.  But 
the  teacher  telephoned  Mrs.  Taylor. 

"You  know,  Elizabeth  has  a  surprising 
amount  of  literary  talent,"  she  said  seri- 
ously. "I  thought  so  when  I  read  the  theme 
she  wrote  about  her  horse.  Now  with  this 
story  of  the  party,  I'm  sure  of  it." 

When  Elizabeth  came  in  from  bicycling 
with  Anne  and  Carol,  her  mother  said,  "I 
hear  you  wrote  a  theme  about  the  party." 

"I  did.  You  know,  Mummy,  I  love  to 
write.  Sometime  I'd  like  to  write  a  book,  if 
I  had  anything  to  write  about." 

"Why  don't  you  try  it?  Write  about 
things  you  know." 

"But  what  do  I  know?  Horses  and  dogs 
and  chipmunks  .  .  ."  Elizabeth  paused. 
"Nibbles.    I'll  write  a  story  about  him." 

She  not  only  wrote  it,  she  illustrated  it, 
too.  The  illustrations  have  caused  almost 
as  much  favorable  comment  as  the  writing. 
She's  been  drawing  for  years,  anyway.  For 
instance,  one  morning  her  mother  was  get- 
ting dressed  while  Elizabeth  and  her  dog, 
Twinkles,  played  around  the  room. 

"I  ought  to  draw  some  pictures  of  Twin- 
kles for  my  book,"  Elizabeth  said.  idly. 

"Yes,  dear,  why  don't  you?"  her  mother 
said  absently,  and  went  into  the  bathroom 
to  brush  her  teeth.  When  she  came  out, 
Elizabeth  was  lying  on  her  stomach  on  the 
bed,  slim  tanned  legs  in  the  air,  her  head 
bent  over  a  piece  of  drawing  paper.  "Which 
of  these  do  you  like  better?"  she  inquired. 

Mrs.  Taylor  peered  over  her  shoulder  in 
amazement.  "These"  were  two  beautifully 
executed  sketches  of  Twinkles.  He  looked 
as  if  he  was  actually  in  motion,  cavorting 
about  the  room,  tail  up  and  the  devil  in 
his  eye,  as  usual.  "When  did  you  do  those?" 

"Just  now.  While  you  were  in  the  bath- 
room. I  have  to  work  fast  to  get  Twinkles." 

Fast!  Mrs.  Taylor  opened  her  mouth 
and  then  closed  it  again.  It  would  never 
do  to  let  the  child  see  how  impressed  she 
was.  But  Elizabeth  preserves  her  balance 


and  her  sense  of  humor  without  any 
trouble.  One  day  her  mother  was  quoting 
from  the  publisher's  letter  about  the  book. 
"He  said  Elizabeth's  prose  style  was  ex- 
traordinary. It  was  so  well-formed,  so 
round,  so    .  ." 

"Firm,  so  fully  packed,"  said  her  irre- 
pressible daughter,  giggling,  and  went  off 
into  a  libelous  imitation  of  the  Lucky 
Strike  auctioneer. 

One  reason  Elizabeth  and  Anne  get  on 
so  well  together  is  because  they  laugh  like 
mad  at  the  same  things.  They  agree  about 
almost  everything,  anyway,  and  haven't 
had  a  quarrel  since  three  years  ago.  Eliza- 
beth recalls  that  last  one  vividly,  however. 
Elizabeth  had  been  given  a  fancy  winter 
outfit  of  corduroy  slacks,  a  crimson  ski 
sweater,  and  a  fur  cap  with  crimson  yarn 
woven  into  two  braids  which  dangled  to 
her  shoulders.  Of  course  it  was  summer, 
and  the  thermometer  was  in  the  eighties, 
but  Elizabeth  just  had  to  show  off  her  new 
possessions.  She  got  on  her  Flexees  scooter, 
("We  were  just  infants,  practically,  then," 
she  explains)  whizzed  down  the  sidewalk, 
red  woven  braids  flying  in  the  hot  summer 
breeze.  She  passed  Anne's  house  without 
a  glance,  then  turned  around  at  the  next 
corner  and  sailed  past  it  again.  The  third 
time  Anne  stuck  her  head  out  of  a  window. 

"I  never  saw  anything  sillier,"  she  an- 
nounced to  the  world  in  a  high,  angry 
voice.  "A  fur  cap  with  wool  braids  in 
this  terrible  heat!  Some  children  just 
aren't  old  enough  to  have  any  sense!" 

The  next  day,  she  met  Anne  on  the 
street.  With  the  sudden,  unaccountable 
vagary  of  childhood,  they  both  said.  "Hello" 
amiably,  and  in  two  minutes  were  con- 
suming forbidden  sodas  together  at  the 
corner  drug  store. 

Anne  and  Carol  are  rather  interested  in 
boys.  Elizabeth  likes  boys,  but  she  regards 
them  with  a  friendly  detachment.  Howard's 
friends  fill  the  house  all  the  while,  and 
Elizabeth  thinks  that  when  she  does  get 
around  to  dating  boys,  it  will  be  handy 
having  a  brother  two  years  older.  Mean- 
time, she  is  completely  unself-conscious 
with  them.  She  keeps  a  critical  eye  on 
Howard's  girls,  too. 

"They're  such  kids,"  she  tells  her  mother. 
"They  just  aren't  smart.    If  they  were, 
they'd  know  boys  aren't  interested  in  girls! 
that  rush  them,  and  call  them  up  all  the: 
time  " 

advice  to  the  loveless  .  .  . 

So  next  time  the  girl  called  up.  Elizabeth 
answered.   "Look,"  she  said  firmly,  "you  J 
aren't  going  to  get  anywhere  with  Howard  I 
this  way.  I  know  him  better  than  anyone 
I  know  why  he  liked  you  in  the  first  place 
and  doesn't  like  you  now.  Do  you?" 

There  was  a  perplexed  negative  fron 
the  other  end.  "Well,"  Elizabeth  explainec  ! 
helpfully,  "he  liked  you  because  he  though 
you  were  sort  of  shy,  and  that's  the  typ<  j 
he  goes  for.   If  I  were  you,  I'd  get  sh}] 
again — fast.  I'm  telling  you  this  for  you: 
own  good." 

"Miss  E.  Taylor.  Advice  to  the  lovelorn,  j 
said  Howard,  who  had  come  in  during  thi  'j 
conversation.   But  he  had  to  admit  tha 
her  analysis  of  the  situation  was  correc  : 
if  somewhat  blunt. 

Here's  an  odd  item  about  Elizabeth  tha  J 
no  one  has  ever  been  able  to  figure  ou  II 
Ever  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  people  hav 
thought  she  should  be  called  Virginia.  Th 
director  on  "National  Velvet"'  called  he 
Virginia  all  the  while.  Elizabeth,  who  like  fc 
her  own  name  fine,  wouldn't  answer.  Prett  I 
soon  the  whole  company  was  saying  "HelL  I 
Virginia,"  and  the  director  tried  to  get  In  I 
to  consult  a  numerologist. 

"If  your  name  was  Virginia,  it  woul  m 
help  your  career,"  he  assured  her.  Elizj  i 
beth  just  smiled  politely  and  went  c 
being  Elizabeth.   Her  career,  from  whe]  x 
we're  sitting,  seems  to  be  doing  all  righ  |4 


MRS.  ROBERT  MONTGOMERY... 

as  famous  for  personal  charm  as 
her  celebrated  husband  is  for  bril- 
liant acting. 


"And  that's  why  tangee  gay-red 
is  starring  on  Hollywood's  smartest  lips 


Yes,  Tangee's  exciting  new  lipstick  shade— Gay- 
Red — is  the  hit-color  of  Hollywood.  In  that  exotic 
city  (where  a  girl's  face  is  her  fortune)  this  Tan- 
gee  sensation  is  being  acclaimed  by  the  loveliest 
ladies  of  the  film  colony.  Try  Tangee  Gay- Red  .  .  . 
it  gives  you  a  lift  .  .  .  makes  your  lips  look  young 
and  gay.  Remember  —  Gay-Red  comes  in  Tangee's 
outstanding  creation  —  the  Satin-Finish  Lipstick. 


cmaee 

and 


CONSTANCE  LUFT  HUHN, 

Head  of  the  House  of  Tangee 
and  one  of  America's  foremost 
authorities  on  beauty  and 
make-up.  Among  Mrs.  Huhn's 
most  recent  triumphs  are  the 
exciting  new  lipstick  shade, 
Tangee  Gay-Red,  and  the  new 
Tangee  Petal-Finish  Cake 
Make-Up. 


AT  LAST. ..a  PERFECT  CAKE  MAKE-UP! 

Some  cake  make-ups  you've  used  are  fine  in  one 
way... some  in  another... but  the  new  Tangee  Petal- 
Finish  Cake  Make-Up  is  ideal  .in  every  way.  It's 
easy  to  apply  — stays  on  for  extra  hours  — is 
designed  to  protect  the  skin  — and  does  not  make 
you  look  as  though  you  were  wearing  a  mask. 


see 


iow  heauti  ful 


you  can 


101 


h  t! 


>l 


LIONEL 
BARRYMORE 

is  one  of  the  stars  of 

SON 


in 

the 


102 


Made  by 

SELZNICK  in  TECHNICOLOR 


CO-ED 

{Continued  from  page  26) 


technique  on  your  pop,  your  big  sister's 
beau,  the  nice  joe  who  brings  the  groceries, 
then — when  you've  gained  some  confidence 
— try  them  on  the  kids  at  school. 

4.  You've  been  stood  up  and  your  pride 
is  shattered.  Build  it  up  again  by  (a) 
giving  the  lug  heck  in  front  of  a  consider- 
able group,  (b)  demanding  no  explana- 
tion, but  accepting  any  that's  given  cas- 
ually and  with  dignity,  and  very  coolly 
refusing  further  dates  with  him,  (c)  cut- 
ting him  dead  next  time  you  see  him  and 
blackening  his  name  all  over  town. 

5.  Your  dad  won't  let  you  smoke,  and 
all  the  girls  you  know  call  you  a  sissy 
because  you  don't.  Best  thing  for  you  to 
do  is  (a)  smoke  on  the  q.t. — on  account  of 
what  your  pop  doesn't  know  won't  hurt 
him,  (b)  steer  strictly  clear  of  the  gals 
who  do,  (c)  explain  to  your  dad  that  you 
don't  plan  to  overdo  it,  but  that  you  would 
like  to  take  a  puff  here  and  there  without 
a  guilty  conscience,  and  ask  him  to  place 
you  on  trial. 

6.  Mom  has  to  cut  your  allowance  be- 
cause finances  are  a  bit  strained  at  home; 
you'll  make  out  best  financially  if  (a)  you 
get  a  part-time  job  and  take  care  of  your 
own  cokes  and  movies,  (b)  you  screech 
and  whine  about  all  the  things  the  other 
kids  have  that  you  can't  afford,  (c)  you 
simply  resign  yourself  to  being  poor  and 
shun  fun. 

7.  There's  a  new  gal  at  school.  Cute  and 
smiling  and  obviously  fun.  But  her  re- 
ligion is  different  from  the  gang's,  so  all 
the  kids  snub  her.  You'd  do  well  to  (a) 
slap  her  on  the  back  and  show  her  that 
you're  no  snob,  (b)  in  an  unobtrusive 
way  take  her  under  your  wing  and  give 
her  a  chance  to  show  the  kids  what  a 
peach  she  is,  (c)  follow  the  crowd,  'cause 
if  you  step  out  of  line  they  may  drop  you. 

8.  Your  church  is  planning  a  party.  Vol- 
unteers are  needed  to  plan  the  food,  deco- 
rations, etc.  You  (a)  sit  back  and  let 
George  do  it,  (b)  volunteer  like  crazy 
and  then  find  yourself  so  swamped  with 
obligations  you  accomplish  nothing,  (c) 
pick  out  one  thing  you  can  do  well  and 
make  a  bang-up  job  of  it. 


•o  -g  <q  -L 

'v  -q  'o  -q  cq  -f  'o  z  'q  Z  '°  "T  :sJ3A\suv 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

While  visiting  in 
California  some 
months  ago,  I 
stopped  at  one  of 
Beverly  Hills'  lead- 
ing shops  and  hap- 
pened to  notice  a 
lovely  lady  looking 
over  some  clothes. 
A  flustered  and 
evidently  new 
salesgirl  was  try- 
ing very  hard  to  please  her  glamorous 
customer,  and  in  her  anxiety,  she 
caught  the  fabric  of  a  dress  on  a 
hanger  and  tore  it.  The  head  of  the 
department  came  rushing  over,  but 
before  she  could  say  a  word,  the  cus- 
tomer said,  "Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,  how 
clumsy  of  me,"  and  there  wasn't  a 
thing  the  woman  in  charge  could  say 
or  do  to  the  poor  salesgirl.  This  gra- 
cious gesture  was  made  by  none  other 
than  Irene  Dunne. 

Alma  Kessler 
St.  Louis,  Missouri 


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OH  JOHNNY! 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


He"d  sit  in  the  center  of  a  gang  of  kids 
and  swoon  em  with  "I'm  The  Medicine 
Man  for  the  Blues." 

"Lookit,  Big  John,  you're  hot,''  they'd 
say  to  him  and  he  began  to  think.  "Gee. 
I  am.''  So  he  advertised  that  herd  give 
uke  lessons  for  fifty  cents  a  week.  "I  could 
squeeze  four  lessons  in  every  afternoon," 
he  figured,  "and  eight  on  Saturdays."  And 
he  practically  needed  a  slide  rule  to  com- 
tv.:e  his  earruurs  The  way  it  worked  cut. 
however,  only  two  pupils  showed  up.  One 
was  a  lady.  A  nice,  jolly,  middle-aged  lady 
who  wanted  to  learn  "The  Poet  and  the 
Peasant." 

Johnnie  gulped  hard.  "It's  not  exactly 
uke  material."  he  said.  ""Would  you  con- 
sider 'Aloha:  or  'Tittle  Brown  Jug7?" 

"I  would  not,"  she  said,  removing  her 
hat  and  grabbing  the  uke.  "What  do  I  do 
first?"  Business  was  business,  so  Johnnie 
showed  her  how.  The  other  pupil  was  a 
man  who  wanted  to  learn  to  play  for 
relaxation.  Both  students  were  rather 
slow,  so  Johnnie  pulled  down  a  dollar  a 
week  for  quite  a  while,  and  don't  think  he 
didn't  need  it. 

making  ends  meet  .  .  . 

He  was  just  begiiining  to  think  about 
girls,  and  everyone  knows  what  an  ex- 
pense they  are.  Take  Johnnie's  first  date, 
for  example.  He  had  one  hard  earned 
buck  to  spend,  and  as  he'd  mapped  out 
the  evening,  it  was  going  to  be  ample. 
Thirty-five  cents  each  for  the  movies, 
leaving  thirty  cents  for  food.  If  she  ordered 
a  fifteen-cent  soda,  he'd  order  one,  too.  If 
she  ordered  a  twenty-cent  sundae,  he'd 
have  a  ten-cent  coke.  A  buck  would  do 
the  evening  up  brown,  and  Johnnie  ushered 
the  gal  into  the  soda  joint  feeling  good. 
They  sa:  down  and  studied  the  rr.er.u. 

"How  about  a  black  and  white?"  Johnnie 
said,  lighting  a  Cubeb. 

She  puckered  her  brow.  iIMmm — I  don't 
think  so."  She  read  the  menu  from  cover 
to  cover  and  then  grinned  at  him.  "Let's 
shoot  the  works,"  she  said  archly.  "How 
about  a  couple  of  jumbo  banana  splits?" 

Everything  went  black  for  a  minute. 
Jumbo  splits  at  thirty  cents  per.  Oh  no! 

'Tm  not  having  a  thing."  Johnnie  said, 
when  he  could  speak,  'draining  rules." 
And  he  sat  there  and  watched  her  gorge, 
liking  her  less  and  less  every  minute.  She 
was  the  smoothest  redhead  in  the  soph- 
omore class,  but  she  was  poison  to  John- 
ston from  that  night  forward. 

Boxing  on  the  Heart  of  America  team 
was  an  eventual  source  of  income.  There 
wasn't  very  mueh  of  Johnnie  when  he  was 
jus  teer.s — he  orhy  weighed  125  pounds 
— but  what  there  was  could  really  fight. 
Of  course,  being  an  amateur  fighter,  he 
received  no  money  for  his  wins,  but  now 
and  then  on  special  occasions  he'd  get  a 
gold  watch.  He  kept  the  first  one,  but 
subsequent  ones  he  sold  in  order  to 
hnance  his  dates  and  his  wardrobe. 
Clothes- wise,  he  was  really  a  sharpie.  Had 
lots  of  bell-bottom  pants  that  were  skin 
tight  at  the  knees.  The  exact  reverse  of 
zoot  trousers.  The  jackets  had  long,  long 
lapels  and  built  up  shoulders.  And  his 
white  shirts  all  had  black  and  white 
checked  cuffs,  which  were  considered  the 
absolute  ticket  in  1932. 

Sometimes  his  mother  used  to  wonder 
about  his  clothes.  "Do  they  all  dress  like 
that,  dear?"  she'd  ask  him.  Johnnie  would 
be  outraged. 

"Heck,  no,"  he'd  answer.  ''Most  of  'em 
have  no  flash." 

He  finished  high  school  in  1932  and 
immediately  hopped  a  freight  for  Holly  - 


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wood  where  he  got  a  job  in  the  Universal 
Studios  restaurant.  There  were  a  lot  of 
jobs  after  that.  He  was  mess  boy  on  a 
ship  that  went  around  the  world;  came 
home  and  was  a  doughnut  salesman  for  a 
while,  then  a  match  salesman.  All  of  the 
jobs  were  just  sort  of  to  kill  time.  None 
of  them  were  for  keeps.  And  he'd  reached 
the  stage  where  more  than  anything  on 
earth  he  wanted  a  job  that  he  could  give 
his  heart  to.  Finally  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he'd  save  a  little  money  and  buy  a 
really  good  uke  and  get  a  singing  job. 

He  liked  to  draw,  and  he'd  studied  com- 
mercial art  in  school,  so  he  went  into 
business  painting  signs.  It  was  slow  going. 
A  sign  here,  a  sign  there.  He  earned 
barely  enough  to  keep  eating;  never  had 
anything  left  over  to  put  toward  the  uke. 
And  then  came  a  windfall  of  thirty  signs. 
Thirty  nice,  short,  easy  signs  for  ten  dol- 
lars. All  they  were  to  say  was,  "Milk- 
shakes, 15  cents."  Johnnie  was  like  one 
inspired.  He  did  them  brilliantly.  In 
bright  red  paint  with  curleycues.  In  green 
with  a  row  of  exclamation  points.  In  lush 
brown  with  a  picture  of  a  milkshake.  He 
worked  on  them  for  twenty-four  hours 
without  rest  and  then  went  down  to  the 
drugstore  with  them. 

too  much  of  a  good  time  ... 

"Mr.  Jackson,"  he  said,  "I've  got  them 
all  done."  He  couldn't  wait  to  see  his  ex- 
pression when  he  saw  those  signs.  Mr. 
Jackson  thumbed  through  them,  his  face 
growing  gradually  apoplectic.  Finally,  he 
turned  on  Johnnie. 

"I  said  'Milkshakes,  15  cents,' "  he 
boomed.  "Curleycues  I  didn't  specify.  Gee- 
gaws  I  don't  want."  He  pushed  his  angry 
face  close  to  Johnnie's.  "Stick  to  the  facts. 
'Milkshakes,  15  cents.' " 

So  Johnnie  went  home  and  did  them 
over  with  black  ink  in  plain  block  letters. 
It  took  him  about  an  hour,  and  he  got  his 
ten  bucks.  It  was  his  last  piece  of  art 
work  because  he  bought  the  ukulele  on 
the  spot  and  went  to  work  as  a  stroller — 
that  is,  a  singer  of  ballads  who  goes  from 
beer  joint  to  beer  joint  playing  for  tips. 

Along  about  that  time,  he  met  Dorothy 
Marubio,  the  sweet-faced  gal  who  has 
been  Mrs.  Johnston  for  nine  years.  It  was 
a  queer  sort  of  courtship  because  Johnnie 
worked  all  night,  and  Dottie  worked  all 
day.  What's  more,  she  had  a  very  heavy 
suitor,  an  ex-Notre  Dame  football  star, 
who  did  not  work  nights,  except  at  wooing 
Dorothy.  A  lesser  guy  than  Big  John 
would  have  figured  that  he  didn't  have  a 
chance.  Johnnie  didn't  figure  that  way. 
He'd  tear  over  to  her  house  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  heavy-eyed  and 
sandpaper-voiced  from  a  night  of  singing, 
and  he'd  turn  on  the  charm  over  a  cup 
of  coffee.  And  then  one  day  he  got  com- 
pletely fed  up  with  the  set-up. 

They  were  having  breakfast  in  a  drug- 
store downtown,  and  he  turned  to  her. 
"Look,  it  doesn't  have  to  be  like  this.  A 
couple  of  hectic  seconds  a  day."  He  made 
himself  talk  slowly,  matter  of  factly.  They 
both  prided  themselves  on  their  matter  of 
factness.  "We  could  get  married,  couldn't 
we?" 

Dot's  hand  holding  the  cup  of  coffee 
shook  a  little.  She  knew  that  they  were 
a  pair  of  hard-boiled  guys,  not  two  silly 
kids,  so  why  the  heck  did  she  feel  like 
bawling?  "Sure  we  could,"  she  said  un- 
steadily. "Couldn't  we?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  minute,  as  if  she'd 
just  handed  him  the  moon  with  a  ribbon 
around  it.  "Yeah,"  he  whispered,  for  all 
the  world  like  one  of  those  sentimental 
gents.  "You  bet  we  could." 

They  were  married,  and  how  they  got 
along  on  a  handful  of  dollars  a  week  no 
one  will  ever  know.  But  they  were  young 
and  in  love,  and  being  poor  was  fun.  Also 
they  both  knew  it  was  only  temporary. 


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Dot  discovered  it  first — that  Johnnie  was 
:errific,  that  some  day  he'd  be  big  time, 
and  she  made  him  believe  in  himself  as 
he'd  never  been  able  to  before.  The  funny 
part  of  it  was  that  Dot  was  right.  The  stuff 
was  there.  Within  a  few  months  Art 
Kassel  signed  Johnnie  on  as  singer- 
guitarist  and  band  boy,  and  that  was  the 
beginning  of  the  Success  Story. 

Came  a  session  with  Roger  Pryor's  band, 
:ame  radio,  came  HollywTood.  His  sinuses 
drove  him  West  in  1940,  but  once  he  got 
ihere  he  knew  it  was  for  him,  sinuses  or 
not.  They  had  a  darling  house  and  a  horse 
and  a  couple  of  dogs,  and  in  1942  they  had 
Julie,  their  lovely  little  girl.  Johnnie 
worked  regularly,  and  two  of  the  songs 
he  introduced  in  the  movies  became 
smasheroos.  "I  Don't  Want  to  Walk  With- 
out You,  Baby,"  and  "That  Old  Black 
Magic."  They  weren't  millionaires,  the 
Johnstons,  but  there  was  chicken  every 
Sunday,  and  life  was  pretty  lush  after  all 
the  thin  years.  Johnnie  used  to  say  to  Dot: 

"Could  a  guy  want  any  more  than  this? 
You  and  the  kid  and  a  dog  with  a  red 
beard"  (Skippy  did  have  a  red  beard,  and 
more  personality  than  most  people)  "and 
good  friends  and  the  best  golf  clubs  money 
can  buy?"  And  she  used  to  come  right 
back  at  him,  quick  as  a  flash,  "We're  lucky 
guys,  J.  J." 

Their  best  friends  were  a  mixture  of 
professional  and  nonprofessional  people: 
Martha  Tilton,  Johnny  Mercer,  Alice  Faye 
and  Phil  Harris,  Marilyn  Maxwell.  Then 
there  was  Chet  Bell  with  whom  Johnnie 
had  gone  to  school  and  Arnold  Gillespie, 
a  cartoonist  at  Metro.  All  of  them  swell 
people.  Dot  and  Alice  would  talk  babies 
on  the  phone  for  hours  at  a  time.  Johnnie 
and  Chet  would  compare  gardening  tech- 
nique. In  the  evening  they'd  have  dinner 
at  each  other's  houses,  play  charades,  gang 
around  the  piano  and  sing.  It  was  a  good, 
sane,  solid  way  of  life,  but  Dot  and  Johnnie 
never  got  settled  or  stuffy.  They  did  giddy 
things  like  playing  golf  in  the  rain  and 
taking  trips  to  Santa  Barbara  on  horse- 
back. Things  like  teaching  little  Julie  to 
make  the  razzberry  noise  when  they  sang 
"Der  Fuehrer's  Face." 

Johnnie  taught  her  that  when  she  was 
six  months  old.  "Come  on,  honey,"  he'd 
say,  leaning  over  her  play  pen.  "We  (razz- 
berry noise)  and  (razzberry  noise)  right 
in  the  Fuehrer's  face."  He  kept  at  it  till 
his  face  got  red  and  his  eyes  were  popping, 
but  he  got  nothing  but  the  deadpan  from 
her  nibs.  Exhausted  and  crushed,  he  gave 
it  up  as  a  bad  job. 

"She  can't  seem  to  get  it,"  he  complained 
to  Dorothy,  his  tone  of  voice  implying 
near-imbecility. 

"She's  not  old  enough,  goon,"  Dot  told 
him.  "She's  only  six  months  old,  you 
know." 

And  then  Johnnie  put  the  Spike  Jones 
record  on  the  vie  and  sat  down  in  a  chair 
to  listen.  When  it  came  to  the  razzberry 
part,  Julie,  unprompted,  chimed  in  from  her 
play  pen  as  plain  as  anything. 

famous  first  words  .  .  . 

"Did  you  hear  that?"  yelled  Johnnie. 
"Hear  what  Julie  said?"  It  went  down  in 
her  baby  book,  "First  word,  six  months 
old — razzberry."  And  no  subsequent  feats 
were  ever  quite  as  thrilling. 

In  1944,  Johnnie  decided  to  trek  East 
again.  It  was  obvious  that  all  really  good 
singing  movie  roles  were  going  to  Bing — 
and  rightly  so,  he  knew — so  he  pulled  up 
stakes  and  went  to  New  York  with  nothing 
in  view  but  a  guest  stint  on  the  Society  of 
Lower  Basin  Street  program.  When  that 
was  over,  they  signed  him  for  nine  weeks, 
but  other  than  that  he  was  unemployed. 
There  were  no  further  radio  bids,  no  noth- 
ing. Then  one  night  a  friend  took  him  to 
dinner  at  the  Hurricane,  and  it  turned  out 
to  be  Celebrity  Night.  They  asked  Johnnie 


w 


RC  tastes  best,  I  say ! 


says  . 

JOAN  CAULFIELD 


See  JOAN  CAULFIELD  in 

"MISS  SUSIE  SLAGLE'S" 
A  Paramount  Picture 


"THE  COLA  TASTE-TEST  PROVED  TO  ME 

Royal  Crown  Cola  is  best-tasting.  Now  it's 
my  year-round  choice!"  Try  it!  Say,  "RC 
for  me!"  That's  the  quick  way  to  get  a 
Royal  Crown  Cola— best  by  taste-test! 


R_  C  is  the  quick  way  to  say. . . 

*    COLA  * 

Best  by  taste-test 


mm 


C°l<SAtt 


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to  sing,  and  he  did,  and  next  morning 
there  were  a  dozen  phone  calls.  In  quick 
succession  he  signed  for  personal  appear- 
ances at  the  Capitol  Theater,  a  singing  spot 
at  the  Copacabana,  a  new  Chesterfield 
radio  series.  He  brought  Julie  and  Dot  in 
from  the  Coast  and  they  resumed  their 
life  together  in  a  New  York  apartment. 

There  were  wonderful  things  to  see — 
Central  Park  and  the  Zoo  for  Julie;  the 
marvelous  shops,  the  theaters  for  Dot; 
the  bands,  the  top-notch  entertainers  for 
Johnnie.  It  was  fun  and  stimulating,  but 
after  eight  months  of  it  they  are  ready 
to  go  West  again.  Really  thrilled  to  go, 
because  Big  John  has  a  fat  new  contract 
with  Metro  now,  and  the  Success  Story 
is  getting  bigger  and  better.  The  principal 
characters  in  it  are  pretty  much  the  same. 
Better  dressed,  perhaps.  Better  fed.  But 
still  two  smiling,  unspoiled  kids  who've 
had  the  world  on  a  string  all  along,  so 
what's  all  the  noise  about?  The  third 
character  has  changed  from  a  wee  baby 
to  a  bright-faced  pixie  with  taffy-colored 
pigtails.  A  laughing  little  girl  who  wears 
shiny  patent  leather  Mary  Jane  shoes  and 
stiff  starched  pinafores.  She  can  put  jig- 
saw puzzles  together  and  count  to  twenty. 
She  can  also  sing  "Frere  Jacques"  and  the 
"Trolley  Song"  and  "Accentuate  the  Posi- 
tive," and  her  pop  thinks  she's  good.  And 
now  there's  a  little  brother — John  Dennis 
— for  Julie  to  play  with. 

She  has  a  fabulous  collection  of  toys; 
gifts  from  a  doting  pa  and  many  presents 
from  Johnnie's  fans.  There's  a  tremendous 
rocking  horse  (which  Julie  has  recently 
discovered  is  a  rocking  lamb — not  a  horse 
at  all),  a  couple  of  life-size  dolls,  games, 
books,  toy  animals. 

Johnnie  is  awfully  fond  of  the  fans; 
they've  done  so  many  touching  things. 
Like  visiting  him  at  the  hospital  every 
day  when  he  had  appendicitis.  And  bring- 
ing him  gifts  on  the  slightest  provocation 
— a  pair  of  silk  pajamas,  a  lovely  blue 
sweater,  a  brief  case  with  his  name  on  it. 
They  are  sweet,  well-behaved  kids  for 
the  most  part,  and  only  now  and  then  do 
they  cause  any  real  disturbance.  Like  the 
time  when  Johnnie  was  sick  from  over- 
work. He  just  barely  got  through  the; 
Chesterfield  show,  and  Bill  Brennan  was 
helping  him  out  to  a  cab.  The  fans  mobbed 
him,  stuck  fountain  pens  in  his  eye,  clung 
to  the  running  board  of  his  car.  There 
were  eleven  cops  on  hand  that  night,  and 
the  youngsters  knocked  them  over  as  ii 
they  were  matchsticks.  It  wasn't  a  very 
nice  exhibition.  Johnnie  was  pretrv 
ashamed  of  his  kids.  But  it  doesn't  happer 
often.   They  are  usually  so  darn  nice. 

As  one  of  them  put  it,  "We  don't  wani 
to  embarrass  or  offend  him.  He's  too  swel 
— as  a  singer  and  as  a  guy." 


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CLAIRE  ALTMAN,  INC  •  DETROIT 


DREAM  BOSS 

(Continued  from  page  33) 


friends  telling  Sue  and  Alan  goodbye, 
and  vice  versa.  Upstairs,  Alan  and  Sue 
were  tossing  this  and  that  into  their  bags 
and  then  discovering  they'd  forgotten  some- 
thing else.  So  Betty  raced  downtown  to 
rescue  the  lost  items.  Then  Alana  lost 
"Sandy"  her  favorite  handkerchief,  and 
started  to  cry;  up  whizzed  Betty  to  the 
nursery  to  tell  her  a  story  and  calm  her 
down.  Flashed  next  a  terrible  realization 
in  Sue's  mind — the  radio  contract  Alan  had 
signed  had  to  go  back  to  NBC  before  eight 
o'clock.  Betty  rushed  down  with  it.  She 
helped  pack.  She  jotted  down  last  minute 
instructions.  Betty  helped  Sue  brew  coffee 
to  keep  them  all  fortified.  It  went  on  like 
that.  Then  Laddie  got  a  bright  idea,  as  it 
grew  later  and  later.  He  peeked  out  the 
front  window  and  saw  a  silvery  moon 
bathing  the  terrace. 

"We're   getting   a   late   start  anyway," 
he  said.   "Look,  Sue,  let's  start  out  about 
one  o'clock  and  drive  by  moonlight!"  Sue  I 
thought  that  was  a  romantic  idea,  so  Betty 
helped  make  sandwiches  before  they  started  \ 
packing  the  back  end  of  the  car.  She  helped  | 
lug  out  travel  items  for  that,  and  with  it 
all  safely  stowed  in,  started  to  wave  them 
goodbye,  a  little  wobbly,  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  moonlight.  Then  Alan  switched  on 
the  headlights — and  no  lights.  He'd  packed 
the  rear  end  so  full  the  wiring  was  crushed. 
Out  came  all  the  bags  and  the  pliers  and 
Alan  crawled  inside  the  car  while  Betty 
held  the  flashlight. 

frantic  family  .  .  . 

Around  two  a.  m.,  the  Ladds  finally 
rolled  off  on  their  moonlight  excursion. 
Only  Alan  got  dozy  before  they'd  passed 
the  San  Fernando  Valley,  so  they  pulled 
into  Joel  McCrea's  ranch  and  went  to  sleep. 
But  Secretary  Betty  didn't  know  that,  of 
course.  She  finally  dragged  into  the  Studio 
Club  around  three  and  tumbled  across  her 
bed  in  a  state  of  exhaustion — happy  ex- 
haustion, though,  because  she'd  loved  every 
minute  of  the  excitement. 

That's  just  a  sample — but  after  pitching 
into  a  few  family  frantics  like  that  you  can 
see  where  a  star's  private  secretary  be- 
comes more  than  a  mere  business  girl — 
and  fast.  By  now,  Betty  Jordan — who  got 
her  job  through  an  employment  agency, 
and  didn't  even  know  whom  she'd  be  work- 
ing for  until  she  walked  in,  met  Sue  and 
discovered  she  was  Alan  Ladd's  wife — 
entrenched  firmly  in  the  Ladds'  affections. 
In  fact,  it's  hard  to  see  how  the  place  would 
tick  along  without  Betty  and  Diane.  They 
rally  to  all  the  daily  dramas — like  the  time 
Betty  was  there  alone  and  the  lady  down 
the  street  called  to  report,  "There's  a  man 
dragging  your  boxer  dog,  Jezebel,  into  his 
car.  I  think  he's  stealing  her."  She  tore 
down  the  street  in  time  to  claim  Jezzie, 
scare  off  the  kidnapper  and  avert  a  Ladd 
family  tragedy. 

They're  in  on  family  surprises  and 
secrets  even  before  Alan  and  Sue  are, 
more  often  than  not.  Like  Alan's  last 
birthday  present,  when  Sue  completed  the 
gold  locket  which  has  an  engraved  still 
picture  from  every  film  Laddie's  made. 
And  the  Christmas  gift  charm  for  his  cig- 
arette case,  the  tiny  jeweled  "Calcutta"  air- 
plane which  brings  it  up  to  date.  It's  a 
cinch  Alan  didn't  know  about  those  until 
he  got  them  with  "Happy  Birthday"  and 
"Merry  Christmas."  But  Betty  and  Diane 
did.  They  picked  'em  for  Sue  and  checked 
on  the  jeweler's  progress  for  weeks. 

Last  December  Sue  and  Alan  were  away 
from  Hollywood  right  before  holiday  time 
on  their  tour  of  army  hospitals  in  the  Mid- 
west. It's  always  an  absorbing  junket  for 


WALTER 
HUSTON 

is  one  of  the  stars  of 

Son 


in 

the 


Made  by 

SELZNICR  in  TECHNICOLOR 


107 


HERBERT 
MARSHALL 

is  one  of  the  stars  of 


108 


Made  by 

SELZNICK  /^TECHNICOLOR 


that  pair  once  they  get  going  on  a  GI  en- 
tertainment tour,  and  besides,  this  time, 
they  made  Camp  Joseph  T.  Robinson  and 
the  Army  Navy  General  Hospital  in  Arkan- 
sas and  Alan  went  over  to  Hot  Springs,  his 
old  home  town,  and  tried  to  track  down 
missing  relatives  he  knew  he  must  have 
in  those  parts.  So  they  stayed  away  longer 
than  they'd  planned  and  the  terrible  real- 
ization suddenly  smote  them  both  that  they 
would  be  smack  up  against  Christmas  by 
the  time  they  got  back  to  Hollywood.  So 
they  wired  Betty,  "Can  you  pick  up  gifts 
Sue  chose  before  leaving  and  start  wrap- 
ping them,  as  Alan  wants  to  stay  at  the 
hospitals  till  the  day  before  Christmas?" 

Betty  wired  back,  "Love  to,"  and  by  the 
time  she  rolled  over  to  the  Glendale  station 
with  Diane,  Alana  and  the  nurse,  Jezebel, 
the  pup  and  other  Ladd  menage  mainstays, 
to  meet  Sue  and  Alan,  all  the  presents  were 
wrapped  with  seals,  stickers  n'everything. 
Of  course,  she  had  made  a  couple  of  mis- 
takes. Like  the  pedal-pusher  she  tagged 
for  a  grown  up  gal  friend  of  Sue's  with  a 
baby  name,  and  the  perfume  she'd  wrapped 
for  a  female  moppet  with  a  very  adult 
sounding  title.  Alan  and  Sue,  I  might  add, 
were  not  ungrateful. 

to  betty,  with  love  .  .  . 

Because  the  Christmas  present  they  gave 
Betty  was  a  two-week  vacation  to  fly  back 
to  her  home  town,  Easton,  Pennsylvania 
and  visit  the  folks.  And  when,  just  two 
days  before  her  trip,  Betty's  plane  reser- 
vations got  cancelled  and  the  dream  blew 
up — well,  Alan  spent  a  whole  day  chasing 
down  everybody  he  knew  even  remotely 
connected  with  an  airline  or  train  and  turn- 
ing on  every  calorie  of  heat,  so  that  Betty 
left  for  home  right  on  schedule,  Christmas 
rush  or  no.  Some  boss?  You  can't  knock 
him  to  Betty.  And  a  girl  like  Miss  Jordan, 
who  gets  mixed  up  in  all  the  daily  glamor- 
ous goings  on  of  a  star's  home  base  doesn't 
necessarily  wear  rose-colored  glasses. 

Betty  and  Diane  laugh  at  Alan  when  he 
comes  out  to  greet  them  in  the  mornings 
when  his  eyes  are  still  half  closed  with  sleep 
and  he  can  only  scowl  good  naturedly, 
"What's  good  about  it?"  when  they  chirp 
a  cheery  "Good  Morning!" 

They  are  well  used  to  the  sight  of  Ladd 
scuffing  along  in  a  pair  of  mud-caked  gar- 
den shoes  which  even  the  Salvation  Army 
would  refuse  to  rehabilitate.  They  know 
what  he  looks  like  when  he  hasn't  shaved, 
when  his  favorite  pants,  the  tattered  blue 
denims  (that  Sue  has  tried  unsuccessfully 
dozens  of  times  to  bury)  adorn  his  lower 
half  with  nothing  but  tan  skin  top-side. 
They  know  his  weakness  for  the  weirdest 
combinations  anyone  could  think  up — like 
the  yacht  skipper's  cap  he  likes  to  wear 
over  his  Cheyenne  frontier  pants  and  cow- 
boy boots!  And  they  have  been  bystanders 
in  several  household  crises  where  their  star 
boss  didn't  exactly  loom  bright  and  shining 
in  a  hero's  role. 

There  was  the  time,  for  instance,  when 
Alan  almost  flooded  the  family  out  of 
house  and  home.  That  night  Betty  stayed 
on  for  dinner  with  Sue  and  Alan  and 
during  the  course  of  the  meal  Sue  in- 
judiciously mentioned  that  a  leaky  faucet 
in  the  upstairs  bathroom  was  driving  her 
slowly  mad. 

"I'll  fix  it  after  dinner,"  stated  Laddie. 

"Hadn't  you  better  call  a  plumber?" 
Sue  suggested. 

"Of  course  not,"  snorted  Alan.  "Very 
simple  job.  Besides,  plumbers  are  busy 
these  days.  No  sense  in  calling  one  in 
when  I  know  exactly  what  to  do." 

So,  after  dinner,  Alan  dug  out  hammers 
and  wrenches  and  things  and  soon  great 
clanking  and  banging  sounds  resounded 
through  the  place  in  fearful  fashion  while 
Sue  and  Betty  sat  downstairs  and  chewed 
their  nails.  Finally,  the  nervous  gals  heard 
him  clumping  down  the  basement  stairs. 


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"Where  are  you  going,  dear?"  ventured 
Sue  timidly. 

"To  turn  the  water  off,  of  course," 
echoed  up  the  stairs.  But  next  minute 
there  were  ominous  gurglings  and  splash  - 
ings  from  all  directions  and  a  miniature 
Johnstown  Flood  started  sweeping  over 
the  house.  Instead  of  turning  the  water 
off,  the  guy  had  turned  it  full  on! 

Sometimes,  naturally,  Betty  and  Diane 
manage  to  get  mixed  up  in  Ladd  household 
dilemmas,  whether  they  mean  to  or  not. 
You  can't  be  a  private  secretary  and  put 
your  foot  in  the  right  place  every  hour 
of  the  day,  and  the  last  boss  in  the  world 
to  expect  that  is  Alan,  who  likes  every- 
one around  him  to  stay  relaxed  and  happy, 
and  constantly  keeps  them  kidded  that 
way.  If  Betty  bumps  her  toe  on  the  flag- 
stone walk,  he'll  yelp,  "That'll  cost  you 
five  bucks  to  lay  a  new  sidewalk — remind 
me  to  dock  your  salary."  And  he's  always 
strolling  into  the  playroom  office  with  a 
slave  driver  look  and  growling,  "From  now 
on  everybody  works  Sundays,  holidays  and 
every  other  night,"  just  to  start  a  banter 
bout.  But  in  three  years  Diane  has  never 
seen  Sue  or  Alan  really  burned  up  about 
anything  she's  done  and  that  goes  for 
Betty,  too,  in  the  year  she's  been  on  the 
Ladd  dream  job.  And  both  admit  there 
have  been  a  few  provocations  to  ruffle  the 
feelings  of  any  one  half  way  touchy. 

By  now  Betty  has  learned  to  keep  out 
of  Laddie's  way  when  he's  due  for  a  radio 
broadcast.  He  races  around  the  house 
like  a  madman  those  days  and  you're  likely 
to  get  bowled  right  over  if  you  block  the 
track.  By  now,  too,  Betty  knows  better 
than  to  buy  lamb  when  she  markets.  She 
did  that  the  first  week  she  was  there  and 
watched  Alan  turn  a  funny  green  and  push 
his  plate  away  at  dinner.  Now,  if  Betty 
markets,  she  sticks  to  the  steaks  he  loves 
and  she  knows  that  artichokes  and  zucchini 
squash  are  about  the  only  members  of  the 
vegetable  family  he'll  swallow  without  gag- 
ging. She  knows  he's  allergic  to  studio  com- 
missaries, too,  and  if  Sue's  busy  she  whisks 
over  to  Paramount  with  the  lunch  which 
Alan  likes  to  heat  up  on  the  hot  plate  in 
his  housekeeping-style  dressing  room. 

a  man's  treasure  .  .  . 

She  knows  which  are  Alan's  particular 
treasures  in  the  playroom — the  GI  statu- 
ettes Dixie  Crosby  gave  him  when  he 
went  into  service,  the  framed  athletic 
medals  he  won  in  high  school,  the  wooden 
I  duck  (hat  Webb,  his  studio  makeup  man 
|  and  pal,  carved  for  him,  the  lighter  a 
soldier  fan  overseas  made  out  of  a  37-mm 
shell  and  sent,  the  film  splicer  Bill  Dem- 
arest  gave  him  for  Christmas — so  she  gives 
them  a  wide  berth  when  she  buzzes  around. 

Matter  of  fact,  nobody  gets  a  bigger 
laugh  than  boss  man  Alan  when  Betty 
J  or  Diane  bang  into  a  slapstick  bit  of 
i  comedy  grief  going  about  their  unpre- 
i  dictable  chores.  Once  Laura  Lee,  the 
special  cook  Alan  and  Sue  have  in  -for 
J  fancy  parties,  decided  she'd  prepare  some 
of  the  food  at  home.  When  party  time 
came,  Betty  and  Diane  volunteered  to 
bring  her  and  the  fancy  goodies  over, 
while  Alan  and  Sue  got  dressed.  So  they 
rolled  over  to  Laura  Lee's  in  the  Packard, 
carefully  tucked  her  in  the  back  seat  with 
a  scrumptious  lemon  chiffon  pie  and  a  bowl 
of  tomato  aspic  which  had  taken  her  all 
the  afternoon  to  make.  Laura  balanced 
one  on  top  of  the  other  carefully.  But  on 
the  way  home  and  in  a  hurry  Betty 
slammed  on  the  brakes  at  a  crossing 
and— Squoosh!— the  prettiest  mixture  of 
lemon-tomato-pie-aspic  you  ever  saw  flew 
all  over  the  car  and  poor  Laura  Lee's 
snowy  apron.  Betty  could  have  dropped 
right  through  the  floor  when  she  con- 
fronted Sue  with  the  mess,  but  Alan  had 
to  go  in  the  next  room  and  roar.  They 
(Continued  on  page  112) 


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Bob  Mitchum  is  letting  himself  in  on  a  lot  of  fun!  At  the 
Cock  'n  Bull,  a  gay  bar  and  quiet,  refined  restaurant  combine 
to  please  the  Hollywood  press  and  your  favorite  screen  stars. 


STEAK  AND  KIDNEY 


PIE,  YORKSHIRE  PUDDING,  RAREBIT 


AND  CRUMPETS 


ARE  FAVORITE  ENGLISH  DISHES  SERVED  AT 


HOLLYWOOD'S  COCK  "N  BULL 


By  NANCY  WOOD 


WITH 


■  J.  Edgar  Hoover  and  his  boys  always  find  what 
they're  looking  for!  In  this  case,  one  of  America's 
No.  1  restaurants,  The  Cock  'n  Bull.  They  have  eaten 
there  often  and  found  it  just  by  listening  to  the  com- 
ments of  satisfied  customers. 

Eric  Blore,  famous  for  his  English  butler  roles,  ate 
at  The  Cock  'n  Bull  the  day  it  was  opened  in  1937  and 
so  headed  the  long  procession  of  movie  stars  who 
have  since  enjoyed  the  typically  English  food  served 
within  those  dark  oak-panelled  walls.  The  decora- 
tions, too,  are  quite  English — polished  brass  lanterns, 
authentic  old  prints  and  etchings,  Toby  mugs,  and 
autographs  of  historical  celebrities  like  Robert 
Browning  and  an  assortment  of  English  kings. 

This  charming  place  is  owned  by  screen  writer 
Jack  Morgan  (Col.  Morgan,  if  you  want  to  be 
formal).  Although  born  in  San  Francisco,  he  was 
educated  at  Oxford,  which  accounts  for  his  special 
liking  for  English  food.  Originally,  Morgan  planned 
a  tavern  with  a  few  snacks,  but  those  tidbits  were 
so  good  the  menu  grew  and  grew  until  today  there's 
a  magnificent  buffet  table  spread  with  baked  turkey, 
fried  chicken,  broiled  squab,  browned  potatoes,  an 
out-of-this-world  horseradish,  vegetables,  piles  of 
hot  crumpets  and,  well,  just  heaps  of  beautiful  food! 

Also  a  bit  of  all  right  are  the  customers.  At  the  bar 
there's  a  terrific  turnover  of  Hollywood  gossip  sup- 
plied chiefly  by  newspaper  men  and  press  agents.  In 
the  restaurant  you  may  find  Joan  Crawford  enjoying 
some  baked  beans,  or  Jane  and  Ronnie  Reagan  start- 
ing their  meal  with  Welsh  rarebit.  Frank  Sinatra  eats 


ENGLISH  ACCENT 


If  tables  really  do  groan  when  loaded  with  delicious  food,  this 
one  has  a  groan  coming!  Bill  Williams  and  Barbara  Hale 
are  about  to  feast  on  some  of  the  best  food  in  the  country! 


there  too — Nancy  feeds  him  a  lot  of  good 
home  cooked  food,  but  his  youthful  appe- 
tite causes  him  to  tour  the  town  in  search 
of  tasty  tidbits.  Prominent  out-of-towners 
include  cartoonist  Peter  Arno,  the  famous 
Leopold  Stokowski  and,  as  we  have  al- 
ready said,  J.  Edgar  Hoover,  always  ac- 
companied by  two  of  his  men. 

We're  giving  you  some  English  recipes 
as  received  from  The  Cock  'n  Bull,  with 
only  such  changes  as  will  make  it  easier 
for  you  to  prepare  a  chefs  recipes  in  your 
own  kitchen. 

YORKSHIRE  PUDDING 

1  cup  flour  1  cup  milk 

%  teaspoon  salt  4  eggs,  beaten 

y-i  cup  beef  grease 

Sift  flour  once.  Measure,  add  salt  and 
sift  again.  Add  milk  and  well  beaten  eggs 
gradually,  stirring  smooth.  Beat  mixture 
vigorously  2  minutes.  Place  drippings  in 
10  or  12-inch  square  pan  and  heat  to 
bubbling  hot  before  pouring  in  pudding. 
Bake  in  hot  oven  (500°  F.)  for  20  minutes. 
Cut  in  two-inch  squares  and  serve  with 
roast  beef. 

Note:  The  average  Yorkshire  Pudding 
uses  two  eggs,  if  you're  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  budget.  Some  cooks  bake  it  about 
35  minutes  in  a  moderately  hot  oven 
(400°-425°F.). 

WELSH  RAREBIT 

2  tablespoons  butter 

2  tablespoons  flour 
%  teaspoon  salt 
%  teaspoon  pepper 
%  teaspoon  dry  mustard 

2  cups  milk 

1  pound  American  cheese,  diced 

2  teaspoons  Worcestershire  sauce 
%  cup  beer 

Melt  butter  in  top  of  double  boiler.  Add 
flour,  salt,  pepper  and  dry  mustard  and 
stir  smooth.  Add  milk  gradually,  stirring 
smooth.  Cook  until  thickened,  stirring 
constantly.  Cook  5  minutes  longer,  stirring 
occasionally.  Add  diced  cheese  and  stir 
until  melted.  (Do  not  overcook  as  cheese 
becomes  stringy.)  Add  Worcestershire 
sauce  and  beer  and  mix  thoroughly.  Serve 
immediately  on  toast  or  buttered  English 
crumpets.  Serves  6. 

ENGLISH  TRIFLE 


1  8-inch  layer  sponge  cake 

%  cup  sherry 

%  to  1  cup  raspberry  jam 
1  recipe  custard  sauce* 
1  cup  whipping  cream 
Maraschino  cherries 


Cut  sponge  cake  into  1-inch  cubes  and 
line  serving  dish  with  layer  of  cubes. 
Sprinkle  with  sherry  wine.  Spread  with 
part  of  the  raspberry  jam.  Add  part  of  the 
custard  sauce.  Repeat  this  layer  of  cake, 
wine,  jam  and  sauce  until  all  ingredients 
are  used  up.  Cover  with  whipped  cream 
and  sprinkle  with  maraschino  cherries. 
Serves  6  to  8. 

*  Custard  sauce  should  be  chilled  before 
adding  to  Trifle.  Prepare  as  follows:  Beat 
4  egg  yolks,  Yi  cup  sugar  and  V4  teaspoon 
salt  together.  Add  2  cups  milk  which  have 
been  heated  to  scalding  point  in  top  of 
double  boiler.  Return  mixture  to  double 
boiler  and  cook,  stirring  constantly  until 
mixture  coats  metal  spoon.  (Do  not  use 
too  high  heat  or  overcook  or  mixture  will 
curdle — it  is  done  when  it  reaches  sauce 
consistency) .  If  whipping  cream  isn't 
available,  beat  remaining  egg  whites  until 
stiff  and  add  %  cup  corn  syrup  gradually. 
Add  Vs  teaspoon  salt.  Top  Trifle  with 
beaten  egg  whites. 


— - 


"When  I  unwrapped  it — it  smelled  so  good — I  thought 
I  must  try  it  right  away."  .  .  . 

"I  didn't  realize  any  soap  coidd  be  so  effective  on  shirt 
collars  and  cuffs.".  .  . 

"There  is  simply  no  other  soap  for  doing  up  baby  things. " . . . 

■'Everything  came  out  shining  white  and  with  half 
the  work."  .  .  . 

"My  neighbors  all  ask  what  I  use  that  makes  my 
clothes  so  white. "  .  .  . 

"I  could  not  keep  house  without  Fels-Naptha 
Soap  and  Chips."  ,  . . 

•*  H  H 

In  these  and  in  thousands  of  similar  phrases, 
American  women  write  the  Story  of 
Fels-Naptha  Soap — a  never-ending 
tale  of  praise  and  appreciation.  It    IriK        .  .. 
is,  in  simple  truth,  a  nation's        ' *Ur HAPi|H\ 
Rhapsody  in  White.  }    SfiftS  " 

M 


Fels-Naptha  Soap 

ban/shes\attle-tale  gray"  ill 


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DON'T  COVER  UP  A 

"PROBLEM  SKIN" 


* 


(YOU  MAY  MAKE  IT  WORSE!) 


See  how  quickly 
this  famous  cream  helps 
heal  ugly  blemishes* 


Don't  take  chances  with 
ugly,  externally-caused 
pimples  and  blemishes. 
"Covering  them  up"  may  actually 
make  them  worse!  Instead,  help  heal 
them  with  Medicated  Noxzema.  Nurses 
were  among  the  first  to  discover  how 
effective  Noxzema  is  for  pimples  and 
blemishes.  That's  because  it's  a  medi- 
cated formula.  It  contains  special  in- 


gredients that  not  only  soothe  and 
smooth  rough,  dry  skin  but  aid  in  heal- 
ing blemishes  and  irritations.  See  for 
yourself  how  much  Noxzema  can  do 
to  improve  the  appearance  of  your  skin. 
Get  a  jar  today  at  any 
drug  counter.  10c,  35c,  50c 

(plus  tax),      ♦externally -caused 

NOXZEMA 


all  pitched  in  in  the  kitchen  and  repaired 
the  damage  before  the  guests  arrived. 

The  lone  family  sore  spot  at  the  Ladds — 
which  includes  everybody  who  lives  or 
works  there — is  the  case  of  the  missing 
automobile  keys.  In  a  house  where  so  many 
people  buzz  off  on  something  or  other  at 
all  hours,  car  keys  disappear  like  magic 
and  always  at  strategic  times.  There's  the 
Packard  and  the  Buick  and  never  a  key  for 
either  one  when  somebody  wants  it.  Alan 
finally  went  grimly  down  to  the  locksmith's 
and  had  ten  different  sets  of  car  keys  made 
— but  they  still  disappear. 

Next  to  his  baffling  burnups  at  elusive 
car  keys — the  only  time  Betty  recalls  see- 
ing Alan  having  an  unhappy  moment  at 
anything  traceable  to  his  secretary  staff 
involved — of  all  people — Baby  Alana.  She's 
at  .the  into-everything-chatterbox  stage 
now  (she'll  be  three  in  April),  smart  as  a 
wink  and  cute  as  a  bug.  Alana  still  has 
her  nurse,  Kathleen  O'Conner,  but  on  her 
day  off  Betty  and  Diane  love  to  dress  her, 
curl  her  hair  (when  they  can  get  her  to 
sit  still  long  enough)  and  generally  fuss 
over  the  dainty  little  doll.  And  on  any 
other  day,  with  the  way  Alana  is  getting 
around  these  days,  she's  likely  not  to  be 
far  away  from  Betty  and  Diane. 

She's  Little  Miss  Perpetual  Mo- 
tion and  Little  Miss  Echo  all  in  one,  at 
this  point — and  everybody  at  the  Ladds' 
is  her  devoted  slave.  Alan  has  a  dozen 
fancy  names  for  her — like  "Imogene," 
"Lillybelle,"  "Ramona,"  "Fifi"— and  usually 
calls  her  a  different  one  each  time,  although 
her  official  nickname  by  now  is  "Lonnie." 
The  girls  can't  resist  teaching  Lonnie 
catchlines  and  jingles  because  it's  so  cute 
to  hear  her  say  them. 

Well,  the  other  night  Sue  and  Alan  en- 
tertained some  friends  they  didn't  know 
too  intimately,  and  right  in  a  lull  of  dinner 
conversation  up  piped  Alana  thus: 

"Who  threw  the  overalls  into  Mrs.  Mur- 
phy's chowder?" 

Everybody  roared,  but  Alan  was  a  little 
embarrassed.  He  told  her  to  be  quiet,  and 
later  that  night  Sue  said  he  shouldn't 
have  done  it.  "You'll  thwart  her  develop- 
ing personality,"  she  argued.  Alan  said 
he  guessed  Sue  was  right. 

fast  talk  moppet  .  .  . 

So  they  had  another  dinner  party  no1 
long  after  and  this  time  Alana  sprang 
a  new  one,  "Anybody  here  seen  Kelly?' 
she  sang  out,  "Kelly  with  the  jelly  belly?' 
Everybody  had  to  laugh,  of  course,  anc 
even  though  Alan  blushed  he  kept  quiet 
So  seeing  she'd  made  a  hit,  Alana  came 
out  with  another  nifty,  "Mary  had  a  little 
lamb — and  the  doctor  fainted!" 

Alan  had  to  stop  her  then,  thwarter 
personality  or  not,  and  the  word  wen 
'round  to  lay  off  teaching  Alana  pre 
cocious  patter.  But  even  he  has  to  chuckli 
when  he  thinks  of  how  funny  it  was. 

Next  to  Alana  and  Sue,  the  Numbe 
Two  love  in  Alan  Ladd's  life  right  no-v 
is  a  hunk  of  Mother  Earth,  an  idyllic  rand 
nestled  close  to  the  hills  in  Hidden  Valle\ 
forty-odd  miles  north  toward  Santa  Bar 
bara  from  Hollywood.  To  show  you  ho\ 
fast  things  can  pop  in  the  Ladd  house 
hold:  When  Betty  and  Diane  left  wor 
Saturday  afternoon,  neither  they  nor  Ala 
or  Sue  had  any  idea  that  a  ranch  wa 
about  to  come  into  the  family.  When  the 
came  to  work  Monday,  Alan  said,  "If  any 
one  wants  me,  I've  gone  to  the  ranch 
and  grinned.  "What  ranch?"  they  choruse< 
and  that  was  his  cue  to  tell  all  about  i 
He  and  Sue  had  taken  a  drive  Sunda; 
fallen  in  love  with  this  abandoned  Hie 
den  Valley  ranch — and  bought  it  in  e> 
actly  one  hour! 

But  really  the  back  to  the  soil  urge  h? 
been   building   up   with   the   Ladds'  fcl 
months.    It  started,  in  fact,  away  bac  ' 
when  Alan  was  set  to  make  "Californi.  I 


at  Paramount.  He  knew  he'd  need  to  brush 
up  on  his  horsemanship,  so  he  started 
driving  around  to  Griffith  Park  every  morn- 
ing to  get  instruction  from  Dave  Laird, 
a  professional  horseman.  Laddie  and  Dave 
clicked  right  away  and  became  pals.  So 
when  he  had  his  spat  with  Paramount  and 
"California"  was  off  his  schedule,  Laddie 
kept  right  on  seeing  Dave  and  riding. 

So  right  now,  when  their  boss  isn't 
making  a  picture,  Betty  and  Diane  have 
an  easy  answer  when  the  telephone  rings. 
"Mr.  Ladd  is  out  at  the  ranch."  He's  all 
mixed  up  with  barns  and  bulldozers,  cor- 
rals and  water  systems,  alfalfa  and  hay. 
He  roars  out  at  the  break  of  dawn  and 
they  don't  see  him  unless  they  stay  late 
and  then  he's  no  glamor  boy,  with  his  dusty 
dungarees  and  cracked  fingernails. 

Because  it's  no  freak  fancy.  Alan's  al- 
ready putting  up  a  small  ranch  house  and 
stables  for  the  horses.  He  and  Sue  plan  to 
spend  every  spare  minute  out  there  until 
they  get  the  breeding  place  started,  and  then 
if  their  good  luck  keeps  up,  they'll  build  a 
big  ranch  house  for  themselves  and  retire 
when  they  get  old  and  creaky — which  is 
a  few  years  away  yet — to  raise  colts  and 
fillies  and  Alana  right  along  with  them. 

As  for  Betty  and  Diane,  they'll  just  have 
to  turn  horsey  themselves — they  know  any 
other  job  would  be  dull  as  dishwater  com- 
pared to  life  with  Sue  and  Alan  Ladd.  And 
how  could  you  ever  desert  a  couple  of 
bosses  who  think  about  your  happiness 
every  moment? 

A  while  back,  Diane's  soldier  husband, 
who  was  overseas  for  two  years  with  the 
Army  Air  Corps,  wrote  the  glad  news.  He 
was  on  his  way  home.  Diane  almost  tum- 
bled over  with  joy,  but  the  homecoming 
posed  a  problem  too.  She'd  moved  in  with 
her  family  and  the  housing  shortage  made 
it  look  like  a  house  all  their  own  was  an 
impossible  dream.  It  worried  her,  but  it 
worried  Alan  and  Sue  Ladd  even  more. 

second  honeymoon  .  .  . 

"You've  just  got  to  have  a  second  honey- 
moon," said  Sue  romantically.  "That's  all 
there  is  to  it." 

"That  would  be  wonderful,"  sighed 
Diane,  "but  where,  where?"  That  looked 
like  the  jackpot  question  for  sure. 

Two  days  before  the  returning  hero 
arrived,  Alan  and  Sue  called  Diane  up- 
stairs. "We've  got  something  to  tell 
you  .  .  ."  they  began. 

So  when  Sergeant  Al  Craigle  stepped 
off  the  train  at  Union  Station  and  into 
his  wife's  embrace,  she  led  him  to  a  car, 
slipped  in  the  driver's  seat,  and  with  a 
mysterious  smile  guided  it  out  on  the 
beach  highway  along  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
They  rolled  along  dreamily,  and  Sergeant 
Al  thought  it  was  a  beautiful  ride,  but 
when  Diane  pulled  up  before  a  beautiful 
beach  house  and  said,  "Well,  here  we  are," 
he  couldn't  talk. 

He  knew  they  were  at  Malibu  Beach 
but  he  certainly  didn't  know  exactly  where 
or  why  or  what  made  Diane  say  crazy 
things  like,  "This  is  our  home  for  the 
next  two  weeks.  Like  it?" 

"Of  course,"  he  gasped.  "But  where  are 
we?  What's  this  all  about?" 

"It's  Bing  and  Dixie  Crosby's  beach 
house,"  explained  Diane.  "Alan  and  Sue 
called  the  Crosbys  and  arranged  to  let  us 
use  it  for  your  homecoming." 

So  they  walked  inside  and  there  were 
cartons  and  cartons  packed  with  all  the 
groceries  a  honeymoon  pair  would  ever 
need,  and  a  note  from  Alan  and  Sue. 
"Have  a  swell  honeymoon,"  it  read,  "and 
lots  to  eat — but  don't  get  too  fat!" 

When -Diane  tells  about  that  she  says, 
"It  was  just  like  a  fairy  tale!"  And  so  it 
was,  of  course.  But  that's  what  you  run 
into  sooner  or  later  when  you  hang  around 
the  Ladds  for  very  long. 


LINE  ANEMIA' 


deprives  a  girl  of  glamour  . . .  and  dates! 


Medical  Science  says:  Thousands  who  have  pale  faces  —  whose 
strength  is  at  low  ebb  —  may  have  a  blood  deficiency. 


So  many  girls  are  "too  tired"  to  keep 
up  with  the  crowd— watch  romance 
pass  them  by  because  they  haven't  the 
energy  to  make  them  attractive! 

Yes,  girls  who  are  often  fatigued  and 
colorless  may  find  that  a  blood  defi- 
ciency is  cheating  them  of  beauty  and 
sparkle.  And  medical  studies  of  large 
population  groups  reveal  that  up  to 
68%  of  women— countless  men— have 
a  Borderline  Anemia,  resulting  from  a 
ferro-nutritional  blood  deficiency. 

It's  your  blood  that  releases  energy 
to  every  muscle  and  fibre.  Your  blood 
is  the  supply  line  of  your  pep.  If  there 
is  a  deficiency  in  your  blood— if  the 
red  blood  cells  aren't  big  and  healthy 
enough— you  can't  feel  alert,  "alive." 

You  can't  have  full  health  and 
energy  if  you  have  Borderline  Anemia. 
Borderline  Anemia  means  that  your 
red  blood  cells  are  below-par. 

Build  up  your  Energy 

by  Building  up  your  Blood 

Continuing  tiredness,  listlessness  and 
pallor  may,  of  course,  be  brought  about 


by  other  conditions,  so  you  should  con- 
sult your  physician  regularly. 

But  when  you  have  a  Borderline 
Anemia,  when  you  envy  others  their 
vitality  and  glowing  good  looks,  take 
Ironized  Yeast.  When  all  you  need  is 
healthier  red  blood  cells  —  Ironized 
Yeast  helps  build  up  blood  and  energy. 


BORDERLINE  ANEMIA 

—  a  ferro-nutritional  deficiency 
of  the  blood  —  can  cause 
TIREDNESS  •  LISTLESSNESS  •  PALLOR 


Energy-BuildingBlood.  This 

is  a  microscopic  view  of 
blood  rich  in  energy  ele- 
ments. Here  are  big, 
plentiful  red  cells  that 
release  energy  to  every 
muscle,  limb,  tissue. 


Borderline  Anemia.  Thou- 
sands have  blood  like 
this;  never  know  it. 
Cells  are  puny,  irregu- 
lar. Blood  like  this  can't 
generate  the  energy  you 
need  to  feel  and  look 
your  best. 


Ironized  Yeast 


TABLETS 


MAKE  THIS  REVEALING  TEST— 

Remove  one  side  of  your  make-up 
with  your  present  cream,  the  other 
with  Albolene.  Wet  some  cotton  and 
wipe  the  Albolene-treated  side.  How 
clean  the  cotton  stays!  Then  wipe 
the  cotton  over  the  other  side.  See 
the  telltale  smudge  from  left-on 
dirt  .  .  . 


'ALBOLENE  CLEANSING  CREAM 
LIQUEFIES  INSTANTLY 

on  application  —  and  a  cream  must 
liquefy  to  float  off  beaufy-b/urring 
impurities  gently,  effectively 

Only  a  cream  specially  made  for  super- 
cleansing  can  give  your  skin  the  beauty 
of  a  Floating  Facial— a  cream  so  light,  so 
pure  and  crystal  clear— a  cream  that  lit- 
erally floats  away  old  make-up  rubble, 
dirt,  dust,  grit  and  skin  scales,  even  stub- 
born cake  make-up,  without  irritating 
rubbing  or  tedious  "double  creaming." 
And  Albolene  lubricates  as  it  cleanses— a 
"must"  for  dry,  flaky  skins. 

This  lovely,  quick-liquefying  cream 
tissues  off  so  easily,  ^//-cleansing— no 
fillers,  chemicals  —  none  of  the  water  so 
many  creams  contain.  Leaves  skin  mirac- 
ulously cool,  soft,  dewy-moist  —  immacu- 
lately clean  !  That's  why  an  Albolened  skin 
can  be  such  a  freshly  radiant  base  for 
clear,  breathtaking  make-up  effects. 

Thrill  to  a  Floating  Facial  this  very 
day.  It's  so  modern,  so  effective!  Albolene 
is  the  salon-type  cleansing  cream  at  a 
fraction  the  cost.  Sizes  at  104,  254,  504, 
and  the  big  economy  16  oz.  jar  at  $1.00. 


One  of  the  225  products  made  by  McKesson  &  Robbins 
for  your  beauty,  health,  and  comfort 


THEIR  HEARTS  ARE  YOUNG 
AND  GAY 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


and  in  'Our  Hearts  Were  Young  and  Gay.' 
You  can  certainly  be  different,"  observed 
Guy. 

"I  saw  you  in  'Since  You  Went  Away' — 
and  you  can  be  natural,"  answered  Gail. 

Afterward,  Guy  said  to  Henry,  "That's 
an  unusual  girl.  Do  you  know  why  I 
think  she's  unusual?  Because  most  girls, 
when  a  fellow  first  meets  them,  talk  a 
blue  streak.  They  try  to  be  witty  or  gay 
or  something.  She  didn't  try  to  be  any- 
thing. She  was  perfectly  natural.  She 
didn't  say  anything  at  all  until  I  spoke  to 
her,  then  she  was  pleasant  and  sincere. 
Nice  girl." 

Gail,  talking  to  Diana  Lynn  on  the  set 
next  day,  said  "I  met  Guy  Madison  last 
night.  He's  nice  .  .  .  the  least  actor-y  man 
I've  met  in  Hollywood.  He  doesn't  have  a 
line,  and  he  doesn't  bother  to  manufacture 
conversation,  yet  he  doesn't  seem  nervous 
about  silence.  He's  relaxed  and  genuine. 
Quite  a  man." 

Their  first  date  was  not  really  a  formal 
date  at  all;  Henry  and  Guy,  Loren  Tindall 
and  Gail  all  sort  of  got  together  at  Diana's 
house.  After  having  played  recordings  for 
a  while,  Loren  seated  himself  at  the  piano 
and  took  the  ivory  route  to  Stardust.  Loren 
is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  best  pianists  in 
town;  he  is  so  good,  that  he  is  perfectly 
willing  to  play  before  Diana,  who  is  Miss 
Iturbi  herself.  Whereas  Diana  is  changing 
techniques  at  present,  so  doesn't  like  to 
play  before  guests,  Loren  is  perfectly  will- 
ing to  toss  off  notes  on  any  occasion. 

With  a  roaring  fire  in  the  fireplace,  with 
a  congenial  group  in  the  room,  with  Mr. 
Tindall  at  the  piano,  Guy  is  convinced  that 
the  world  is  a  very  fine  place  to  be. 

Occasionally,  the  foursome  dance  and 
dine  at  one  of  the  Sunset  Strip  nightclubs. 
Their  table  conversation  is  usually  very 
merry.  Gail  is  a  terrific  mimic.  She  does 
an  imitation  of  Diana  that  just  kills  every 
one  who  sees  it. 

Diana  is  as  convulsed  as  anyone  at  the 
antic.  One  night  Guy  said,  "I  guess  the 
reason  I  think  that  stunt  is  so  funny  is 
because  Diana  enjoys  it,  too." 

Someone  said,  "It'd  be  funny  whether 
she  thought  so  or  not." 

Guy  couldn't  see  it  that  way.  "A  joke 
isn't  any  good  unless  the  victim  thinks 
it's  funny." 

do  unto  others  .  .  . 

He  carries  this  consideration  for  others 
into  every  situation.  One  night,  Guy  and 
several  others  were  discussing  a  local  Hol- 
lywood character.  Just  after  the  conver- 
sation dwindled,  the  man  himself  appeared. 

Someone  said,  "Everything  we  said  was 
the  truth.  But  I  do  hope  he  didn't  hear  us." 

Said  Guy,  "I'm  positive  he  didn't.  I  was 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout,  because  'Speak 
of  the  angels  and  you  hear  the  flap  of  their 
wings.'  I  figured  that  he  might  come  stroll- 
ing in.  We  weren't  saying  anything  that 
wasn't  absolutely  true,  of  course,  but  who 
wants  to  hurt  a  guy?" 

It's  fine,  decent  personality  traits  like 
that  which  bring  Henry  so  close  to  Guy. 
Basically,  the  two  men  are  much  alike. 
Both  loathe  and  abhor  phoniness  of  any 
kind;  both  hate  dishonesty,  no  matter  how 
trivial  nor  in  what  form.  Both  are  in- 
tensely loyal  to  their  friends  and  families. 

At  Christmas  time,  when  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  excitement  in  Hollywood,  Guy 
elected  to  go  home  for  the  holidays.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  Guy 
had  been  able  to  buy  at  least  a  portion  of 
heart's   desire  for  each  member  of  his 


"I  keep  going. 

fydcmfortebk,  too 


"Sensible girl,'*  *<5^ 
you  say?  "And  X  **> 
practical,  too," 
we  add!  For  here 
is  another  woman  who  has  discov- 
ered that  Midol  sees  her  through 
the  menstrual  period  physically 
and  mentally  carefree. 

Midol  tablets  are  offered  spe- 
cifically to  relieve  functional  peri- 
odic pain.  They  contain  no  opiates, 
yet  act  quickly  in  three  ways: 

Ease  Cramps — Soothe  Headache — 
Stimulate  mildly  when  you  re" Blue." 

Get  Midol.  Take  it  the  first  sign 
of  "regular"  pain.  See  how  com- 
fortably you  go  through  those 
trying  days.  Ask  for  Midol  at 
your  drugstore. 

MIDOL 

PERSONAL  SAMPLE— In  plain  envelope. 
Write  Dept.  C-43,  Room  HI  8, 
il  East  42nd  Si.,  New  York  1 7,  N.  Y. 

CRAMPS-HEADACHE— "BLUES" 


No  Matter  What  Your  Age 
No  Need  Now  to  Let 

GRAY  HAIR 


A  CHEAT 


s^^jc^^sm     Now  comb  away 

gray  this  easy  way 

Gray  hair  is  risky.  It  screams:  "  You  are  getting 
old!"  To  end  gray  hair  handicaps  all  you  now 
have  to  do  is  comb  it  once  a  day  for  several 
days  with  a  few  drops  of  Kolor-Bak  sprinkled 
on  your  comb,  and  afterwards  regularly  only 
once  or  twice  a  week  to  keep  your  hair  looking 
nice.  Kolor-Bak  is  a  solution  for  artificially 
coloring  gray  hair  that  imparts  color  and 
charm  and  abolishes  gray  hair  worries.  Gray- 
ness  disappears  within  a  week  or  two  and  users 
report  the  change  is  so  gradual  and  so  perfect 
that  their  friends  forgot  they  ever  had  a  gray 
hair  and  no  one  knew  they  did  a  thing  to  it. 

Make  this  no-risk  Test: 

Get  a  bottle  of  the  new  Kolor-Bak  at  your  drug  or 

department  store 
today  and  test 
it  under  Kolor- 
Bak's  g-uarantee 
that  it  must  make 
you  look  years 
younger  and  far 
more  attractive 
or  your  money 
back. 


family,  back  in  BakersfieldL 

He  talked  it  over  -with  Henry:  should 
he  purchase  the  gifts  in  Hollywood,  or 
shccrlci  ice   '  ace  Eri  srrcr.  s.~  ircrr.e'l 

"Wnich  would  you  rather?"  asked  Henry. 
"I  —ear..  vricac  crakes  you  iresic.acel  Most 
fellows  would  simply  go  out  on  a  buying 
spree  without  consulting  anyone.* 

Said  Guy  hesitantly.  "This  is  what  I've 
been  thinking,  Henry:  Don't  you  suppose 
that — if  Td  get  the  kick  of  my  life  out 
of  planning  swell  surprises  for  my  family 
— my  mother  would  enjoy  it  even  more? 
Sure:  ess  1  gave  her  a  cicecl-c  arc:  cold  leer, 
because  she's  heard  them  talk,  to  buy  the 
thing  each  wanted  most,  wouldn't  that 
r.;kle  her  cc  pieces?" 

Henry  said  quietly.  "You've  got  the  right 
idea.  Guy.  Just  see  that  she  doesn't  spend 
all  of  that  check  on  the  family,  without 
plsrrrrirg  arcyrcrirg  fcr  herself  I. lechers  dc 
tilings  Wlrp  that,  you  know."  Which  ex- 
plains why  Guy  took  his  mom  shopping! 

As  soon  as  Guy  was  out  of  the  Navy. 
Ice  ded  s:~ e  shcccicr.c  c:r  rcrcselc.  Plan- 
ning a  jzerscral  ".var  drr.be  clcac  ell  ce  a; 
sharp  on  the  screen  as  when  seen  on 
Wilshire  Boulevard  isre'e  arc  easy  chcccg:  ic 
requires  a  person  with  a  camera"  eye  to 
know  what  will  be  right  and  what  wrong. 
Naturally.  Guy  took  Henry  along  on  the 
shopping  ccccr.  50  as  cc  have  che  cerefee 
of  his  motion  picture  know-how. 


I-ey 
a  navy 
tweed, 
match 
che  hac 
chac  v.-; 

Guv 


read 


Lded  on  a  gray  flannel  suit,  and 
wheh  a  pin  stripe;  a  brown 

i£ts.  Henry,  prowling  among 
ame  out  with  a  sport  coat 


.-ear." 
Tm  not 

So  Gu 
reason  t 
Which  -s 
do,  unle; 
Lug  peoj 
irom  "rx 
desk,  it 
co  make 


hook  his  head  "Not  for  me!" 
cry  it  on."  urged  Henry.  "Tib  fool- 

hed  ic  cn  and  admired  che  caclcr- 
the  cut  of  the  jacket.  "Somebody 
jod  idea,  all  right,  but  he  should 
yed  out  of  the  paint  factory,"  he 
t  might  be  okay  for  one  season, 
iry,  I  keep  my  stuff  a  long  time, 
earing  most  of  those  coats  for  the 
?  years.-" 

looked  horrified.   "Not  v.hch  che 
wear  you  give  a  jacket.  Why  be 
tive?  Let  yourself  go." 
d  you  wear  it?"  demanded  the 
iced  Mr.  Madison. 

regarded  che  garrccerc  • 

the  type.  But  if  I  were  .  .  ." 
y  hocighc  che  jacket  ccr  che  simple 
hat  he  wanted  to  please  Henry, 
ras  kind  of  an  unusual  thing  to 
is  you  stop  to  consider  that  pleas - 
jle  is  Guy's  job  nowadays.  And 
iiind  Henry  Willson's  executive 
leaks  as  it  che  Icig  rellcv.'s  gcing 

a  great  success  of  it! 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

s  .^^^^Dh*  went  to  see  the 
"Tars  and  Spars 
fierce"  •>.  Buyah. 
After  the  show.  I 
vcent  around  to 
the  stage  door  to 
get  Victor  Nature's 
autograph.  When 
he  came  out.  all 
the  jans  ganged  up 
on  him.  Yic  signed 
their  books  without  protest,  but  in  the 
Middle  of  one  signature.  Tic  stopped, 
took  one  girl's  hand,  looked  dreamily 
over  the  crowd  07  female  faces  gath- 
ered around  him,  and  said.  "Do  you 
know  where  I  can  get  a  date  for 
tonight?" 

J.  Mi  Daniels 
Scio.  Xew  York 


II 


th<2 


QiM^  (rtosomek 


Veres 


LILY;  For  beeycotiftil.  healthy  skir.  Mem 
smoothes  Mermen  Antiseptic  Baby  Oil  on  us 
daily,  gives  us  these  ticin  blessings  .  .  . 
LOLA:  First,  Mermen  Baby  Oil  is  better  for 
preventm'  diaper  rash,  tnine  irritation  and 
lotsa  other  troubles,  'cause  it's  c-.Ti.-rr 
Second,  this  mild  soothin'  oil  keeps  skin  love- 
lier by  preventin*  rough,  dry  skin  .  .  . 
LILY:  Most  doctors,  hospitals,  nurses  say 
Mermen  is  best.  Makes  us  smell  sweet,  too. 
Have  Mermen  Baby  Oil  and  Baby  Powder 
readv  for  babv's  first  dav  home! 


0^ 


-1 


Use. super-smooth  MENNEN  ANTISEPTIC  BABY  POWDER 

16  cpaialists  prefer  MENNEN  than  anv  other  baby  1 


babv  s  s-on 
Mere  baby 


It  s  Grand!  It's  Glorious ...  and  it  GLOWS  IN  THE  DARK 


ffABY  GRANpi 


1 


95 


POST  PAID 


k  IRAFtOlY 
Of  EXQIISITE  BEABTY 
AID  USEFUL  CHAiM 


YogT2  ny  k't  the  lo^eJaec  of  po*-vn 
piasac  thrills!  Thai  iOfuIry  crafted, 
ggLhe^dc  repgodacaon  oi  a  Raby  Graad 
~^>caied  oa^n.  to  JeBcMe  ■■■ateac  pco- 
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actaaSy  Glows  m  ike  Derk,  pku  voc*  nvn+  enbossed  an  23-Kl  GOLD 
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fend  foe  voaff  Baby  Gcand.  *'e  kner*  yoaTl  agree  k's  the  fawcfal  c£  Icrrdy 
hoatthuid  accessories        so  tman.  so  decoratrre.  so  ciarmmg  —  you  HI 


It's  a  Grand  CIGARETTE  BOX 
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Choice  of 
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WITH  YOUR 
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r  maFlThTs"  ~c  0  upon"  ?o  r~  pla  n<T 

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J  11-5 


rr 


NO  BELTS 
NO  PINS 
NO  PADS 
NO  ODOR 


Modern  life  aims  to  make 
things  simple — to  avoid  all  the  fussy 
frills  and  clumsy  contrivances  that  inter- 
fere with  efficiency.  Turn  your  mind  for 
a  moment  to  the  subject  of  monthly  san- 
itary protection.  Are  the  belts  and  pins 
and  external  pads  really  necessary?  Of 
course  not  if  you  use  Tampax,  because 
Tampax  is  a  slim,  streamlined  absorbent 
unit  invented  by  a  doctor  to  be  worn 
internally! 

Millions  of  women  in  over  75  coun- 
tries have  adopted  this  method  of 
sanitary  protection — so  neat  and  handy 
to  use  in  restrooms,  so  compact  to  keep 
in  handbag  or  desk  drawer.  Tampax  is 
made  of  pure  surgical  cotton  compressed 
in  applicators  so  daintily  designed  that 
your  hands  need  never  touch  the  Tam- 
pax. No  odor  can  form.  Disposal  is  easy. 

You  cannot  feel  the  Tampax  when  in 
place  and  naturally  it  cannot  "show"  any 
ridges  or  bulges  under  even  the  sheerest 
dress.  .  .  .  Sold  at  drug  and  notion  coun- 
ters in  3  absorbency-sizes.  A  month's 
supply  goes  into  your  purse.  Economy 
Box  holds  4  months'  average  needs. 
Tampax  Incorporated,  Palmer,  Mass. 

O  (  REGULAR 

J  absorbencies  <  super  * 

I  JUNIOR 


Accepted  for  Advertis  _ 
by  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


DENNIS  MORGAN 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


But  Stan  and  Lillian  said  the  proper 
words  at  the  right  places,  Bob  came 
through  with  the  ring  at  the  crucial  mo- 
ment, Lillian  tossed  her  bridal  bouquet, 
and  at  last  they  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morner, 
racing  together  down  the  front  walk  in  a 
pelting  hail  of  rice.  Stan  roared  the  fam- 
ily car  toward  the  highway,  and  after  he'd 
made  enough  distance  to  stop  and  cut  off 
the  cowbells  and  old  shoes,  he  headed 
happily  for  the  country  he  liked  best — the 
dark  pine  woods  of  northern  Wisconsin. 
They  spent  their  two-day  honeymoon  at 
Essex  Lodge,  on  Clear  Lake,  to  establish 
an  added  attraction  at  that  resort  which 
has  been  doing  all  right  ever  since. 

Not  long  ago  a  friend  of  Dennis  Morgan's 
passed  through  Clear  Lake  and  stopped  at 
the  Lodge.  "Got  any  good  cottages  to 
spend  the  night?"  asked  this  party. 

The  proprietor  snorted.  "Well,  sir,"  he 
said.  "Got  the  cottage  that  Dennis  Morgan 
spent  his  honeymoon  in.  Guess  that  ought 
to  be  good  enough  for  you,  Mister!" 

But  back  when  Dennis  Morgan  was  plain 
Stanley  Morner,  the  bridegroom  with  the 
golden  voice  was  just  another  singer  in  the 
Windy  City  trying  to  get  along. 

just  like  home  .  .  . 

They  started  housekeeping  in  a  tiny 
Chicago  apartment  with  a  kitchenette  and 
a  pull-down-in-a-door  bed.  It  wasn't  much 
shakes  as  a  town  house,  but  to  the  newly- 
wed  Stanley  Morners  it  was  cozy  and  it  was 
home.  The  first  day,  came  a  timid  knock 
at  the  door  and  Stan  and  Lillian  opened 
it  together,  wondering  who  their  first 
caller  could  be.  He  turned  out  to  be  a 
gangling,  rawboned  man  with  the  kind 
of  square  face  familiar  to  both  of  them 
since  they  were  kids.  He  doffed  his  cap. 

"Goot  morning,"  he  sang  in  the  familiar 
accent.  "My  name's  Yohnson,  and  I  bane 
the  yanitor." 

When  the  door  was  closed,  Stan  and 
Lillian  fell  into  each  other's  arms  and 
rocked  with  laughter.  Wasn't  Stan  half 
Swedish  himself? 

"Gosh,"  they  chorused.  "We're  right 
back  home  in  Wisconsin!" 

They  had  their  early  domestic  crises,  of 
course.  Like  the  first  breakfast  Lillian 
cooked  for  her  husband.  She  got  up  before 
he  did,  slipped  into  the  kitchenette  and 
made  what  had  always  been  a  festive  break- 
fast dish  at  the  Vedder  house,  apple  sauce. 
But  when  Stan  sat  down  he  gave  it  a  quick, 
unhappy  look  and  pushed  it  aside.  It  hap- 
pened that  apple  sauce  was  one  thing  he 
just  didn't  vibrate  to,  in  the  morning  or  at 
any  other  time. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  his  bride,  a 
little  belligerently. 

"Nothing,  darling,"  said  Stan,  "except 
that  I  don't  like  apple  sauce." 

"But  I  worked  so  hard  .  .  ." 

"But  I  don't  like  apple  sauce  .  .  ." 

"If  you  loved  me,  you'd  eat  it  anyway!" 
cried  Lillian  tearfully. 

Then  the  contract  to  sing  with  v  ern 
Buck  at  the  Palmer  House  Empire  Room 
came  up.  Stan  was  a  solid  hit.  The  six 
weeks'  agreement  stretched  into  twelve 
and  then  twenty-four.  He  ended  up  sing- 
ing twenty-five  straight  months  at  Chi- 
cago's Number  One  glamor  room.  He 
couldn't  have  asked  for  a  better  showcase 
to  display  the  voice,  looks  and  personality 
that  were  to  make  Dennis  Morgan  famous. 
Chicago's  biggest  movie  theaters,  the  Chi- 
cago and  the  State-Lake,  signed  him  for 
featured  engagements.  When  the  opera, 
"Xerxes,"  was  staged,  Stanley  Morner  sang 
one  of  the  leads.  Radio  grabbed  him  and 
the  strong  young  voice  of  Stanley  Morner 


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rang  out  as  soloist  on  national  programs 
such  as  Realsilk's  "Silken  Strings."  When 
he  wasn't  taking  on  extra  engagements, 
Stan  spent  his  spare  hours  from  the  Empire 
Room  studying  voice. 

But  all  Stan's  new  opportunities,  it 
seemed,  came  at  night.  As  he  worked  harder 
and  harder,  he  stayed  up  later  and  later. 
Lillian  adjusted  her  daily  program  to  a 
noon-to-midnight  schedule,  and  she  loved 
it.  The  Morgans  had  few  nights  that 
weren't  packed  with  Chicago  activity,  and 
that  was  swell — until  the  doctor  said  one 
day  that  a  girl  so  near  to  being  a  mother 
should  live  a  more  quiet,  regular  life.  So 
Lillian  packed  up  and  Stan  saw  her  off 
on  the  train  to  Marshfield.  There  her 
uncle,  Doctor  Jim  Vedder,  brought  into 
the  world  their  first  child,  one  crisp 
October  night.  They  named  him  Stanley, 
Junior.  But  Stan  didn't  know  he  was  a 
papa  until  hours  after  the  event.  And  it 
was  eleven  days  before  he  saw  his  first 
born. 

He  was  singing  on  the  stage  of  the 
Chicago  Theater  that  night.  When  the 
operator  finally  got  the  call  through,  it 
came  to  a  friend  backstage  who  didn't 
want  Stan  to  go  completely  berserk  with 
joy  until  he  was  through  the  night's  per- 
formance. After  the  last  show,  the  pal 
took  him  out  to  a  late  supper  with  some 
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the  dad  of  a  husky  nine-pound  boy?" 

Stan  almost  knocked  the  table  over  get- 
ting out  of  there.  "Would  I!"  he  yelled. 
He  kept  the  phone  busy  all  that  night  to 
Marshfield.  But  in  spite  of  all  the  fes- 
tivity, Stan  was  a  sad  dad.  Because  he  was 
so  busy  he  couldn't  sneak  away  down  to 
Marshfield  for  the  thrill  that  comes  once  in 
a  lifetime.  And  when  he  finally  did  break 
away  for  a  peek  at  the  newest  Morner  he 
had  to  run  right  back  to  town  the  minute 
he  made  sure  that  Lillian  and  the  baby 
were  absolutely  okay.  Because  a  lot  of 
things  had  happened  in  Chicago,  and  ex- 
citing prospects  were  popping  around  Stan 
Morner's  head  like  firecrackers. 

It  had  all  started  one  prophetic  evening 
when  Stan,  in  his  best  form,  was  singing  his 
feature  solo  at  the  Empire  Room.  And 
Mary  Garden,  who  had  once  been  the  great- 
est operatic  star  in  America,  strolled  in. 

Mary  Garden  was  in  Chicago  to  stage 
an  opera,  and  she  had  other  plans  up  her 
sleeve  as  well — to  get  together  a  "Carmen" 
company  and  rehearse  in  New  York  for 
a  road  tour.  She  didn't  tell  any  of  this  to 
Stan  that  night,  but  she  did  send  over  her 
name  with  a  note.  When  he  came  to  her 
table,  she  asked  him  down  to  the  audito- 
rium to  sing  for  her. 

He  was  there  the  next  afternoon.  Mary 
Garden  had  him  sing  some  familiar  arias. 
At  the  end  of  the  impromptu  recital,  she 
knocked  Stan  right  off  his  feet. 

"How  would  you  like  to  sing  the  lead 
with  me  in  'Carmen'?"  asked  Mary  Garden. 
He  couldn't  answer  with  the  shock.  Miss 
Sarden  went  on  to  explain. 

It  was  something  of  a  gamble.  She  had 
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looked  definite.  But  there  would  be  a 
rehearsal  in  New  York  and  Stan  would 
have  to  go  there,  learn  the  opera  and 
risk  the  venture  with  the  rest  of  them. 
But  if  all  went  well  it  should  be  a  big 
feather  in  his  cap.  This  was  Lillian's 
affair,  too,  so  Stan  called  her  and  talked  it 
over.  She  said,  "Go."  Lillian  always  had 
backed  Stan  in  every  venture. 

In  Chicago,  as  in  every  town  he  had 
ever  lived  in,  Stanley  Morner  had  made 
hosts  of  friends  and  admirers.  One  who 
had  spotted  him  early  as  a  singer  of  prom- 
ise was  wealthy  music  lover  James  Mac- 
Millan.  For  months  he  had  backed  and 
encouraged  Stan  in  all  his  serious  voice 
study  and  work.  The  minute  MacMillan 
heard  the  news  he  offered  to  finance  the 
trip  to  New  York.  That  decided  it.  Stan 
arranged  for  Lillian  and  the  baby  to  stay 
with  the  folks  in  Marshfield.  Then  he 
quit  his  Empire  Room  job  and  took  the 
train  to  New  York. 

They  took  a  tiny  apartment  in  the 
Fifties,  Stan  and  his  music  teacher,  Victor 
Chenais.  For  two  weeks  he  barely  stirred 
out  of  the  place,  learning  "Carmen" — the 
whole  opera,  from  start  to  finish.  It  was 
a  Gargantuan  job,  but  he  did  it.  The  only 
time  he  had  budged  from  the  job  at  hand 
was  to  look  up  some  contacts  in  Radio 
City — just  in  case.  But  the  big  programs, 
he  found,  weren't  buying  any  unknown 
singers,  thanks.  And  then  one  day  Mary 
Garden  called  at  Stan's  little  apartment. 

break  in  the  clouds  .  .  . 

"I've  got  bad  news,"  she  said,  right  off. 
"The  'Carmen'  production  has  fallen 
through."  Stan  could  feel  his  dream  castle 
tumbling.  He  managed  a  smile,  "That's 
all  right.  It's  been  a  wonderful  experi- 
ence .  .  ."  But  Mary  Garden  was  still 
talking. 

"Don't  be  discouraged.  I  know  you  have 
talent  and  I've  got  an  idea.  I  think  you'd 
be  perfect  for  pictures  and  I  have  a  friend 
at  M-G-M,  here  in  New  York.  I'm  going 
to  tell  him  about  you  at  once.  If  he 
agrees  to  make  a  test,  will  you  do  it?" 

M-G-M.  Hollywood!  Stan  hadn't  even 
given  Hollywood  a  thought — not  yet.  The 
possibility  had  always  seemed  remote  to 
him,  but  now  he  said,  "Why,  of  course 
I  will." 

"I'll  be  back,"  said  Mary  Garden.  She 
was.  And  with  the  break  she  had  prom- 
ised to  make  up  for  Stan  Morner's  dis- 
appointments with  "Carmen."  Metro- 
Goldwyn-Mayer  would  be  happy  to  test 
the  young  singer. 

That  was  on  a  Saturday,  and  with  the 
good  news  Stan  and  some  pals  of  his  he'd 
met  in  New  York  decided  to  toss  a  mild 
celebration.  The  party  set  out  from  Stan's 
place  about  seven  o'clock,  driving  across 
town  to  the  dinner  spot.  Stan  was  at  the 
wheel.  A  heavy  rain  had  blown  in  from 
Long  Island  and  the  city  streets  were  slick, 
reflecting  lights  like  mirrors.  The  traffic 
bulb  changed  to  green  just  as  Stan  ap- 
proached Sixth  Avenue  and  he  started  to 
cross.  But  another  driver  coming  up  the 
Avenue  whizzed  through  the  sudden,  red 
light,  and  the  glare  of  wet  pavements 
blinded  both  drivers.  To  duck  him  and 
avoid  a  crash,  Stan  swerved  his  car  and — 
crash! — he  slammed  into  one  of  the  solid 
girders  that  held  up  the  old  Sixth  Ave- 
nue "L." 

The  doors  flew  off  his  car  and  the  pals 
popped  harmlessly  out  onto  the  slick  pave- 
ment.   As  for  Stan,  he  felt  a  stunning 
blow  in  his  face  and  when  he  woke  up 
the  sirens  were  wailing.  The  ambulance 
carted  him  and  his  pals  off  to  the  Queens- 
borough  Bridge  Emergency  Hospital  and 
patched  them  up.    For   Stanley  Morner 
he  verdict  was,  "Severe  facial  lacerations 
3  '     Visions,  body  bruises."  They  took 
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sent  him  home.  He  wasn't  seriously  hurt, 
but  what  was  to  pay  off  Monday — his 
face  and  his  singing  apparatus — were  not 
what  you'd  call  in  the  pink  of  condition. 

In  fact,  probably  no  prospective  movie 
star  ever  showed  up  for  a  screen  test  a 
more  woebegone  sight  for  the  eyes — and 
the  camera  lens— than  Stanley  Morner. 
His  mouth  was  puffed  up  like  a  sausage, 
his  eyes  were  black.  He  looked  like 
he'd  run  into  a  combination  of  Joe  Louis 
and  a  meat  grinder.  He  looked  like  just 
about  anything  but  a  guy  who  was  a  bet 
for  a  future  Hollywood  hero.  Some  kindly 
studio  soul  granted  a  two-day  delay,  but  it 
was  then  or  r.e"er.  Ar.d  Star.  rr. ade  i:  titer.. 
Maybe  his  face  was  a  mess,  but  he  could 
still  sing — and  how!  In  a  few  days  he 
had  his  answer.  It  was  an  offer  of  a  con- 
tract. He  spent  far  more  than  he  should 
have  making  a  long  distance  call  to 
Marshfield.  '"Get  ready,  LaL"  he  sang 
over  the  wire,  "And  I'll  be  by  and  pick 
up  you  and  Junior.  We're  going  to  Holly- 
wood. And  I  might  give  you  my  auto- 
graph if  you're  very  nice." 

Stan  bought  a  big  old  Packard  from  a 
New  York  garage.  It  was  in  fair  shape — 
a  wagon  that  had  been  rolled  around  town 
and  that's  about  all.  He  paid— or  promised 
to  pay — S700  for  the  heap  to  take  the 
family  to  California.  He  plunked  down 
what  remained  of  his  New  York  stake, 
S200,  and  signed  up  to  pay  S20  a  month 
from  then  on.  He  rolled  out  of  Manhattan 
in  September,  headed  West.  Victor  Che- 
nais,  his  singing  teacher,  went  with  him. 
In  Marshfield  they  picked  up  Lillian,  Stan- 
ley Junior,  and  Stan's  sister,  Dorothy,  to 
make  it  a  major  migration.  Baby  Stan 
was  an  infant  of  only  a  few  months  and 
still  on  a  formula  diet.  Stan  packed  in  the 
sterilizer,  pots  and  pans  and  a  sterno 
canned  heat  stove,  blankets,  bedding,  and 
a  baby  crib.  "From  then  on,"  Lillian  re- 
calls with  a  sigh,  "the  pioneer  mothers 
had  nothing  on  me!" 

pop  goes  the  tire  .  .  . 


Inconveniences  and  all,  it  was  still  an 
adventurous  lark,  modern  covered  wagon 
style,  until  the  tires  started  popping.  One 
by  one  the  casings  gave  way  and  each  time 
he  had  to  trudge  to  the  nearest  town  and 
buy  a  new  tire.  When  he  left  Marshfield, 
Stan  Morner  had  collected  all  the  money 
he  had  in  the  world.  It  seemed  enough 
to  make  the  trek  comfortably.  But  he 
hadn't  figured  on  a  set  of  new  rubber  tires 
en  route.  So  one  town  he  will  never  forget 
as  long  as  he  fives  is  Alamogordo.  New 
Mexico.  That's  where  he  went  broke. 

Ten  years  later,  Alamogordo  was  to 
usher  in  the  Atomic  Age,  for  near  there,  in 
1945,  the  first  atomic  bomb  was  tested. 
But  there  was  an  explosion,  too,  back  in 
1935,  that  to  Hollywood-bound  Stanley 
Morner  w-as  just  as  dismaying  and  twice  as 
personal  Right  outside  of  that  desert  town 
his  last  remaining  tube  collapsed  with  a  fa- 
tal bang.  What  made  it  so  tragic  was  that 
Stan  had  only  a  couple  of  dollars  and  a 
few  cents  in  his  pockets — and  that  was 
all.  And  he  was  due  in  Hollywood,  the 
contract  said,  not  later  than  noon,  Sep- 
tember 16.  This  was  September  14. 

But  he  couldn't  run  on  his  rim.  So  : 
Stan  pulled  over  to  the  curb  and  the 
weary  party  trooped  into  a  roadside  cafe 
for  coffee  and  a  council  of  war.  There 
weren't  any  suggestions.  Tires  cost  money 
and  nobody  had  any.  Misery  hung  over  the 
Morner  migration  like  a  pall  as  they  silent- 
ly sipped  coffee.  Even  Stan,  Junior,  sensed 
the  depression  and  started  to  cry.  That's 

I when  this  strange  man  mosied  over. 
He  was  an  affable,  well  dressed  Westerner 
with  a  sun-reddened  face  and  twinkly  blue 
eyes.  He  wore  faded  jeans  and  a  rough 
.  leather  jacket.    With  the  exception  of  a 


I 


RAY  cries'  «nnm$ 
?  m  m  w*  mm 


Toong  play"  m  production,  says: 

«thXentury  _  ,tar, 


Twenoeui--          ■>  tart 

-  so  «a«  «o  care  for,  so 
*  *  *  *  A  r^"'°virtllJlv  the  "perfect 

radiant  «*  ,he  'only  J>« 

-et«-  and  incidentally,  tn  for 

*~  Tery„;TJaiX  hne.t-French  .  B«d 
happiness  by  ieeam^ 
Seed  and  Bird  Biscuit. 


119 


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hundred-dollar  Stetson,  he  didn't  look  like 
he  had  a  dime.  But  he  had  a  friendly  voice. 

"Son,"  he  addressed  Stan.  "Now  I  de- 
clare you  look  downright  downhearted." 

Stan  looked  up  wearily.  He  said,  "I  am." 

"Well,  now,"  chuckled  the  stranger.  "Just 
what  seems  to  be  the  trouble?" 

Ordinarily,  perhaps,  Stan  Morner's  pride 
would  have  prompted  him  to  retort  that 
it  was  none  of  his  business.  But  there 
was  something  about  the  New  Mexican's 
honest  manner  that  broke  his  defenses. 
He  found  himself,  telling  the  sad  plight — 
about  the  tires,  the  desperate  urge  to  get 
to  the  Coast,  the  lack  of  money  for  tires, 
gas,  food  and  lodging. 

"Now  about  how  much,"  asked  the 
stranger,  "do  you  reckon  you  need  to 
make  it?" 

Stan  said  he  figured  about  $75. 

The  man  pulled  out  a  roll  of  bills  that 
would  choke  a  cow  and  peeled  off  the 
amount. 

"Oh,  no,"  protested  Stan.  "I  couldn't 
take  it."  But  the  man  had  a  way  of 
wheedling  away  protest.  He  pressed  the 
money  in  Stan's  hand.  What's  more,  he 
wouldn't  come  through  with  his  name  or 
his  address.  "But  I  won't  take  it  unless 
I  can  pay  you  back,"  declared  Stan  flatly. 
"Pay  somebody  else,  sometime,  when  they 
need  it,"  said  this  altruistic  character,  hus- 
tling out  the  door,  "Good  luck,  podner!" 

stake  for  a  break  .  .  . 

Well,  Stan  has  done  that,  many  times 
over,  since  then.  But  he  still  wishes  he 
knew  the  name  of  his  benefactor.  He'd 
like  to  write  him,  and  thank  him. 

So  they  rolled  on  into  California  with 
the  new  stake,  but  not  exactly  as  they 
had  imagined  they  would.  It  seemed  they'd 
never  get  there,  but  at  last  a  lighted  sign 
fuzzed  through  the  fog,  "Culver  City 
Hotel."  They  pulled  up,  piled  out  and 
staggered  upstairs  to  their  rooms.  Stan 
fell  into  bed,  tired  and  dazed  a  bit  but 
still  happy.  "Well,  honey,"  he  told  Lillian 
drowsily,  "we  made  it."  The  next  day 
would  be  the  16th.  Then  life  would  begin. 

It  was  still  damp  and  gray  when  he  got 
up.  No  sunshine,  no  flowers,  no  oranges. 
Just  little  wooden  bungalows  and  stark 
telephone  poles.  But  Stan  could  hardly  be 
depressed  with  the  scenery  or  the  surround- 
ings of  the  bare  little  hotel  room.  This 
was  the  day  of  days.  The  gang  all  saw 
him  off  like  a  conquering  hero.  He  walked 
down  the  main  stem  to  where  the  big  sign 
said  "Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer."  As  he 
walked  in,  Stan  looked  at  his  watch.  Five 
minutes  to  twelve.  "Well,"  he  told  him- 
self, "I  said  I'd  be  here  and  here  I  am!" 

"Who  did  you  say  you  are?"  said  the 
receptionist  at  M-G-M,  with  a  frown. 

"Stanley  Morner,"  repeated  Stan. 

"Who  you  wanna  see?" 

Stan  told  her.  They  were  all  out  to 
lunch,  He  could  wait  here. 

"I'm  just  out  from  New  York,"  said 
Stan  hopefully.  "I've  just  signed  a  con- 
tract.  I'm  supposed  to  be  here  today." 

The  girl  shifted  her  gum  around.  "You 
can  wait  here,"  she  repeated. 

So  Stan  waited. 

Finally  the  ..girl  got  a  call  through  to 
somebody  who'd  know  about  this  Morner 
guy.    "Okay,"  she  waved  him  in. 

It  was  the  barren  office  of  a  minor  execu- 
tive that  Stan  entered.  And  even  that 
gent  wasn't  impressed.  "Yeah,"  he  said, 
"We  got  the  letter  from  Rubin  (the  Loew's 
vice  president  in  New  York)  about  you. 
Go  see  the  casting  director.  It's  that  way." 
And  he  pointed  down  the  hall. 

If  Stan's  hopes  rose  at  the  magic  phrase, 
"casting  director,"  they  didn't  stay  risen. 
The  man  was  nice  but  brief  and  definite. 
"Glad  to  meet  you.  I've  got  nothing  for  you 
now.  But — "  he  pressed  a  buzzer — "I'll  get 
a  boy  to  show  you  around  the  lot.  We'll  call 
you." 


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The  Morgans  managed  to  scrape  through 
six  lean  weeks.  Stan  floated  a  loan  at 
the  bank  on  the  strength  of  his  contract, 
and  they  moved  to  a  tiny  apartment  over  a 
store  in  Culver  City,  big  enough  but  not 
too  big,  for  the  whole  gang. 

The  first  time  he  finally  faced  a  camera 
was  not  even  on  the  M-G-M  lot — but  down 
on  poverty  row,  in  an  independent  quickie 
that  took  nine  days  to  shoot.  He  wangled 
that  "break"  only  through  the  good  offices 
of  his  friends,  John  Carroll  and  Steffi 
Duna,  who  were  in  the  picture,  too.  The 
epic  was  "I  Conquer  the  Sea,"  and  hand- 
some Stan  Morner  of  the  golden  pipes 
played  a  greasy  whaler,  a  sort  of  poor 
man's  Moby  Dick,  where  he  got  his 
arm  chewed  off  by  a  whale.  He  scowled 
darkly  through  the  picture  with  his  arm 
strapped  up.  Lillian  and  Stan  took  in 
the  preview  in  a  neighborhood  grind  house. 
As  the  fumbling  picture  unwound,  people 
started  to  get  up  and  trail  out.  As  each 
group  got  up  grumbling  and  departed, 
Lillian  sank  lower  and  lower  in  her  seat 
and  Stan's  face  grew  more  stony.  They 
drove  home  in  silence.  Even  Lillian 
couldn't  think  of  anything  to  say. 

crooner  by  proxy  .  .  . 

It's  hard  to  believe  about  Stan  Morner 
that  the  biggest  studio  in  Hollywood  didn't 
even  halfway  discover  him  until  right 
before  he  left.  In  two  years,  for  some 
reason  still  utterly  incomprehensible  to 
Dennis  Morgan,  they  kept  picking  up  his 
options,  until  when  he  left  he  was  drag- 
ging down  $750  a  week.  And  in  all  that 
time  a  handy  extra  player  could  have 
taken  care  of  what  he  had  to  do. 

The  topper  to  Stan's  "triumphs"  occurred 
in  "The  Great  Ziegfeld."  Allan  Jones, 
M-G-M's  pet  tenor,  had  recorded  a  song, 
but  when  shooting  time  came  around  he 
was  tied  up  with  another  picture.  They 
decided  to  shoot  Stan  in  the  picture  to  sing 
the  song — but  with  Allan's  voice.  His  stint 
in  that  was  to  mouth  the  words  of  the  song 
that  Allan  Jones  sang! 

Fortunately,  before  he  blew  up  like  an 
atom  bomb,  a  chance  came  for  Stan  to  let 
off  steam.  A  Los  Angeles  production  of 
"The  Student  Prince"  was  getting  under 
way  downtown.  He  was  offered  the  sing- 
ing lead.  It  meant  going  off  salary  at 
M-G-M  if  he  took  it.  But  that  was  worth 
it  to  get  back  his  self-respect.  Stan  signed 
up  for  the  production  (they  had  nothing 
for  him  to  do  at  the  studio)  and  plunged 
into  work.  This  was  like  the  old  days  at 
Carroll  and  Chicago.  And  because  he  was 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Walking  down 
the  street  in  Holly- 
wood one  day  with 
my  mother,  we 
spied  Andy  Russell 
going  the  other 
way.  A  swarm  of 
bobbysockers  was 
pursuing  him,  and 
before  I  knew  it  I 
was  caught  among 
them.  In  a  few 
moments  I  found  myself  face  to  face 
with  Andy,  and  he  was  saying,  "To 
whom  shall  I  address  this?"  "To  my 
mother,"  I  said  promptly.  "She's  crazy 
about  you!"  A  little  startled  at  this 
unusual  request,  Andy  stammered, 
"Okay,  I'll  just  say  'To  Mom.'  How's 
that?"  Well,  that  was  swell,  and 
mother's  been  bragging  about  it  ever 
since! 

Mary  Phillips 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. 


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happy,  he  was  good.  The  critics  weren't 
stingy  with  praise.  The  word  even  pene- 
trated the  thick  walls  of  M-G-M  and 
reached  the  ears  of  Louis  B.  Mayer,  its 
grand  mogul.  He  sent  a  pink  memo 
around  to  his  production  heads.  "Go 
downtown  and  see  this  Stanley  Morner 
fellow.  He  must  have  something."  And 
just  when  his  stock  was  rising  at  last,  the 
craziest  episode  of  all  happened  to  Stan. 
A  studio  talent  scout  approached  him 
backstage  after  one  of  the  performances 
of  "The  Student  Prince." 

"Say,  Morner,"  he  began,  "I  just  caught 
you  and  you're  great.  Listen,  I  think  I  can 
get  you  a  contract  at  the  studio.  Would 
you  be  interested?" 

"What  studio?"  asked  Stan. 

"Metro  -  Goldwyn  -  Mayer,  the  best," 
boomed  the  scout.  "With  what  you've 
got,  kid,  we'll  make  you  a  star." 

"Well,"  said  Stan  drily,  although  he  had 
to  grin.  "You've  had  me  there  two  years 
and  nothing's  happened  yet!"  The  poor 
scout  almost  dropped  through  the  floor. 

So  his  success  paid  off — hut  too  late — ■ 
at  M-G-M.  Right  after  "The  Student 
Prince,"  Louis  B.  Mayer  called  Stan  into 
his  office.  He  said  he  had  a  part  for  him 
in  "Maytime,"  the  big  Jeanette  Mac- 
Donald-Nelson  Eddy  operetta  extrava- 
ganza. The  part  turned  out  to  be  another 
hit.  They  still  couldn't  really  take  Stan 
Morner  seriously.  He  knew  then  he'd 
better  move  on. 

sweet-tempered  blockhead  .  .  . 

"No,"  said  Stan,  "I  won't  do  it."  People 
don't  say  no  to  the  M-G-M  grand  boss 
very  often.  There  was  quite  a  long  argu- 
ment but  Stan  knew  what  he  had  to  do 
and  he  didn't  budge. 

"But,"  argued  Mr.  Mayer,  "when  you're 
with  M-G-M  you're  with  the  Tiffany  of  the 
motion  picture  business." 

"That's  not  the  point,"  said  Stan.  "Maybe 
this  is  Tiffany's,  but  I  can't  sparkle  when 
I'm  kept  on  the  shelf."  Mr.  Mayer  finally 
shrugged  and  signed  his  release.  That  was 
that,  figured  Stan.  Now,  to  get  the  heck 
out  of  this  town. 

He  made  plans  to  go  back  to  New  York 
and  even  started  packing — but  back  in 
the  rear  of  his  noggin  a  disturbing  thought 
bounced  around  like  a  loose  bearing  and 
that  was  this:  He  was  running  away  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  a  failure. 
This  chucking  the  whole  thing  over  gave 
Stan  a  vague,  uneasy  feeling  that  wasn't 
familiar  or  comfortable. 

So  he  was  ripe  for  the  offer  from  Para- 
mount. At  the  moment,  in  fact,  it  looked 
like  a  lucky  second  time  up  at  bat.  Para- 
mount signed  Stan.  Again  good  money. 
Again  promises  that  he'd  get  leads  in  pic- 
tures for  sure.  And  again  the  second  chap- 
ter of  "The  Forgotten  Man" — only  worse. 
Because  Stan  not  only  ran  into  the  doldrums 
at  Paramount,  but  into  an  inter-studio  po- 
litical scrap — with  himself  in  the  middle 
taking  the  punches. 

I  won't  go  into  the  agonizing  details. 
But  here,  as  Schnozzle  Durante  would  say, 
was  de  condition  dat  prevailed:  The  King 
of  the  B's  at  that  moment  at  Paramount 
was  handed  Stan  to  groom  for  better 
things.  He  had  a  feud  on  with  the  fellow 
who  had  signed  Stan  and  he  aimed  to 
show  him,  via  Stan  Morner,  that  he  was 
all  wet.  So  instead  of  casting  Stan  in  im- 
portant picture  parts — he  slipped  him 
the  most  murderous  Mickey  Finns  of 
movieland,  villainous  bits  in  quickie 
pictures — mainly  so  he  could  say — "See? 
You're  paying  this  big  lug  a  star's  salary. 
And  what  he  does  I  could  buy  for  twenty- 
five  bucks  a  day  from  a  ham  extra.  Are 
you  dumb!"  That  was  about  the  size  of 
the  situation. 

He  started  there  as  "Richard  Stanley" 
because  the  first  thing  they  did  was  work 
over  his  name.    The   fact  that  Richard 


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Street   

City   State  


Stanley  is  confined  to  limbo  forever  is 
absolutely  okay  with  Dennis  Morgan  to- 
day. In  one  epic  he  was  a  purser  on  a  ship 
and  said  one  line,  to  wit:  "Don't  do  that!" 
Then — bang — he  was  drilled  "daid."  Exit. 
In  another  they  put  a  fierce  black  mous- 
tache on  his  handsome  face  and  made 
him  a  fierce  menace.  And  in  "Persons  in 
Hiding,"  he  even  played  Dillinger,  or 
Pretty  Boy  Floyd  or  Baby  Face  Nelson 
or  some  such  lethal  character.  Stan  didn't 
get  it.   He  tackled  the  B-keeper  producer. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  "these  mug  parts  are 
a  little  out  of  my  line." 

"Don't  tell  me,  I  know  your  type,"  snarled 
the  big  shot,  "You're  a  heavy  if  I  ever  saw 
one  and  that's  what  you'll  play  here.  For 
everything  else  you're  dead  at  Paramount!" 
Stan  knew  he  was  so  right  on  that  last  re- 
mark. He  resolved  since  he  was  to  be  dead, 
to  play  possum.  After  a  few  months  more 
of  indolence  they  kicked  him  out  of  his 
contract  and  he  was  never  happier.  This 
time  he  packed  his  bags  grimly  and  for 
keeps. 

But  before  he  got  his  Paramount  walking 
papers,  an  important  producer  of  big  pic- 
tures at  Paramount  had  heard  Stan  sing. 
Charles  Rogers  knew  talent  when  he  saw 
and  heard  it.  He  begged  the  studio  to  keep 
Stan  and  stick  him  in  with  Bing  Crosby's 
picture,  "The  Star  Maker."  But  the  front 
office  couldn't  see  "Richard  Stanley"  for 
sour  apples,  and  neither  could  Richard 
Stanley  see  Paramount.  So  that  flopped, 
but  Rogers  told  his  story  to  his  friend 
Jack  Warner,  over  one  weekend,  and  the 
Warner  Brothers'  boss  promptly  said,  "I'll 
test  him."  So  again,  on  the  brink  of  his 
getaway,  the  offer  came. 

This  time,  Stan  Morner  told  the  agent 
bearing  the  tidings,  "The  hell  with  it!" 
He'd  seen  plenty. 

third  time's  the  charm  .  .  . 

Already  he  had  theater  bookings  for  a 
singing  tour  of  the  Midwest.  Lillian  and 
the  kids  would  stay  in  their  Hollywood 
house.  But  before  train  time  arrived,  the 
agent  pressed  the  Warner  test  on  him.  And 
Lillian  wisely  persuaded,  "Why  not  make 
the  test?  You  can't  lose  anything."  "Okay," 
Stan  told  the  agent,  "but  Warners  will  have 
to  make  that  test  before  Thursday.  Be- 
cause I'm  leaving  when  that  train  pulls 
out!"  They  hustled  up  the  test. 

He  had  been  singing  two  days  at  the 
Riverside  Theater  in  Milwaukee  when  the 
wire  came.  "Cancel  tour  at  once,"  it  read. 
"Contract  on  your  terms  at  Warner 
Brothers.  Lead  in  'Waterfront,'  starting 
week  from  Monday."  Stan  whistled.  "Well, 
I'll  be  darned."  He  hadn't  thought  this 
would  happen.  He  thought  Hollywood 
was  as  much  off  him  as  he  was  off  Holly- 
wood. But  this  looked  like  a  real  chance 
at  last.  First  he  called  Lillian  long  dis- 
tance, and  they  talked  it  all  over.  She 
didn't  try  to  influence  him  one  way  or  the 
other.  "I  want  you  to  be  happy,"  said 
Lillian.  "Do  you  think  this  will  work  out?" 

Stan  had  a  hunch.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I 
think  it  will."  And  the  third  time  was  the 
charm. 

He  arrived  back  in  Hollywood  on  a 
Saturday.  He  started  work  in  "Water- 
front" Monday.  For  two  years  he  had 
barely  a  day  off.  He  did  nothing  but  leads. 
Not  the  studio's  prize  pictures,  of  course, 
but  at  Warners'  they  made  the  best  B's  in 
the  business,  with  the  wizard,  Bryan  Foy. 
So  Stan  knew  he  was  getting  somewhere 
and  he  wasn't  wrong.  Everything  seemed 
to  click — even  his  new  name.  Jack  Warner 
picked  out  "Dennis  Morgan"  for  him  and  it 
was  uncanny  how  the  new  name  took. 
Today  Stan's  old  friends  and  Lillian  still 
call  him  "Stan,"  and  occasionally  he  gets 
"Tuff"  from  an  old  school  chum,  but 
Dennis  Morgan  seems  to  fit  him.  As  one 
fan  wrote,  "Before  I  saw  your  name,  I 
knew  right  off  you  were  Irish."    Irish! — 


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the  big  Swede!  But  still  that's  how  he 
looks  and  oddly  enough,  a  lot  of  his  real 
personality  carries  a  touch  of  the  green. 
Especially  in  the  luck  department. 

Because  it  was  pure  shamrock  stuff 
that  gave  Denny  Morgan  his  introduc- 
tion to  major  movie  stardom  in  "Kitty 
Foyle." 

He  was  a  standard  article  around  War- 
ners' by  then,  settled  in  a  cozy  house  in  the 
San  Fernando  Valley,  definitely  on  the 
team.  When  you're  that  solid  at  Warner 
Brothers,  you  don't  stray  very  often.  A 
studio  policy  is  "They're  our  stars,  aren't 
they?  Okay,  we  don't  loan  them — we  use 
'em  ourselves."  Stan  hadn't  had  a  breath- 
ing spell  and  none  was  coming  up  when 
he  took  a  look  at  the  script  of  "Kitty 
Foyle"  and  said  out  loud  to  himself  when 
he'd  turned  the  last  page,  "I've  just  got 
to  do  this!"  But  "Kitty  Foyle"  wasn't 
in  the  works  at  Warners;  it  was  at 
RKO. 

Sam  Wood,  who  remembered  Dennis 
'way  back  in  the  M-G-M  dog  days,  when 
he  had  him  for  a  bit  in  "Navy  Blue  and 
Gold,"  sent  Denny  the  script.  He  was  to 
direct  it  and  he  had  Dennis  in  mind  for  the 
doctor.  But  Dennis  only  had  eyes  for  the 
Main  Line  boy  whose  bitter-sweet  affair 
with  Ginger  Rogers'  Philadelphia  working 
girl  gave  the  screen  one  of  its  most  tender 
romances.  He  knew  that  role  was  what  he'd 
been  waiting  for,  what  he  could  prove  him- 
self in  for  the  big  league.  He  told  Sam  Wood 
he  wouldn't  even  test  for  the  doctor;  he 
wanted  that  lead  with  Ginger,  and  after  a 
test  Sam  thought  so,  too.  But  how  to  get 
permission  from  Jack  Warner,  his  boss,  who 
was  allergic  to  loan  outs?  That's  where 
Stan's  luck  came  through  at  last. 

kitty  foyle  .  .  . 

For  one  thing,  Brynie  Foy,  who  had 
him  already  cast  for  another  B  picture, 
went  to  bat  for  Dennis.  Like  the  good 
sport  he  is,  Brynie  wrote  Jack  Warner 
he'd  decided  Dennis  wouldn't  work  out  in 
the  B  part.  Couldn't  use  him.  That  was 
a  white  lie,  but  Foy  knew  the  score  and 
he's  one  to  help  a  pal  along  when  he  can. 
The  second  break  was — Dennis  Morgan's 
boss  happened  to  be  on  vacation  in  Hawaii. 
Maybe  the  tropic  breezes  and  the  soft  skies 
put  Mr.  Warner  in  a  relaxed,  generous 
mood.  Anyway,  when  Dennis  wired  him 
for  permission  to  make  "Kitty  Foyle"  it 
came  right  back.  "Okay.  Go  ahead." 

At  that,  it  was  a  constructive  slip  for 
all  concerned  because,  as  everyone  knows, 
"Kitty  Foyle"  proved  to  the  world  that 
Dennis  Morgan  was  a  great  romantic 
actor.  He  won  the  Movie  Critics'  Award 
and  that's  the  kind  that  makes  box 
office  registers  play  "Happy  Days."  Last 
year,  for  instance,  the  two  biggest  money- 
making  movies  Warners'  produced  starred 
Dennis  Morgan — "Christmas  in  Connecti- 
cut" and  "God  is  My  Co-Pilot."  That's 
been  the  story  of  Dennis  Morgan  at  War- 
ner Brothers  all  along  since  then  and  he 
proved  it  didn't  have  to  happen  away 
from  home,  a  little  later  on.  Because  "The 
Desert  Song,"  far  more  even  than  "Kitty 
Foyle,"  rocketed  him  right  to  the  very  top. 
Since  then  he's  collected  more  fan  mail 
than  any  other  actor  on  the  lot.  And 
"The  Desert  Song"  was  an  all-Warner 
party,  in  honor  of  Dennis  Morgan.  To 
Denny,  too,  it  meant  far  more  than  just  a 
mere  hit.  He'll  never  make  another  pic- 
ture that  packed  such  a  personal  thrill  as 
that  one.  All  his  young  life,  "The  Desert 
Song"  had  been  Stan  Morner's  good  luck 
charm,  and  to  make  it  into  a  picture,  to 
reveal  at  last  the  thing  he  treasured  most, 
his  voice — had  been  his  ambition.  He 
made  the  picture  on  location  in  Gallup,  New 
Mexico,  and  while  he  was  stranded  'way 
down  there  Lillian  went  to  the  hospital  to 
have  their  baby  boy,  Jimmy  Irving.  There 
was  some  fear  she  wouldn't  recover  then, 


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and  Denny  paced  the  sands  desperately  as 
telegrams  flew  back  and  forth.  But  she  got 
well,  completely  well,  and  Denny  sang 
"One  Alone"  as  he'd  never  quite  sung  it 
before.  No  wonder  that  Dennis  Morgan's 
theme  song  occupies  a  particular  soft  spot 
in  his  heart,  his  sentimental  heart.  Be- 
cause success  and  applause  and  wealth 
and  fame  haven't  done  much  to  change 
Dennis  Morgan.  Down  underneath  it  all 
he's  still  "Tuff"  Morner,  grown  up  as  he 
ever  will  be.    He  shows  that  all  the  time. 

The  great  outdoors  is  still  Dennis  Mor- 
gan's first  love,  and  he  runs  off  back  to 
Wisconsin  whenever  he  can  to  hunt  and 
fish  in  the  familiar  woods  of  his  youth. 
One  of  his  best  pals  and  constant  tennis 
partner  is  Don  Phillips,  an  air  line  pilot, 
who  went  to  Carroll  College  with  Dennis. 
Dennis  keeps  in  touch  with  the  folks  back 
home;  right  before  last  Christmas  he  made 
a  special  movie  reel  for  owner  "Cap" 
Thurwacter  to  highlight  the  25th  anni- 
versary of  the  Waukesha  Theater  where 
Stan  Morner,  the  college  songbird,  made 
his  first  professional  bow. 

As  he  did  back  in  Wisconsin,  Dennis 
Morgan  solos  once  in  awhile  in  the  Holly- 
wood Presbyterian  church  choir,  and  his 
glorious  voice,  along  with  the  choir  under 
the  inspired  direction  of  Dennis'  good 
friend,  Charles  Hirt,  has  made  that  group 
one  of  the  finest  in  the  nation.  They  re- 
cently scored  a  double  record  of  "The 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic"  and  "The 
Lost  Chord"  and  the  entire  profits  go 
right  back  into  building  up  the  choir. 
That's  a  hobby  Dennis  has  clung  to  since 
high  school  days,  devotional  singing. 

Besides  having  for  a  sweetheart  the 
same  girl  he  had  in  high  school  and  col- 
lege, and  a  swell  family  of  three  bright, 
husky  children,  Dennis  Morgan  has  his 
mother  and  dad  living  near  him  too,  and 
it's  Dad  Morner,  the  former  Prentice 
banker,  who  handles  every  item  of  Dennis' 
financial  affairs.  Sister  Dorothy  too,  now 
married  to  Captain  David  Foster,  just  back 
from  overseas  action  in  France,  spends 
half  her  time  with  Lillian  and  her  brother 
at  the  La  Canada  estate. 

It's  one  of  the  loveliest  estates  in  all 
California.  There's  a  marvelous  Mediter- 
ranean style  mansion,  two  guest  houses,  an 
elaborate  swimming  pool.  It's  furnished  in 
carved,  imported  furniture,  has  outside 
formal  garden  statuary,  marble  fishponds 
and  even  peacocks  to  divert  the  eye.  But 
do  you  know  why  Denny  Morgan  bought 
the  place?  Because  of  the  towering  pine 
trees.  He'd  always  felt  a  stranger  wher- 
ever he  lived  in  treeless  southern  Cali- 
fornia. Lillian  knew  this,  so  when  she 
spied  this  piney  estate  on  a  house  hunt, 
she  raced  to  the  studio  and  yanked  her 
husband  right  off  Stage  5,  in  the  middle 
of  a  scene.  They  bought  it  that  after- 
noon because,  as  Dennis  sighed  happily, 
"It  looks  and  smells  like  Wisconsin." 

take  me  out  to  the  ball  game  .  .  . 

Denny  had  a  kick  last  Fall  at  the'World 
Series  in  Chicago.  His  dad  and  he  were 
called  back  there  on  a  family  matter  and 
had  a  few  days  in  town.  The  Cubs  were 
battling  the  Detroit  Tigers  and  the  park 
was  sold  out.  Dennis  remembered  some- 
thing from  'way  back  in  his  schoolboy 
days  at  Prentice,  Wisconsin.  He  recalled 
his  dad,  the  banker,  coming  through  for 
the  uniforms  for  the  back  lot  kids  team. 
He  recalled  the  fervor  his  dad  had  for  all 
sports,  especially  baseball.  He  had  said 
dreamily,  back  then,  "Some  day,  son, 
I'm  going  to  take  you  to  see  a  World 
series."  But  somehow,  that  had  never 
come  about.  That  gave  Denny  Morgan 
an  idea.  Maybe  he  could  make  a  dream 
come  true. 

"Dad,"  he  said,  "let's  go  to  the  World 
Series."    His  pop's  jaw  dropped. 

"Gee,"  he  said,  "that  would  be  wonder  - 


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ful,  but  of  course  it's  impossible.  That 
game's  sold  out." 

Denny  just  smiled  but  after  a  while  he 
came  back  to  the  hotel  room  and  laid  two 
box  seat  tickets  in  his  dad's  lap.  They 
went  to  the  park.  Not  only  that,  they 
went  down  to  the  players'  dugout  during 
the  game,  met  all  the  sport  heroes  his 
dad  worshipped.  After  the  game,  they 
traveled  down  to  the  showers,  talked 
over  the  next  day's  strategy  with  Manager 
Charlie  Grimm  of  the  Cubs.  Dennis  could 
see  his  dad  was  in  a  daze  of  delight.  He'd 
never  dreamed  this  would  happen  to  him. 

Dennis  knew  if  he'd  taken  Pop  Morner 
to  a  Hollywood  party,  introduced  him  to 
Gable  and  Garson  and — even — Garbo,  he 
wouldn't  have  batted  an  eye.  He  knew, 
too,  that  the  fact  that  his  own  son  was 
Dennis  Morgan,  the  movie  star,  impressed 
him  not  one  whit. 

"Son,"  asked  Pop  Morner  now,  "how  do 
you  know  so  many  important  people?" 

Dennis  had  to  laugh.  He  didn't  explain 
that  often  he  worked  out  with  the  Cubs 
when  they  trained  in  California,  that  may- 
be the  reason  they  let  him  do  that  and  got 
to  know  him  was  because  he  was  Dennis 
Morgan,  the  movie  star.  He  just  said,  "Oh, 
I  get  around." 

But  no  matter  how  much  Denny  Morgan 
gets  around,  the  chances  are  he'll  always 
be  "Tuff"  Morner  as  long  as  he  lives,  the 
Wisconsin  boy  who  made  good,  and  now 
can  make  his  family  and  friends  happy  by 
being  not  only  a  star,  but  a  real  person. 
At  least  that's  his  ambition,  and  it's  a 
pretty  good  one,  if  you  ask  me. 


THE  LITTLE  WOMAN 

(Continued  from  page  37) 


decided  to  show  him  off  to  Modern 
Screen's  Jane  Wilkie  (who  was  the  donor 
of  Heathcliff  originally.) 

"Wait  until  you  see  what's  happened  to 
Heathcliff,"  bragged  June  when  Jane  ar- 
rived at  the  house  one  evening.  "It's  a 
transformation.  Really!" 

June  and  Jane  strolled  out  to  the  patio. 
"Hello,  Heathcliff,"  she  said,  as  the  pup 
came  waggling  down  the  walk. 

Heathcliff  sat  down,  lay  down,  rolled 
over,  and  rushed  off  to  bed.  Then  he  re- 
turned at  a  gallop  for  his  dog  biscuit,  hav- 
ing handled  the  situation  with  great  speed 
and  not  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  his 
mistresses'  commands. 

Said  June  defensively,  "Well,  he's  a 
VERY  smart  dog!" 

Aside  from  an  occasional  misadventure, 
the  Powell  house  is  genuinely  appealing. 
For  that  reason,  June  and  Dick  are  usually 
reluctant  to  go  out.  Oh,  they  plan  big, 
but  when  it  comes  right  down  to  making 
a  definite  date,  the  trouble  starts.  With  a 
fireplace  in  one  hand,  a  dog  in  the  other, 
a  wife  on  a  knee,  and  a  pepsi  in  the  offing, 
it's  easy  to  see  why  Dick  heaves  a  sigh 
and  pulls  that  no-place-like-home  routine, 
night  after  night. 

But  when  Louella  Parsons  asked  June 
and  Dick  to  come  visit,  they  just  couldn't 
say  no.  Why,  it  was  practically  a  com- 
mand performance,  as  Jane  Wilkie  pointed 
out.  And  because  it  was  also  an  Occasion, 
Jane  just  had  to  have  some  pictures  taken 
for  Modern  Screeners.  "They'd  never 
forgive  me  if  I  didn't,"  she  informed  June, 
turning  on  the  hearts  and  flowers  patter. 

And  it  was  fun  ...  as  you  can  tell  easily 
enough  by  looking  at  the  pictures!  So 
maybe  now  the  Powells — having  taken  the 
plunge — will  leave  Heathcliff  in  charge 
once  in  a  while  and  step  out  more  often. 
But  not  too  often,  we  can  hear  Dick  say- 
ing. Because  there's  always  home — and 
the  little  woman — to  come  home  to. 


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ED  SULLIVAN  SPEAKING 

(Continued  from   page  56) 

beamed  Hannegan.  "There  never  was  any- 
thing wrong  with  him,  I  guess,  that  four 
weeks  of  good  jokes  couldn't  cure." 

June  Bombing  Notes 

We've  all  heard  so  much  about  the  rapid 
expansion  of  television  that  a  lot  of  us  sort  of 
have  been  looking  forward  to  seeing  the  Joe 
Louis-Billy  Conn  fight  from  the  vantage  of  a 
cushioned  chair  at  home  or  in  a  theater  .  .  . 
Well,  I  decided  to  find  out  from  NBC  and 
CBS  just  how  much  chance  there  would  be 
of  that  thought  materializing.  The  answers 
were  not  too  optimistic  .  .  .  NBC  engineers 
told  me,  and  CBS  agreed,  that  the  June  19th 
outlook  is  not  for  any  tremendous  coverage. 
Television  at  that  time  may  be  operating  on 
a  line  from  Schenectady  to  Washington,  D.  C, 
which  would  mean  that  New  York,  Phila- 
delphia, Schenectady,  Albany,  Newark,  N.  J. 
and  other  cities  and  towns  in  that  area  would 
be  able  to  see  a  televised  fight.  For  the  rest, 
they'll  have  to  go  to  the  newsreel  and  motion 
picture  theaters,  or  hear  it  over  the  radio. 
Broadway  theaters  lack  screens: 

I  asked  if  it  were  possible  that  a  Broadway 
theater  could  arrange  to  have  the  Louis-Conn 
fight  televised  on  a  screen  large  enough  for 
audiences.  "No  theater  yet  has  a  television 
screen  large  enough  to  project  such  a  fight  to 
a  huge  audience,"  regretted  NBC.  "Para- 
mount has  been  dickering  with  the  idea,  may 
come  up  with  the  answer  before  the  night  of 
the  scrap".  .  .  Television  crews  of  about  the 
same  size  as  were  assigned  to  the  Army- 
Navy  game  at  Philadelphia,  will  televise  the 
Louis-Conn  fight.  CBS  estimated  they'd  have 
25  to  30  television  engineers  at  the  ringside, 
if  and  when  Mike  Jacobs  makes  a  contract 
for  such  coverage. 

*         *  * 
Lowdown  on  the  Crosby  Atiair. 

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I  SAW  iT  HAPPEN 

My  home  is  in 
Hollywood.  I  have 
lived  there  all  my 
life  up  until  now, 
and  needless  to  say, 
I  have  seen  many 
movie  stars.  One 
day  my  girl  friend 
and  I  were  going  on 
.  a  picnic.  We  hap- 
\pened  to  land  some 
film,  so  we  brought 
the  camera  to  take  pictures.  While 
we  were  walking  up  Vine  Street  to 
catch  the  street  car,  we  saw  Red 
Skelton  signing  autographs.  When  the 
crowd  cleared  away,  we  asked  him  if 
we  could  take  his  picture.  He  smiled 
that  cute  smile  of  his  and  said,  "Sure, 
but  not  alone,"  and  with  that  he  put 
his  arm  around  me,  and  my  friend 
snapped  the  picture.  Now  that  picture 
is  one  of  my  sweetest  memories  of 
home  and  of  Red  Skelton,  the  nicest 
star  I've  ever  seen  yet. 

Pat  Spargo 
Washington,  D.  C. 


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he'd  rather  do  one  program  a  month,  instead 
of  one  a  week?  Everybody  has  guessed  at 
the  reason.  Instead  of  guessing,  I  asked  "The 
Groaner"  how  the  litigation  with  Kraft  started. 

"It's  simple,  Ed,"  said  Crosby.  "I  got  the 
idea  as  a  result  of  those  'Command  Perform- 
ance' broadcasts  we  did  for  the  troops  over- 
seas. It  dawned  on  me  then  that  the  proper 
way  to  do  a  broadcast  was  to  first  play  it 
before  a  studio  audience,  and  learn  from  them 
what  jokes  to  cut  out,  what  songs  to  sing. 
Then  when  the  thing  is  letter  perfect,  put  it 
on  a  record.  If  the  first  record  isn't  top-notch, 
well — break  it,  and  make  another  record 
until  you  get  exactly  the  pace  you  want.  You 
rarely  get  a  perfect  studio  broadcast  to  send 
out  over  the  air.  I  think  that  a  recorded  pro- 
gram is  the  answer  and  correction  of  all  the 
human  errors  that  are  inevitable  in  a  studio 
broadcast." 
Crosby  goes  Gaelic: 

Before  he  left  New  York  and  went  back 
to  the  Coast,  Crosby  made  at  least  a  dozen 
records  for  Decca's  shrewd,  able  Jack  Kapps. 
.  .  .  Largely,  they  were  Irish  records.  One 
of  them  you'll  be  hearing  is  "Dear  Old  Done- 
gal," which  Bing  made  with  the  Jesters  and 
a  hot  band  fronted  by  Bob  Haggart.  This 
number  happens  to  be  Pat  O'Brien's  favorite, 
and  Pat  sings  it  at  the  drop  of  a  shillalah. 
So  Kapps  and  Bing  determined  that  at  some 
point  in  the  lyric,  they'd  have  to  work  in  a 
reference  to  their  pal,  O'Brien.  When  you 
hear  the  record,  as  Bing  reels  off  a  list  of 
Irish  names,  you'll  hear  one  phrase:  "And 
Pat  O'Brien  showed  up  late." 
Record  Records: 

Just  how  many  records  Crosby  has  made 
since  he  first  plattered  "I  Love  You  Truly" 
and  "Just  A'Wearyin'  For  You"  back  in  1934 
would  require  a  staff  of  CPAs.  I  asked  Kapps, 
instead,  what  records  had  won  the  greatest 
sales.  Out  in  front  is  Bing's  Decca  platter  of 
"White  Christmas,"  which  sold  2,500,000  in 
this  country,  plus  500,000  abroad.  Second 
would  be  "Silent  Night,"  with  a  sale  of 
2,000,000. 


I'M  A  CROSBY  FAN! 

(Continued  jrom  page  55) 


exposed  sooner  or  later.  I  have  a  lot  of 
fun  sitting  down  at  the  piano  and  rattling 
them  off.  The  other  day,  Mrs.  McCarey 
heard  that  tune  from  "State  Fair,"  "It 
Might  As  Well  Be  Spring." 

" '.  .  .  but  I  feel  so  gay,  in  a  melancholy 
way  .  .  .'  "  she  sang.  "Leo,  now  why  can't 
you  write  a  poetic  lyric  like  that?" 

"I'm  not  Oscar  Hammerstein,"  I  told  her. 

But  about  Bing.  .  .  . 

Maybe  Bing  didn't  think  so  much  of  my 
hidden  talent,  but  from  the  start  I  had 
my  eyes  on  his.  My  brother,  Ray,  directed 
Bing  in  the  first  picture  he  ever  made. 
I  was  on  the  set  most  of  the  time.  Bing 
hit  me  right  between  the  eyes  with  his 
easy  naturalness,  which  was  then,  and 
still  is,  my  prime  ingredient  for  acting 
talent.  He  was  good  looking  and  he  had 
something  inside  besides  melody.  Maybe 
the  Irish  in  me  vibrated  to  the  Irish  in 
Bing.  Anyway,  I  had  a  bright  idea. 

"Hey,  Bing,"  I  said.  "You  know  you 
could  be  a  swell  actor  if  you  wanted  to." 


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He  gave  me  a  funny  kind  of  look. 

"That's  on  the  level,"  I  said.  "You  owe 
it  to  yourself.  Look,  suppose  some  day  you 
lose  your  voice.  .  .  ." 

"That  might  be  a  blessing,"  Bing  cracked. 

As  the  years  passed,  it  got  to  be  our 
own  private  joke.  Bing  Crosby  went  his 
way  and  I  went  mine  and  we  both  did  all 
right.  When  we'd  meet  on  the  lot,  or  at 
Lakeside,  playing  golf,  or  at  Santa  Anita 
or  Del  Mar  playing  the  ponies,  the  first 
thing  Bing  Crosby  would  toss  at  me  was — 

"What  about  that  picture,  Leo?  When 
you  going  to  make  me  an  actor?"  And 
this  would  occur  even  after  Bing  was  the 
top  box  office  star  of  Hollywood,  three 
years  in  a  row. 

"I  haven't  got  the  right  idea  yet,  Bing," 
I'd  have  to  reply.  "But  I'll  get  it — and 
I'm  not  kidding."  I  wasn't  either. 

So,  I  was  sitting  at  home  one  day  stew- 
ing over  a  story  for  a  picture,  and  possibly 
the  farthest  thing  from  my  mind  was 
Harry  Lillis  Crosby.  I  had  troubles  enough. 
The  script  was  two-thirds  finished  with 
$20,000  of  good  money  sunk  in  it.  But  I 
wasn't  hapoy. 

My  doorbell  rang.  A  Catholic  priest, 
the  lines  of  a  good  life  written  on  his  face 
like  a  manuscript,  greeted  me  and  I  asked 
him  in.  He  was  calling  for  a  donation  to 
the  church.  We  sat  down  and  talked.  The 
subject  turned  to  raising  and  educating 
children.  I  have  a  daughter.  This  good 
father  had  spent  his  life  bending  twigs  the 
right  way.  I  listened  to  what  he  had  to  say. 

"I'm  an  old  man."  he  smiled.  "Seventy- 
some,  and  I  think  the  outstanding  thing  in 
my  life  has  been  my  experience  educating 
children.  It's  so  interesting.  So  important. 
There's  a  young  priest  who's  just  arrived 
at  my  parish.  All  young  priests,"  he 
smiled,  "have  new  ideas,  progressive  ideas. 
I  '-'on't  always  agree — but  I  know  they're 
right.  Even  as  I  sit  here,"  he  smiled,  "I 
know  what  that  young  priest  is  thinking — ■ 
'we're  going  to  have  to  turn  the  old  man 
out  to  pasture.' " 

He  talked  on.  When  he  left,  I  picked  up 
the  almost  finished  script  and  tossed  it  in 
the  wastebasket.  Then  I  picked  up  the 
phone.  I  was  muttering  to  myself  as  I 
dialed  the  number.  "Here's  where  I  make 
good  my  promise  to  Bing." 

I  hadn't  seen  him  for  months,  but  when 
I  said,  'Hello,  Bing,  this  is  Leo.  I've  got  it," 
he  knew  what  I  meant. 

"You  mean  the  one  for  me?"  he  came 
back.   "The  one  where  I  act?" 

"Yep,  Bing,"  I  said,  "this  is  it." 

He  said,  "Come  on  over." 

Bing  was  playing  with  his  boys  when 
I  burst  in.  "Break  it  up,  kids,"  he  said, 
and  chased  them  out  of  the  room.  We 
talked  half  the  night.  I  told  him  the  story. 
It  poured  out  like  water  out  of  a  tap,  all 
from  what  that  aging  priest  had  told  me. 
I  knew  there  was  a  story  in  it.  There  was. 
It  was  "Going  My  Way." 

who,  me?  .  .  . 

Bing  knew  it  was  a  story,  too.  He  said, 
"It's  swell — but  where  do  I  come  in?" 

"You  play  the  young  priest,  of  course." 

"You're  killing  me!"  snorted  Crosby. 
"Me — play  a  priest?" 

That's  Crosby.  To  suggest  that  he  play 
a  man  of  God  was  the  greatest  compliment 
I  could  pay  him.  But  Bing  ducks  compli- 
ments. They  embarrass  him.  He  showed 
that  the  night  this  story  I'm  talking  about, 
made  into  a  movie  starring  Bing  Crosby, 
won  him  his  first  Academy  Award  as  the 
finest  actor  of  the  year  in  Hollywood.  I 
was  there  and  I  heard  Bing  crack,  when 
they  handed  him  the  gilded  doll  any  actor 
would  be  proud  to  perch  on  his  mantel, 
"It's  certainly  a  wonderful  world  when  a 
tired  old  crooner  like  me  can  walk  away 
with  this  hunk  of  crockery!" 

But  here's  another  thing  about  Bing. 
Once  he  sets  his  sights  on  something,  he 


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gets  it.  The  minute  Bing  caught  my 
enthusiasm  for  "Going  My  Way,"  he  car- 
ried the  ball.  There  was  a  high  hurdle. 
I  had  an  iron-clad  contract  at  RKO,  with 
years  to  run.  Bing  had  an  iron-clad  con- 
tract at  Paramount,  with  more  years  to 
run.  I  couldn't  get  him.  He  couldn't  get 
me.    How  could  we  get  together? 

"We'll  just  hop  the  fence,"  said  Bing. 
Meaning  the  fence  in  between  the  two  lots. 
"You  make  an  extra  picture  for  Para- 
mount and  I'll  make  one  for  RKO."  So 
that's  how  we  worked  it.  "Going  My  Way" 
was  Bing  Crosby's  picture  and  he  deserved 
every  honor  he  got.  Sure,  I  directed  it.  But 
sometimes  I  wonder  if  I  really  direct 
people.  I've  tried  telling  actors  exactly  what 
to  do  and  the  results  are  usually  terrible. 
Kids  are  the  easiest  actors.  Give  them  the 
idea  and  let  them  alone  and  they're  swell. 

lesson  in  acting  .  .  . 

One  day,  making  "The  Bells  of  St. 
Mary's,"  Ingrid  Bergman  came  up  to  me 
with  a  puzzled  look.  She  faced  a  scene 
where,  playing  a  Catholic  sister,  she  talks 
a  tight-fisted  businessman  out  of  a  build- 
ing. She  wasn't  quite  sure  just  how  to  ap- 
proach it — how  the  character  she  was 
playing  would  think,  putting  over  a  deal 
like  that.  She  asked  my  advice. 

"Play  it,"  I  said,  "like  a  nun  who  wants  a 
mink  coat." 

Bergman  tossed  back  her  head  and 
laughed.  She  went  right  back  into  the 
scene — and  it  was  perfect. 

Bing's  that  way,  too.  He  has  sincerity. 
He  has  the  capacity  to  listen  like  real  peo- 
ple listen  when  other  people  talk.  Most 
actors  like  to  talk;  they're  jealous  of  their 
lines,  they  always  want  to  be  front  camera. 
It's  part  of  that  natural  ego  which,  to  most 
professional  actors,  is  a  necessary  evil.  You 
know  the  gag  about  the  Hollywood  actor: 
"But,"  he  says,  "let's  not  talk  about  me 
anymore — what  did  you  think  of  my  last 
picture?"  3ing's  not  like  that. 

Once  I  had  a  seven-minute  scene  sched- 
ule to  shoot  one  day  in  "Going  My  Way." 
Seven  minutes  is  a  long  time  for  the  cam- 
era to  turn.  All  morning  I  paced  up  and 
down  with  the  script  in  my  hand.  I  was 
stumped.  I  didn't  shoot  one  take.  Pretty 
soon  it  was  noon  so  we  called  lunch. 
I  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  stage  and  beat  my 
brains.    Bing  strolled  over. 

"Say,  what's  bothering  you?"  he  asked. 
"Is  it  because  I  haven't  got  anything  to 
say  in  this  long  scene?" 

He  hit  it  right  on  the  head.  "Yes,"  I 
told  him.  "That's  right.  Barry  Fitzgerald 
talks  for  seven  minutes,  and  you  haven't 
one  line  to  draw  the  scene  your  way. 
It's  not  fair  to  you,  Bing." 

He  thought  a  moment.  "Well,  look," 
said  Bing,  cutting  the  Gordian  knot.  "Don't 
knock  yourself  out  coining  any  clever  epi- 
grams for  me.  If  no  lines  pop  up  for  me 
naturally — why  force  'em?  Let  the  old 
man  speak  his  piece.    I'll  listen." 

He  listened — and  how!  For  seven  long 
minutes  while  Barry  Fitzgerald  gave  his 
longest,  best  scene.  It  was  the  one  where 
he  starts,  "I've  been  to  the  Bishop," — re- 
member? It  was  the  turning  point  in  the 
old  priest's  attitude,  the  hinge  of  the  whole 
picture.  All  that  time  Bing  Crosby  never 
opened  his  mouth  except  to  say  "Yes, 
Father,"  and  nod.  Most  actors  would  say 
that  was  like  stepping  off  a  cliff — certain 
suicide.  Maybe  so,  but  it  wasn't  worrying 
Bing  Crosby. 

But  somehow,  I  felt  I  hadn't  paid  off  my 
whole  debt  to  Bing  for  all  the  melody  he'd 
handed  me  through  the  years  and  I  felt 
I  hadn't  quite  made  good  that  old  promise, 
even  after  "Going  My  Way."  It  bothered 
my  conscience  to  have  stacked  Bing  up 
in  that  long-promised  acting  job  against 
probably  the  greatest  supporting  perform- 
ance of  all  Hollywood  history,  and  that's 
what  I  think  Barry  Fitzgerald  delivered. 


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"You've  an  I.O.U.  of  mine,"  I  told  Bing, 
"for  another  picture." 

Bing  laughed.  "It  doesn't  have  to 
happen  twice." 

"Why  not?"  I  replied.  Fourteen  months 
later  the  idea  hit  me.  I  called  Bing  in 
Mexico  City.  "I  think  I've  got  the  idea 
for  another  one,  Bing,"  I  told  him. 

"Yeah?"  his  voice  came  over  the  wire. 
"Who  steals  this  one?" 

"A  Swede,"  I  said. 

"Anybody  I  know?" 

"Name's  Ingrid  Bergman." 

Bing  whistled.  "Is  that  bad?  When  do 
I  report?"  That's  the  way  he  works. 
Quick  and  no  complexes.  He'd  walk  into 
a  part  with  Garbo  without  batting  an  eye. 

If  there's  any  fault  Bing  Crosby  has,  it's 
that  he's  just  naturally  self-conscious  about 
showing  emotion.  Inside,  that  Crosby's  ter- 
ribly sentimental.  He  feels  deeply  about 
everything  and  there's  nothing  wrong  with 
his  heart,  as  hundreds  of  people  know.  But 
when  emotions  rise  up,  he  tries  to  lick 
them,  in  real  life. 

I  said,  "Bing,  I  admire  your  viewpoint 
on  life  on  this  restrained  emotion  business, 
but  I  think  when  people  see  this  picture 
they're  going  to  cry." 

Bing  gave  me  a  so -what  stare. 

"I  think  they'll  expect  you  to  cry,  too," 
I  went  on.  "If  you  don't,  they'll  think 
you're  a  dull  guy."  We  were  just  about 
to  shoot  a  delicate  scene  that  I  knew  Bing 
understood  and  felt,  if  he'd  only  show  it. 
A  race  track  jockey  who  was  visiting  the 
set,  helped  me  out.  He  overheard  and 
walked  up.  "I  kntrw  this  is  none  of  my 
business,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  what  Leo 
means,  Bing,  is — last  year  you  coasted  in  to 
an  Academy  Award.  This  year  you're  go- 
ing to  have  to  ride  for  it!" 

Bing  walked  across  the  stage  to  a  corner 
and  sat  by  himself  for  about  ten  minutes. 
Then  he  came  over  and  said,  "Okay,  Leo, 
I'll  play  it  now."'  He  did — and  how. 

Bing's  a  good  sport — none  better — in  all 
departments.  He's  taken  a  terrific  beating 
about  his  race  horses,  for  instance,  but  he's 
never  let  out  a  peep,  win  or  lose.  Owning 
a  string  of  fickle  bangtails  is  a  test  of  any 
man's  good  humor  and  sanity.  I  know,  I 
had  a  stable  once  myself. 

The  best  race  horse  I  ever  owned  was 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

After  the  Sinatra 
show  we  went 
backstage  to  get 
our  dream-boy's 
autograph,  but 
when  we  saw  the 
huge  crowd  waiting 
ahead  of  us,  we 
decided  to  take  a 
JF  walk  instead.  It  was 

Zm  -  »  Fw^  a  windy  day  and  I 
was  wearing  a 
beanie,  so  of  course  you  can  guess 
what  happened — it  flew  off  my  head 
and  went  sailing  down  the  street.  Be- 
fore I  knew  what  happened,  the  hat 
had  disappeared  from  my  sight.  I  was 
about  to  continue  my  walk  without  it, 
when  I  suddenly  heard  a  man's  voice 
behind  me. 

"Pardon  me,  miss,"  the  voice  said, 
"but  did  you  lose  this  hat?" 

I  turned  around  to  see  The  Voice  in 
person,  holding  my  beanie  in  his  hand! 
Yes,  it  actually  was  Frankie,  and  he 
had  bothered  to  get  my  hat! 

I  was  stunned  at  first,  but  I  soon 
recovered  myself  and  murmured  my 
thanks.  My  friends  crowded  around 
him  and  we  each  got  his  autograph. 

I  shall  always  be  thankful  for  windy 
days! 

Marilyn  Cacas 
Chelsea,  Mass. 


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distance  phone  call  to  Kentucky.  Now 
who'd  pick  a  horse  with  a  name  like  that? 
But  she  cost  $1550  and  she  won  $26,000. 
The  others — well,  we  won't  go  into  that. 
The  point  is,  I  didn't  love  the  sport  enough 
to  carry  on — but  Crosby  doesn't  care  if 
his  nags  win  a  dime.  He's  just  crazy  about 
horses.  At  that,  I  have  the  distinction  of 
being  one  of  the  few  surviving  men  in  the 
world  who  won  money  on  a  Crosby  nag. 
That  was  a  joke  on  Bing. 

I  was  up  in  the  mountains  between  pic- 
tures, but  keeping  in  touch  with  what  went 
on  at  the  race  track.  I  had  a  hunch  on  a 
horse,  named  "Sorteado."  I  didn't  know 
who  owned  him  and  I  didn't  care.  A  hunch 
is  a  hunch.  But  I  knew  Bing  would  be 
going  to  the  track.   So  I  called  him. 

bing  the  bookie  .  . . 

"Bing,"  I  said,  "if  you  go  over  to  the 
track  this  afternoon,  will  you  do  me  a 
favor  and  place  a  bet  on  Sorteado?" 

"Are  you  crazy?"  replied  Bing.  "He 
hasn't  got  a  chance." 

"I  think  he  has." 

"I  know  better,"  said  Crosby.  "I  own 
him.  And  listen — I'm  sitting  here  with  my 
trainer  and  they're  laying  even  money 
Sorteado  can't  even  find  the  racetrack!" 

"I  still  like  him,"  I  said  stubbornly.  "Lay 
me  $200  on  his  nose." 

"Okay,"  said  Bing,  "but  you  better  have 
your  head  examined." 

That  afternoon  Bing's  Sorteado  broke 
the  track  record  and  pa^d  fourteen  to  one. 
Bing  didn't  have  a  penny  on  him.  But  he 
had  to  carry  around  $2600  for  me  for  two 
weeks,  which  was  when  I  came  back  to 
Hollywood. 

Bing  calls  me  "The  Tiger,"  because,  I 
suppose,  I'm  so  hard  for  him  to  take. 
That's  not  a  boast — just  a  freak  fact.  For 
some  reason  I  have  the  Indian  sign  on 
Bing.  I'm  just  bringing  this  up  to  show 
what  a  dreamy  disposition  Crosby  has. 
He  should  have  conked  me  over  the  head 
long  ago  with  a  mashie  for  the  outrageous 
jinx  I've  fastened  on  to  him  at  golf. 

Bing  and  I  have  played  a  lot  of  golf — 
and  as  anyone  knows,  Bing  Crosby  is  one 
of  the  best  amateur  players  in  the  country. 
I'm  a  dub.  It's  a  strain  on  any  good 
golfer's  nature  to  be  a  pigeon  for  a  dub. 
Bing  and  I  have  hung  around  Del  Monte 
and  other  golf  havens  for  months  at  a 
time,  and  he's  lost  money.  He  should  have 
murdered  me.    For  instance: 

One  night  Bing  called  me  up  at  home. 
"Congratulate  me,  son,"  he  said.  "I 
equalled  the  course  record  this  afternoon." 

"Then  you  ought  to  be  pretty  good,"  I 
came  back.  "I'll  take  you  on  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"You're  on,"  said  Bing.  "But  I'm  warn- 
ing you,  I'm  sharp  as  a  tack." 

Next  day,  Bing  had  his  worst  round  in 
months.  I  had  my  best.  He  shot  an  84 
and  I  shot  a  74. 

Another  time,  playing  with  Bing,  I 
came  up  to  the  green  with  a  fifty-foot  putt 
to  the  cup.  "Just  the  kind  I  like,"  I  joked, 
cockily. 

"A  thousand  bucks  to  one  you  can't  sink 
it,"  Bing  shot  back. 

"I  like  the  price,"  I  told  him.  "That's 
my  kind  of  money." 

"It's  a  bet,"  said  Bing.  "Like  taking  candy 
from  a  baby." 

The  minute  I  stroked  the  ball,  I  shut  my 
eyes.  When  I  opened  them,  the  thing  was 
still  rolling,  on  and  on  until  it  plopped 
into  the  hole  like  a  homesick  gopher. 
Bing  peeled  the  thousand  off  his  roll.  "I 
should  have  known  better,"  he  sighed, 
but  he  said  it  with  a  good-natured  grin. 

I  don't  mean  that  Bing  Crosby  is  any 
long-suffering  martyr.  He  can  dish  it  out 
as  well  as  take  it.  Not  long  ago,  he  got  me 
where  he  wanted  me  and  rubbed  it  in.  It 


was  on  a  Command  Performance  radio 
show  for  the  overseas  gang.  I'm  allergic 
to  radio  mikes.  They  do  something  to  me. 
I  shake,  can't  help  it.  But  Bing  had  written 
this  show  himself.  I've  never  thought 
much  of  Bing  as  a  writer  and  after  this 
show  that  still  goes.  But  he  put  on  the 
pressure  for  me  to  play  the  lead.  I  was 
to  make  love  to  Bette  Davis.  Bing  was 
my  son.  Jack  Benny  directed  the  thing. 
You  can  imagine. 

I  did  everything  in  the  world  to  duck  it. 
"Bette  Davis  isn't  my  type,"  I  said. 

"Who  is?"  came  back  Bing. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  acting."' 

"Never  mind,  I  do.  I  won  an  Oscar, 
didn't  you  know?" 

It  went  on  like  that.  But  I  didn't  have 
a  chance,  Bing  was  bound  to  get  me  where 
I'd  had  him.  He  practically  wrestled  me 
over  to  the  studio,  then  he  poured  it  on  in 
front  of  all  those  people.  "Here  is  Mr. 
McCarey,  who  spends  all  his  life  telling 
people  how  to  act,"  said  Bing,  "and  look 
what  a  ham  he  is!  Look  at  him  standing 
there,  shaking."  He  rattled  on  like  that 
while  the  stopwatch-and-headphone  moni- 
tors went  wild.  "Tell  me,"  cooed  Bing,  "is 
there  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  quit 
trembling,  my  awkward  friend?" 

"Yeah,"  I  blurted,  "You  can  give  me  my 
basket  of  cheese  and  send  me  home!" 

Well,  the  audience  loved  it  anyway,  even 
if  I  didn't.  And  you  can't  really  be  mad  at 
anyone  who  packs  around  as  big  a  heart 
as  Bing  Crosby — not  for  long. 

I  know  something  about  the  size  of  that 
particular  Crosby  ticker.  He's  not  selfish 
with  it,  no  matter  how  busy  he  is.  The 
other  day  I  had  a  call  from  Washington, 
D.C.  It  seems  that  GIs  in  eight  theaters  of 
war  had  voted  "Going  My  Way"  the  pic- 
ture that  entertained  them  most.  Bing  and 
I  were  due  for  a  citation  the  next  day  in 
the  capital.  I  talked  to  General  Kirk  at 
Walter  Reed  Hospital  there  and  he  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  idea  if  I  showed  up  to 
receive  it  in  person. 

I  was  in  Hollywood  and  Bing  was  in 
Chicago  tied  up  on  a  business  deal.  I  got 
him  on  the  phone  and  told  him  the  news. 
"Think  we  can  make  it  to  Washington  te- 
morrow?"  I  asked  him. 

"I  sure  do,"  said  Bing.  "As  far  as  I'm 
concerned,  I'll  take  a  plane  tonight."  I 
met  him  at  the  Shoreham  Hotel  the  next 
day.  He'd  have  flown  to  Timbuctoo  at 
the  drop  of  a  hat  for  a  cause  like  that. 

There  was  a  schoolmate  of  his  at  Gonzaga 
College  who  entered  the  priesthood  and 
went  to  China.  He  opened  a  mission  to 
help  the  Chinese,  but  he  was  short  of  the 
money  he  needed.  He  sailed  back  to  the 
States  to  raise  it  and  came  to  see  Bing. 
"I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  promised  Bing. 
Before  he  got  around  to  the  matter,  he  got 
word  that  this  young  priest  had  been  killed 
in  an  automobile  accident.  Today,  all  the 
money  that  comes  in  from  Bing  Crosby's 
two  most  popular  recordings,  "Silent 
Night"  and  "Adeste  Fidelis,"  goes  to  that 
young  priest's  mission  as  a  memorial  to 
him. 

after  you're  gone  .  .  . 

I  know  a  lot  of  things  like  that  about  the 
life  of  Harry  Lillis  Crosby  which  add  up 
to  make  him  one  of  my  favorite  people. 
Some  day,  I've  promised  myself,  I'm  going 
to  write  it  into  a  story  and  make  a  movie 
of  the  life  of  Bing  Crosby,  the  gravel- 
throated  nightingale,  and  maybe  then  I 
can  tear  up  for  keeps  that  I.O.U.  due  Bingo 
for  all  these  years  of  friendship.  I  think  it 
ought  to  be  a  hit — maybe  it  will  even  take 
another  Oscar — although  Bing  says  he 
won't  be  here  to  accept  it. 

Bing  says  it's  strictly  no  deal  until  after 
he's  dead — the  big,  bashful  dope!  So,  if 
I  get  too  ambitious  I  may  have  to  shoot 
him  one  of  these  days — and  do  the  picture 
while  T'~  hot! 


2  to  3 
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Universal  Star  now  playing  in 
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Know  the  joy  of  natural  looking  curls  and  waves  by  tonight. 
With  the  New  Charm-Kurl  Supreme  Cold  Wave  kit  it's  done 
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famous  beauty  editor  says:  "Some  of  the  loveliest  Cold  Wave 
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more  glamour-gifted  girls  are  doing  their  own  permanents 
at  home." 


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That's  Madelon  Mason  smiling  at  you 
from  that  magazine  cover — she's  one  of 
this  year's  most  famous  cover  girls. 

You  might  say  this  cover  got  its  start  in 
1927,  for  Madelon  has  had  that  Ivory 
Look  for  all  her  19  years.  Her  radiant 
complexion  has  already  put  her  on  the 
cover  of  more  than  fifteen  famous  maga- 
zines. 


'OW  DOES  A  COVER.  &PJL  OfiT  THAT  WAY  ? 

Well,  with  Madelon's  first  bath  as  a  baby,  she  started  regular  care 
witff'pure,  mild  Ivory  Soap.  Here's  one  of  her  early  babv  pictures. 
Today  she  says:  "I  still  use  Ivory  Soap  —  "cause  I  know  many 
doctors  advise  it  for  skin  care — it's  mild  enough  even  for  babies!" 


ULEASe  SEND  Plti-UP  PICTURE,  FANS  WRITE 

i      Madelon  does,  by  hundreds!  Boys  started 
asking  for  Madelon's  picture  when  her 
first  cover  appeared — and  they've  never 
stopped. 

"Fans  who  write  in  say 
I'm  their  idea  of  a  real 
Ail-American  Girl,"  she 
says,  "So  I've  lots  of  rea- 
sons for  sticking  to  Ivory 


A  FAMOUS  /AOOEU  iSNT  EASY 

Madelon's  on  the  go  all  day — every 
cover  means  hours  of  difficult  posing. 
"But,"  Madelon  says,  "I  never  neglect 
my  complexion,  lou  can't  afford  to  b? 
careless  about  that  if  you  want  that 
Ivory  LookV 

If  you  want  a  softer,  smoother,  lovelier 
skin,  change  to  Madelon's  beauty  secret 
— regular,  gentle  cleansings  with  pure, 
mild  Ivory  Soap! 

Make  your  Ivory  last — if  contains 
critical  materials! 


jfyw  m*,  Am,  _ 


Arh  17  1946 


>C1  B      17  18  3 


INFo  other  shampoo  leaves  ^our  hair 
so  lustrous,  yet  so 
easy  to  manage  Y 


■]%  yr  a  vtime  can  be  a  gay  time  when  you're 
1V1  a  Drene  Girl!  For,  when  you  Drene 
your  hair,  you  reveal  all  its  natural  beauty 
.  .  .  all  its  enchanting  highlights! 

"I  use  Drene,"'  says  glamorous  Cover  Girl 
Margaret  Finlay,  ''because  the  camera 
demands  my  hair  be  radiantly  clean." 
Drene  brings  out  all  the  natural  brilliance 
. .  .  as  much  as  33  percent  more  lustre  than 
any  soap  or  soap  shampoo.  Since  Drene  is 
not  a  soap  shampoo,  it  never  leaves  any 
dulling  film  on  hair,  as  all  soaps  do.  And 


Drene  completely  removes  unsightly 
druff  the  very  first  time  you  use  it. 

Under  studio  lights,  Margaret  is 
picture  of  Spring  with  her  gleaming 
swept  up  into  large  curls.  Try  this 
style  at  home  or  ask  your  beauty 
to  do  it.  \ou"ll  marvel  at  the  way  D 
with  Hair  Conditioning  action  leaves 
hair  so  beautifully  behaved.  So  insi; 
Drene  Shampoo  with  Hair  Conditio 
action.  No  other  shampoo  leaves  your 
so  lustrous,  yet  so  easy  to  manage. 


FOR  DATES  AT  HOME,  Margaret  combs  her 
silken,  sniping  hair  into  demure  little-girl  curls. 
"It's  fun  to  fix  your  hair  in  any  style  after  a  Drene 
shampoo,"  she  says.  Today's  improved  Drene  with 
Hair  Conditioning  action  leaves  your  hair  far 
silkier,  smoother  and  easier  to  manage.  Margaret 
ties  her  top  curls  back  with  a  narrow  ribbon  bow. 


Shampoo  will 
Hair  Conditioning,  Acticj 


CUPID:  Loafer,  huh?  And  who  was  it  just  now 
helped  you  catch  the  bride's  bouquet?  And  who— 

BRIDESMAID:  Bouquet,  hah!  Listen,  Cupid,  I've  caught  enough 
brides'  bouquets  to  start  a  florist  shop!  I  want  to  catch  a  man! 

CUPID:  You'd  never  know  it  the  way  you  go  around  glooming  at  people! 
Don't  you  know  what  a  sparkling  smile  can  do  for  a  girl . . .  and  to  a  man? 


NEVER 
IGNORE 

,  "PINK  TOOTH 
L  BRUSH" 


BRIDESMAID:  Sure  . . .  but  who's  got  the  sparkling  smile?  Me? 
Nuh-uh!  I  brush  my  teeth,  but . . .  well,  dull,  dingy  . . . 

CUPID:  Oh?  And  "pink"  on  your  tooth  brush,  too? 

BRIDESMAID:  Only  since  last  week. 

CUPID:  Well,  didn't  the  dentist  — 

BRIDESMAID:  What  dentist? 

CUPID:  What  dentist?  Listen,  you  sweet  little  idiot,  don't 
you  know  that  "pink"  is  a  warning  to  see  your  dentist  right 
away?  He  may  find  your  gums  are  being  robbed 
of  .exercise  by  today's  soft  foods.  And  he  may  suggest 
"the  helpful  stimulation  of  Ipana  and  massage." 


BRIDESMAID: ...  so  then  the  cute  little  rabbit  went  lipperty- 
lip  down  the  road,  and  — look,  Little  One,  what's 
all  that  got  to  do  with  my  smile? 

CUPID:  In  a  word:  Plenty!  A  sparkling  smile  depends 
largely  on  firm,  healthy  gums.  And  Ipana  not  only 
cleans  teeth.  It's  specially  designed,  with  massage, 
to  help  your  gums.  Massage  a  little  extra  Ipana  on  your 
gums  when  you  brush  your  teeth  and  you'll  help 
yourself  to  healthier  gums  and  sounder  teeth.  And 
a  smile  full  of  sparkle!  Start  today,  Sugar! 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


IPANA  and  MASSAGE 


»M  B      1718  3 


M4m 


We're  off  on  our  tandem  in  a  whirl  of 
delight!  We've  just  seen  M-G-M's  high- 
spirited  new  musical  hit.  "Two  Sisters 
From  Boston",  and — oh,  those  sisters! 

★     ★     ★  ★ 

It's  a  youthful,  exuberant  romance  of 
New  York  at  the  turn  of  the  century — 
those  flamboyant  days  when  it  was  defi- 
nitely naughty  for  a  young  lady  to  show 
her  limbs — no  matter  how  attractive! 


Kathryn  Grayson  and  June  Allyson  are 
thoroughly  delightful  as  the  two  capri- 
cious Back-Bay  sisters  who  venture  from 
their  quiet,  cultured  world  into  the 
hurly-burly  world  they're  curious  about. 
And  we  do  mean  hurly-burly ! 

★     ★     ★  ★ 

Jimmy  Durante 
shouts  delirious  dit 
ties  in  a  Bowery  beer 
hall. 


★  ★     ★  * 

The  great  metropoli- 
tan Opera  tenor, 
Lauritz  Melchior, 
throws  his  magnificent  voice  into  the 
finest  songs. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Peter  Lawford  figures  in  it,  too.  He 
meets  one  sister,  falls  in  love,  meets  the 
other  sister,  falls  in  love,  and — well, 
it's  a  story  as  flip  and  flirtatious  as  a 
bustle. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

And  the  songs!  Tunesmiths  Sammy 
Fain  and  Ralph  Freed  have  spiced  some 
swell  new  melodies  with  a  trace  of  nos- 
talgia that  suits  our  taste  to  perfection. 
And  everybody  sings! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Produced  by  Joe  Pasternak  (the  "An- 
chors Aweigh"  man),  expertly  directed 
by  Henry  Koster,  filmed  from  the  origi- 
nal screen  play  by  Myles  Connolly, 
with  additional  dialogue  by  James 
O'Hanlon  and  Harry  Crane — "Two 
Sisters  from  Boston"  definitely  belongs 
in  the  M-G-M  family  of  hits! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Do  you  gather  we've 
gone  and  fallen  for 
"Two  Sisters  From 
Boston"?  In  the  im- 
mortal words  of  our 
friend  Schnozzola- 
'  'Ha-cha-cha-cha !" 

-£ea 


modern  screen 


MAY,  1946 


stories 


*  MODERN  SCREEN  THROWS  A  PARTY!   30 

*  HUSBANDS  ARE  WONDERFUL  (Shirley  Temple)   38 

'ESTHER  WILLIAMS  LIFE  STORY,  part  one   40 

THE  LONG  AND  SHORT  OF  IT  (Gregory  Peck)   44 

"ADVENTURE"  (with  Clark  Gable,  Greer  Garson  and  loan  Blondell)   46 

MORE  THAN  WORDS  CAN  SAY  (lean  Pierre  Aumont)   48 

DARLING  DAUGHTER  (Peggy  Ann  Garner)   50 

THE  ANDREWS  GANG  (Dana  Andrews)   52 

•WATCH  LIZABETH  SCOTT!  by  Hedda  Hopper   54 

•BUNNIES  'N  EGGS  'N  EVERYTHING  (Kiddie  Easter  Party)   56 

•DIVINE  SWEDE  (Ingrid  Bergman)   58 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons   60 

*color  pages 

LIEUT.  GENE  KELLY,  M-G-M  star   34 

SHIRLEY  TEMPLE,  in  Columbia's  "Kiss  and  Tell"   38 

ESTHER  WILLIAMS,  in  M-G-M's  "The  Hoodlum  Saint"   42 

LIZABETH  SCOTT,  in  Paramount's  "The  Strange  Love  of  Martha  Ivers"   54 

INGRID  BERGMAN  in  RKO's  "Bells  of  St.  Mary's"    58 

DIANA  LYNN  in  Paramount's  "The  Bride  Wore  Boots"   71 

features 

EDITORIAL  PAGE   29 

departments 

MOVIE  REVIEWS:  by  Virginia  Wilson   6 

INFORMATION  DESK   16 

CO-ED:  by  Jean  Kinkead   IB 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather   22 

SUPER  COUPON   24 

BEAUTY:  "Emergency  Station"   66 

RADIO:  "Ed  Sullivan  Speaking"   68 

'FASHION:  by  Toussia  Pines   71 

COOKING:  "Chez  LaRue"   94 

COVER:  ESTHER  WILLIAMS  IN  M-G-M'S  "THE  HOODLUM  SAINT." 
COVER  AND  COLOR  PORTRAITS  OF  LIZABETH  SCOTT  AND  INGRID  BERGMAN  BY  WILLINGEF 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor    HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


MAGDA  MASKELL,  western  manager 
JANE  WILKIE,  western  editor 
MIRIAM  GHIDALIA,  associate  editor 
BERYL  STOLLER,  assistant  editor 
OTTO  STORCH,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 


JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 
GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 
BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 
SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  service  dept. 
TOUSSIA  PINES,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 
Vol.  32,  No.  6,  May,  1946.  Copyrisht,  1946,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J 
Chicago  Advertising  office,  360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  anc 
Canada.  U.  S.  subscription  price,  $1.50  a  year.  Canadian  subscription,  $1.80  a  year.  Foreign  subscription 
$2.70  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  o 
March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  char 
acters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name  of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence 
Trademark  No.  301778. 


A  HENRY  KOSTER  PRODUCTION  •  Original  Screen  Play  by  MYLES  CONNOLLY 
Additional  Dialogue  by  JAMES  O'HANLON  and  HARRY  CRANE 

Directed  by  HENRY  KOSTER   *   Produced  by  JOE  PASTERNAK 

A  METRO -GOLDWYN- MAYER  PICTURE 


BEAUTY  BANDS  pi,, 


For  proper  make-up  and  cleans- 
ing, never  allow  cream  to  get 
into  hairline  .  .  .  yet,  always  be 
sure  to  clean  all  the  way  to  it. 
To  "hold  that  line",  use  easy- 
to-make  Sitroux  Beauty  Bands! 
First,  fold  Sitroux  Tissue  diag- 
onally, to  form  triangle  as  above. 


Second  step— pin  Sitroux  Tissue 
triangle  securely  to  hair  on  each 
side,  with  hairpins  or  bobbies. 


Third— tuck  top  flap  under  and 
you're  all  set!  Soft,  absorbent 
Sitroux  is  ideal  for  removing 
cream,  too  —  for  toning  down 
make-up  —  and  dozens  of  other 
daily  "beauty- duties".  Caution: 
never  waste  Sitroux !  * 


wi,h  matenol  shortag^  ^  ^  ^ 
lion  difficulties  .  .  •  as 
our  .evel  b*Jo»P^bl..  And, 

^-"^'^rbletder  present 

~BdWten,oU0,- ^  e-fonondthonks.. 
patience-our  app 


SITROUX 

sfiSS  TISSUES 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

tAi-ctdze  tjiivne  ^Alubtc 

■  So  you  loved  Bambi?  And  fell  in  love  with  Snow  White?  And  adored 
Dopey  and  chuckled  with  Pinocchio  and  gasped  over  "Fantasia?"'  Well,  lock 
them  all  in  your  memory  book  and  make  way  for  bigger  and  better  things 
because  they  were  only  the  beginning,  folks;  only  the  beginning.  Yes,  Walt 
Disney  has  done  it  again!  This  time  it's  "Make  Mine  Music,"  technically, 
"ten  acts  of  vaudeville  in  cartoon  technique,"  actually,  the  gayest,  most  un- 
believable assemblage  of  ballet  and  fantasy  and  romance  and  music  you've 
ever  come  across. 

The  Andrews  Sisters  are  in  it,  crooning  their  hearts  out  over  the  blighted 
romance  of  "Johnny  Fedora  and  Alice  Blue  Bonnet,"  and  Nelson  "Willie  the 
Whale"  Eddy  and  Jerry  Colonna  and  Andy  Russell  and  Dinah  Shore 
and  Benny  Goodman  and,  oh,  an  endless  assortment  of  "live"  talent  lending 
their  voices  and  personalities  to  the  magical  Disney  little  people. 

Take  Willie  the  Whale,  for  instance.  Willie's  such  a  nice  guy,  all  ten  tons 
of  him,  and  all  he  wants  out  of  life  is  an  opportunity  to  sing  at  the  Metro- 
politan Opera.  That's  not  much  to  ask,  is  it?  But  nobody's  ever  heard  of 
Willie  except  his  little  friends,  the  penguins  and  seals,  who  loll  around  the 
North  Pole  with  him  and  flip  their  flappers  to  beat  the  band  when  Willie 
lets  loose  with  a  tenor  aria.  Or  baritone.  Or  bass  or  contralto — or  a  duet. 
You  see,  Willie's  a  very  unusual  whale — he  can  sing  any  range  in  the  register, 
and  sometimes  all  at  once!  Anyhow,  one  day,  Tetti-Tatti,  this  broken  down 
impresario  out  in  New  York,  hears  about  Willie  and  decides  to  set  sail  and 
capture  this  most  remarkable  mammal.  But  as  he  nears  the  Pole,  he  imagines 
he  hears  the  voice  of  his  favorite  tenor  who's  been  lost  at  sea,  and  thinking 
to  kill  Willie  and  thus  release  the  swallowed  singer,  he  lets  fly  with  a  harpoon 
and — oh,  woe! — Willie  ascends  to  Whale  Heaven!  But  there's  a  fadeout  and 
presto,  Willie's  at  the  Met,  all  ten  tons  of  him,  singing  {Continued  on  page  8) 


One  of  "Music's"  heroes:  Willie  the  Whale  (sunq  by  Nelson  Eddy) ,  who  loves  to  sing  opera. 


•  HELEN  WALKER  ■  REGINALD  GARDINER 

RICHARD  HAYDN  ■  MARGARET  BANNERMAN  •  SARA  ALLGOOD  •  ERNEST  COSSART 

<w %i*ected <vERNST  L U B I T S C H 


»  REGINALD  OWEN  •  sir  c.  aubrey  smith 

FLORENCE  BATES  •  UNA  O'CONNOR 

Play  by  Samuel  Hoffenstein  and  Elizabeth  Reinhardt  ■  Based  on  the  Novel  by  Margery  Sharp 


II 


and  be  MURING 


says  glamorous 


Starring  in 
"Why  Girls  Leave  Home" 
A  PRC  Production 

"I  Depend  on  these 
Wonderful  Rich  Creams 
containing  OLIVE  OIL" 

You,  too,  can  get  glorious  instant  relief 
from  dry  skin  with  amazing  Lander's 
Cold  Cream  with  Olive  Oil. 

It's  heavenly  the  way  this  special 
formula  cream  makes  dry  skin  softer 
and  smoother  at  once!  Use  it  for  every 
purpose— cleansing,  overnight  and  as 
a  flattering  foundation  for  makeup. 
Your  beauty  blooms! 

And  to  make  rough,  dry  hands  look 
and  feel  like  white  velvet,  just  you  try 
Lander's  Hand  Cream  with  Olive  Oil. 
Get  both  these  exquisite  creams  at 
your  10^  store  today. 


WITH  OLIVE  OIL 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

{Continued  from  page  6) 


"Mephistopheles,"  "Pagliacci,"  the  quartet 
from  "Rigoletto,"  the  sextet  from  "Lucia" 
and  finally,  in  an  overwhelming  burst  of 
pride,  a  one  hundred  voice  chorus!  Willie's 
indeed  a  wonder. 

Jerry  Colonna  makes  his  cartoon  debut 
as  the  contortion-voiced  narrator  for  that 
old  standby,  "Casey  at  the  Bat,"  while 
it's  the  King's  Men  who  provide  the  musi- 
cal background  for  the  rollicking  back- 
woods ballad,  "The  Martins  and  the  Coys." 
Then  there's  the  haunting  ballet,  "Two 
Silhouettes,"  a  joint-jumping  version  of 
"All  the  Cats  Join  In,"  complete  with 
bobby-sockers,  rug  cutting  and  Benny 
Goodman,  and  a  wistful  Sterling  Holloway 
reciting  "Peter  and  the  Wolf." 

There's  so  much  entertainment  to  talk 
and  rave  about  in  "Make  Mine  Music"  that 
words  can  scarcely  cover  the  whole  deal, 
but  if  you  like  music  and  color  and  imagi- 
nation, go  see  this. — RKO 

P.  S. 

In  "Make  Mine  Music,"  Disney  has 
created  a  new  art  jorm,  the  ballad-ballet. 
In  a  ballet  duet,  through  a  new  technique 
of  animation  and  direct  photography  com- 
bined, the  dancers  look  as  if  they're  soar- 
ing and  flying,  which  all  ballet  principals 
dream  of  doing,  but  can  never  quite 
achieve — tiil  Disney  did  it  for  them!.  .  . 
Critics  applauded  the  way  in  which  ??iixsic 
and  story  are  combined  into  a  single 
dramatic  medium;  nowhere  in  the  movie 
does  the  picture  pause  for  the  music,  or 
vice  versa.  .  .  .  For  operatic  scene  of  "The 
Whale  Who  Wanted  To  Sing  At  The  Met," 
Disney  created  a  miniature,  complete  opera 
— perhaps  the  shortest  ever  written,  taking 
only  14  minutes  to  be  performed.  He  rea- 
soned that  since  opera  tended  for  a  gen- 
eration to  become  shorter  and  shorter,  and 
since  it  is  content  and  not  length  that  makes 
a  good  opera,  the  life  of  Wiilie  the  Whale 
needed  lots  of  interest  rather  than  lots  of 
time!  .  .  .  Remember  the  immortal  "Casey 
At  The  Bat,"  the  poem  about  the  mighty 
hitter  who  struck  out?  The  epic  baseball 
poem  of  pride  going  before  a  fall  on  the 
diamond,  is  set  to  music  for  the  first  time 
here.  .  .  .  New  process  invented  for  the  pic- 
ture is  a  recording  technique  which  changes 
the  register  of  a  voice  from  low  to  high 
and  back  again,  still  keeping  the  original 
quality  of  the  voice.  Disney  boasts  that 
each  time  he  invents  a  new  process,  it 
eventually  becomes  part  of  the  motion  pic- 
ture industry. 

GILDA 

When  Grandpa  was  a  young  blade,  they 
called  the  swivel-hipped  ladies  "hootchy- 
kootchy"  girls.  Nowadays,  the  polite  term 
is  "ballroom  dancers,"  but  no  matter  what 
you  call  it,  it's  still  sex,  and  it  still 
appeals. 

Gilda  (Rita  Hayworth)  is  the  hubba- 
hubba  babe  of  Buenos  Aires,  greedy  as  a 
cat,  beautiful  as  sin,  but  underneath  all 
the  slink,  inside,  still  good.  She  was  in  love 
once  and  was  hurt  so  she's  made  up  her 
mind  never  to  let  it  happen  again.  That's 
why,  when  Ballin  Mundson  (George  Mac- 
ready)  ,  sinister,  suave  owner  of  the  casino, 
insists  "anything  I  want,  I  get,  even  if  I 
have  to  buy  it,"  she's  willing  to  listen.  For 
Mundson  is  willing  to  pay  a  big  price — 
he's  willing  to  marry  her.  So  for  a  while 
she's  content  until  one  night,  Ballin  brings 
his  trusted  friend,  Johnny  (Glenn  Ford)  up 
to  meet.  her.  Johnny's  young,  as  young  as 
she,  and  an  American  also,  but  he's  devoted 
to  Ballin,  who  picked  him  up  out  of  a  dark 


alley  one  night  when  a  bunch  of  sailors 
decided,  via  a  gun  in  his  back,  that  shoot- 
ing crap  with  loaded  dice  wasn't  exactly 
Emily  Post.  Ballin  is  at  first  puzzled,  then 
suspicious,  when  his  two  most  treasured 
possessions  show  a  mutual  hatred  on  sight, 
but  watch  and  wait,  he  decides,  watch 
and  wait. 

But  Ballin  hasn't  long  to  wait  because  he 
hasn't  watched  closely  enough.  It  turns  out 
he's  head  of  an  international  cartel  monop- 
olizing the  world's  supply  of  tungsten,  a 
valuable  war  mineral,  and  the  Nazis,  for 
whom  he  has  been  fronting,  don't  want 
to  play  ball  his  way  any  more.  In  fact, 
they  get  so  impatient,  that  Ballin  is  forced 
to  shoot  one  of  them  and  then  simulate 
suicide  in  order  to  get  the  secret  police 
off  his  trail. 

Unfortunately,  Johnny  and  Gilda  don't 
know  that  the  suicide's  a  fake,  so  when 
Mrs.  Mundson's  widow's  weeds  are  only  a 
week  old,  they  marry.  Wouldn't  you  think 
they'd  live  happily  ever  after?  Especially 
after  Johnny  discovers  that  Gilda  has  been 
true  to  him  all  along — spiritually,  anyhow. 
But  what  good  does  i.  do  when  bingo,  there's 
Ballin,  arisen  from  the  dead  with  a  dagger 
in  one  hand  and  a  nasty,  "I  mean  you!" 
look  in  his  eye  .  .  . — Col. 

P.  S. 

Rita  Hayworth  turns  dramatic  in  "Gilda." 
The  studio's  announcement  that  the  glamor 
girl  was  saying  goodbye  to  musicals  brought 
a  storm  of  protest  from  GIs  all  over  the 
world.  In  answer  tc  the  flood  of  requests 
that  Rita  continue  showing  her  legs  and 
swinging  her  hips,  the  studio  wrote  two 
songs  into  the  script.  "Put  the  Blame  on 
Maine,  Boys"  is  a  torchy  lament,  and 
"Amado  Mio"  comes  out  in  the  middle  of  a 
samba  sequence.  For  the  rest  of  the  pic- 
ture, Rita  gives  with  her  first  straight 
acting  part  since  her  career  began.  .  .  . 
The  star  wears  twenty-nine  different  out- 
fits in  the  picture,  including  a  chinchilla 
evening  wrap  worth  $65,000  and  a  sleeveless 
ermine  cloak,  valued  at  S35,000  .  .  .  "Gilda" 
is  Ford's  second  picture  since  his  return  to 
civilian  life,  the  first  having  been  "Stolen 
Life"  with  Bette  Davis.  The  character  he 
portrays  in  "Gilda"  is  a  nefarious  gent  who 
isn't  averse  to  dealing  off  the  bottom  of  the 
deck,  or  using  loaded  dice.  When  director 
Charles  Vidor  asked  if  Glenn  needed  in- 
struction for  the  crap  shooting  scenes, 
Glenn  grinned.  "You  forget,"  he  said,  "that 
I  was  in  the  Marine  Corps  for  more  than 
two  years."  .  .  .  The  picture  reunites  the 
trio  of  talents  responsible  for  "Cover  Girl" 
— Rita  Hayworth,  director  Charles  Vidor 
and  Producer-writer  Virginia  Van  Upp. 

SO   GOES  MY  LOVE 

This  is  one  of  those  sweet,  gentle  pic- 
tures that  send  you  out  of  the  theater  all 
relaxed  and  chuckly.  Its  story  opens  with 
Jane  Budden  (Myrna  Loy),  dignified  and 
fashionable  as  all  get-out,  trying  to  wheedle 
the  best  price  possible  out  of  the  Williams 
Packing  Company  for  her  load  of  pigs. 
"You  see,  the  more  money  you  give  me," 
she  explains,  "the  sooner  I  can  go  to 
Brooklyn  to  get  married."  "And  who's  the 
lucky  man,  mum?"  asks  Mr.  Williams. 
"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  breezes  Jane,  "I 
haven't  met  him  yet — but  he's  sure  going 
to  be  rich!" 

Which  is  why  she's  so  furious  with  her- 
self for  being  attracted  to  the  man  sitting 
next  to  her  on  the  Brooklyn  Rapid  Transit 
horse-drawn  trolley.  He's  certainly  not 
handsome,  probably  not  rich  and  obviously 


I 


CROSS  LADD... AND 
YOU'VE  DOUBLE-CROSSED 

YOURSELF.' 
Fool  around  Ladd's  woman 
...and  you're  a  fool!  For 
Ladd's  gun  and  Ladd's  fists 
say  you  can't  get  away  with 
that,  brother  —  not  in  his 
territory! 


With  the  three  famous  finds  of 
"The  Lost  Weekend"  including 
that  now-famous  'natch'  girl! 


HOWARD  da  SILVA 


A  GEORGE  MARSHALL  Production 

mi'th 

Howard  da  Silva 

Doris  Dowling  •  Tom  Powers  •  Frank  Faylen 

Produced  by  John  Houseman  •  Directed  by  George  Marshall 
Written  by  Raymond  Chandler 
A  Paramount  Picture 


When  hearts  are  one  and  time 

stands  still  .  .  .  your  watch  must 
Carry  on.  Guard  each  tender 
precious  moment  with  the 
accuracy  of  a  WELSBRO — • 
fittingly  beautiful. 


"  £r  Jewe/ers 

WELSBRO  ~ 

WEISSMAN  WATCH  CO..  20  W.  47th  ST.,  NEW  YORK.  N.V. 


crazy.  Without  a  doubt  crazy.  Why,  at 
one  corner,  he  had  the  nerve  to  stop  the 
coach,  run  out  and  pelt  a  passing  wedding 
party  with  rice  and  then  settle  back  with  a 
calm,  "No,  I  don't  know  the  couple— I  just 
like  to  throw  things  at  people." 

Things  go  from  bad  to  ridiculous  when 
Janie  discovers  that  the  rice-throwing  man 
from  the  coach  lives  right  next  door.  His 
name  is  Hiram  Maxim  (Don  Ameche) ,  he's 
a  penniless  inventor  and  she's  scared  silly 
she's  falling  in  love  and  might  even  marry 
him.  Until  that  day  when  he  tells  her  she's 
unbelievably  lovely — and  would  she  mind 
keeping  her  claws  off  him!  But  as  though 
to  make  up  for  his  outrageous  behavior, 
Hiram  tells  Jane  he's  decided  to  find  her  a 
husband  and  does  such  a  thorough  job  of  it 
that  within  weeks  the  cards  announcing 
"the  engagement  of  Miss  Jane  Budden  to 
Mr.  Josephus  Ford"  have  been  printed. 
Josephus  (Richard  Gaines)  is  a  most 
generous  stuffed  shirt  and  would  have  gone 
through  with  the  marriage  if  he  hadn't  dis- 
covered his  fiancee  in  the  arms  of  that 
Maxim  man. 

So  he  doesn't  marry  her.  But  Hiram 
does.  And  in  time  they  get  little  Percy,  lit- 
tler Florence,  a  nomination  to  the  Hall  of 
Science  and  into  trouble  with  Magel,  the 
portrait  painter,  who  doesn't  like  dogs  with 
spots.   Or  crazy  inventors  .  .  . — Univ. 

P.  S. 

History  repeats  itself  when  Don  Ameche 
is  again  given  the  role  of  an  inventor.  This 
time  he  plays  Hiram  Maxim,  the  father  of 
the  script's  author,  Percy  Maxim.  The 
younger  Maxim  wrote  the  story  of  his 
father's  life,  embellished  with  a  love  affo.ir 
and  thickened  with  weird  gadgets  whipped 
up  by  the  inventor  .  .  .  Myrna  hoy's  role  is 
her  first  on  the  screen  in  a  year  and-a-half, 


and  her  second  in  four  years.  Aside  from 
her  salary  for  the  picture,  Miss  hoy  added 
to  her  coffers  when  she  sent  geologists  to 
her  Montana  ranch  to  prospect  for  silver 
.  .  .  Bobby  Driscoll,  the  sprout  who  ap- 
peared as  the  youngest  son  in  "The  Sulli- 
vans" — the  one  who  copped  the  picture  by 
yelling  "Hey,  fellas,  wait  for  me" — spent  his 
spare  time  on  the  set  making  small  pray- 
ers. He  had  lost  his  first  baby  teeth  and 
pleaded  daily  with  his  Maker  to  see  that 
the  adult  teeth  "came  in  buck"  .  .  .  During 
the  filming  of  the  movie,  Ameche  bought 
an  interest  in  a  professional  football  team 
which,  added  to  his  stable  of  horses,  makes 
him  a  runner-up  with  Bing  for  interest  in 
sports. 

WAKE  UP  AND  DREAM 

"Wake  Up  and  Dream"  is  about  an  old 
man  who  forgot  to  grow  up  and  a  little 
girl  who  helped  him. 

Everybody  in  town  said  that  old  Henry 
Pecket  (Clem  Bevans)  was  "teched"  and 
good-for-nothing  and  lazy  because  he 
thought  things  out  a  little  different  from 
most  folks.  Old  Henry  loved  the  sea  and 
even  though  he  lived  inland  300  miles  from 
the  nearest  body  of  water,  it  kind  of  seemed 
natural  to  him  to  spend  all  his  free  time 
building  a  ship,  the  "Sara  March."  It  wasn't 
an  ordinary  ship,  but  a  boat  with  wheels 
and  a  land  rudder  that  maybe  some  day, 
if  the  danged  government  ever  woke  up 
and  accepted  it  for  war  duty,  would  take 
to  water  like  a  duck  to  a  pond.  Mr.  Pecket 
was  captain  of  the  craft  and  Nella  (Connie 
Marshall),  little  orphaned  Nella  who  lived 
with  Jeff  (John  Payne)  as  his  make-believe 
sister,  was  first  mate.  They  had  rare  "let's 
pretend"  times  together,  these  two,  sailing 
through  treacherous  waters  and  getting 
shipwrecked  and  discovering  pirate  gold 


free  OFFER! 

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QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  May  issue?  Write  1,  2,  3 
at  the  right  of  your  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  choices. 


Darling  Daughter  ( Peggy  Ann 

Garner)   D 

The  Andrews  Gang  (Dana  An- 
drews)  □ 

Watch  Lizabeth  Scott!  by  Hedda 
Hopper   □ 

Bunnies  'n'  Eggs  'n'  Everything 

(Easter  Party)   □ 

Divine  Swede  ( Ingrid  Bergman)  .  .  .  .  □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 


Modern  Screen  Throws  a  Party.  .  . 

Husbands  Are  Wonderful  ( Shirley 
Temple)  □ 

Esther  Williams'  Life  Story  (Part  1)  .  □ 

The  Long  and  Short  of  It  (Greg- 
ory Peck)  □ 

"Adventure"  (Production  Story)  .  .  .□ 

More  Than  Words  Can  Say  (Jean 
Pierre  Aumont)  D 

Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?   List  them  1,  2,  3, 

in  order  of  preference  

My  name  is  

My  address  is  City   Zone   State  

I  am  years  old. 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


V 


FOUR  UNFORGETTABLE  DRAMATIC  STARS  IN  THE  DRAMA  VOU'LL  REMEMBER  THEM  FOR! 

IDA  LUPINO  •  PAUL  HENREID 

OLIVIA  DE  HAVILLAND-SYDNEY  GREENSTREET 

\N  THE  NEW 


PrCTUHE 
MONTH! 


' NANCY  COLEMAN-ARTHUR  HENNEDY-DAME  MAY  WHITTY -  Vf CTOR  FRANCEN 

DIRECTED  81  CURTIS  BERNHARDT  ^*'VR^i§8£g3l&!^'*m 


f  HE     WESTMORES     OF      HOLLYWOOD      BRING  YOU 


A  group  of  seven  exciting,  lipstick  colors 
created  in  Hollywood  for  the  Hollywood  stars.  Try 
DANGER  SIGNAL— the  newest 
shade  of  these  7  Hollywood  Reds! 


Bud  Weslmore,  who,  with  his  brothers  Wally  and  Perc,  comprise  the  world-famous 
trio  of  Hollywood  make-up  artists,  creators  of  the  popular  Westmore  lipstick,  rouge, 
face  powder,  creams  and  Westmore's  Overglo  Make-up  Foundation. 


and  always  knowing  that  no  matter  how 
rough  the  seas  got,  there  was  a" ways  The 
Island  to  come  back  to. 

Jenny  (June  Haver)  believed  in  The 
Island,  too,  even  though  she'd  never  been 
there,  what  with  her  job  at  Mr.  Agrippa's 
lunch  wagon.  And  her  heart  always  missed 
a  beat  every  time  that  lanky  Jeff  clod- 
hopped  into  the  eatery  with  his  tattered 
farmer's  overalls  and  that  infuriating  habit 
he  had  of  calling  her  "m'am."  You  see, 
Jenny  loved  Jeff  and  Jeff  loved  Jenny 
and  they  were  both  too  poor  and  both  too 
proud  to  mention  it.  But  when  the  day  came 
for  him  to  announce  that  he  was  joining 
up,  it  was  Nella  who  cried  and  made  z  fuss 
and  it  wasn't  until  Jeff  promised  she'd  al- 
ways be  able  to  find  him  on  The  Island  that 
she  calmed  down.  And  ran  away  from 
Cousin  Wilbur's  where  she  was  supposed  to 
live  for  the  duration,  to  Mr.  Pecket's  ship. 

Like  Jenny,  who  was  visiting  old  Henry 
at  the  time,  said  right  after  the  ship  snap- 
ped her  moorings,  wishing  will  so  make  it 
so.  Here  they  were,  300  miles  from  water, 
and  the  Sara  March  was  gaily  sailing, 
woosh,  right  into  the  river! 

The  whole  thing  might  have  been  fun, 
at  that,  if  Nella  hadn't  brought  out  that 
letter  she'd  just  received  from  Jeff,  the 
one  that  said,  "We  regret  to  inform  you.  .  ." 
But  as  we  said,  for  the  young  in  heart, 
nothing's  impossible,  not  even  finding  a 
sweetheart  on  an  island  that  doesn't 
exist  .  .  .—20th-Fox. 

P.  S. 

John  Payne  was  a  happy  boy  to  at  last 
land  a  role  in  a  non-musical  film.  He's  been 
trying  to  get  away  jrom  the  song-and-dance 
routines  for  years,  and  finally  made  it  with 
"Wake  Up  and  Dream."  He  sings  one 
song  in  the  picture,  "Give  Me  the  Simple 
Life,"  as  he  drives  a  horse  along  a  country 
road.  "It's  a  song,"  says  John,  "but  it's 
without  benefit  of  chorus  girls"  . .  .Although 
June  Haver  doesn't  smoke,  the  script  in- 
cluded a  scene  which  called  for  June  to  puff  on 
a  cigarette.  Director  Bacon  was  afraid  she'd 
pick  up  the  habit,  and  refused  to  let  her 
smoke  except  in  the  final  take,  all  of  which 
highly  amused  the  star  .  .  .  While  the  pic- 
ture was  being  filmed,  June  received  an 
invitation  to  be  present  at  a  camp  in  Texas 
where  a  ship  was  to  be  named  after  her. 
June  stayed  in  Hollywood  and  worked, 
and  without  her  actual  presence,  the  crew 
of  the  B-29  christened  their  ship  the 
"Gotta  Haver!" 

THE  MAN  EV  GREY 

Hollywood  actors  had  better  keep  a  wary 
eye  on  a  couple  of  Englishmen  named 
James  Mason  and  Stewart  Granger.  They 
are  apt  to  walk  right  off  with  the  honors 
in  the  romantic  department  and  both  of 
them  appear  in  "The  Man  In  Grey."  The 
story  begins  at  a  London  auction  of  the 
Rohan  family  treasures,  which  include  a 
portrait  of  Lord  Rohan  called  "The  Man 
In  Grey."  Then  it  flashes  back  to  the 
Regency  period,  when  Rohan  (James 
Mason)  was  a  young  blade,  and  his  future 
wife,  Clarissa  (Phyllis  Calvert),  was  a 
schoolgirl. 

Clarissa  is  as  sweet  as  sugar  candy,  and 
as  pretty  as  a  birthday  cake.  She  is  adored 
by  all  her  schoolmates,  but  she  chooses  for 
her  best  friend  a  strange,  solitary  girl 
named  Hester  (Margaret  Lockwood). 
No  one  approves  her  choice,  since  Hester  is 
just  a  charity  pupil  and  has  a  nasty  dis- 
position, besides.  Even  a  passing  gypsy 
who  tells  the  girls'  fortunes  warns  Clarissa 
against  her.  One  day  Hester  elopes  from 
school  with  a  penniless  young  ensign. 
Clarissa  leaves  soon  after  to  go  to  London, 
where  she  becomes  the  belle  of  the  season. 
Her  aunt  marries  her  off  to  Lord  Rohan, 
who  is  a  catch  socially  and  financially,  but 


wh:  wants  nothing  except  an  heir. 

Clarissa  is  desperately  unhappy,  even 
after  her  son  is  born.  She  is  scarcely  al- 
lowed to  see  him,  and  she  feels  very  alone 
in  the  world,  since  Rohan  makes  no  pre- 
tense of  caring  for  her.  Naturally  she  is 
delighted  when  sloe  meets  He;:e:  again. 
The  girl  is  new  an  actress — a  profession 
definitely  Itched  ::vt.  upon  in  those  nays, 
but  Clarissa  takes  her  into  her  home  as  a 
companion.  Rohan  opposes  this  at  first, 
until  he  gets  another  look  at  Hester.  Soon 
his  affair  with  Hester  is  known  to  every- 
one in  London  except  Clarissa,  who  is 
probably  the  dumbest  blonde  on  record. 
But  soon  she  has  a  romance  of  her  own, 
with  a  handsome,  dashing  wanderer  named 
Rokeby  (Stewart  Granger).  He  offers  Clar- 
issa all  that  her  marriage  lacked.  The  sit- 
uation is  too  packed  with  dynamite  to  go 
for  long  without  an  explosion. — Univ. 

P.  S. 

Although  George  Arliss  has  retired  from 
the  screen  and  is  living  the  life  of  ease  in 
rural  England,  two  members  of  his  family 
are  carrying  on  the  theatrical  tradition. 
Leslie  Arliss.  his  cousin,  directed  "The  Man 
in  Grey"  and  Ruth  Woodham,  a  niece,  has 
her  first  important  screen  role  in  the  pic- 
ture. .  .  .  James  Stewart  is  the  given  name 
of  Stewart  Granger,  icho  portrays  Rokeby. 
The  name  change  occurred  after  Granger 
was  vceU  on  his  way  to  stardom  using  his 
own  name.  "There  just  isn't  enough  room 
for  tiro  James  Steve  arts"  he  says.  .  .  .  The 
sword  svcallowing  sequence  in  the  carnival 
scene  was  done  by  Alexander  Dour  of,  the 
son  of  a  Cossack  circus  ovener.  He  used  a 
sword,  given  to  him  by  an  army  officer  in 
World  War  I.  It  is  twenty-seven  inches 
long,  and  eighteen  of  the  inches  disappear 
down  his  throat. 

TA1YGEERS 

Cesspool  of  filth,  hotbed  of  intrigue, 
spawning  ground  e'er  tantalizing  native  girls 
and  hot,  smoky  romance — -Tangiers.  Tan- 
giers.  melting  pot  of  North  Africa  and 
hideout  for  the  hunted  and  the  hunters. 

So,  as  all  roads  once  led  to  Rome,  now 
this  tiny  Fascist-ruled  town  sprawling  a 
few  miles  across  the  strait  from  Gibraltar 
welcomes  the  dregs  of  Nazidom  flushed 
from  their  lairs  by  the  recent  Allied  vic- 
tory. And  so.  inevitably,  it  is  to  Tangiers 
that  Fernandez  (Reginald  Denny)  es- 
capes with  the  huge  stolen  diamond  with 
which  he  hopes  to  ransom  his  way  to 
freedom.  But  there  are  others  in  Tangiers 
equally  desperate  for  the  money  and  power 
the  jewel  can  provide:  Balizar.  powerful, 
unknown  Nazi  mystery  man.  Rita  (Maria 
Montez),  who  saw  her  father  and 
brothers  tortured  to  death  in  the  Spanish 
Civil  War.  Dolores  (Louise  AUbritton)  and 
Ramon  (Kent  Taylor),  Spaniards  both, 
who,  with  Rita,  have  signed  on  as  dancers 
at  the  Ritz  Hotel  to  escape  detection  by  the 
police.  And  Paul  Kenyon  (Robert  Paige), 
brash,    clever    American  newspaperman. 

Painstakingly,  each  has  made  a  plan  to 
steal  the  diamond  when  word  comes  that 
Fernandez  has  been  murdered.  But  when 
Colonel  Artiego  (Preston  Foster)  steps  in 
to  solve  the  crime,  each  provides  a  perfect 
alibi  But  the  search  f  or  the  un  kn  own  Fas  cist 
continues  nevertheless.  Rita  is  sure  that 
with  the  jewel  she  can  bait  Balizar  out  of 
hiding  and  thus  avenge  her  family's  death, 
while  Paul,  who  finds  himself  increasingly 
attracted  to  the  fiery  dancer,  realizes  that 
unmasking  the  Nazi  will  result  in  a  world- 
s hiking  "scoop"  tor  him.  Ordered  to  leave 
town  by  the  jealous  Artiego,  Paul  contacts 
Rita  and  forces  her  to  admit  that  it  was  she 
who  stile  the  stone  cut  tnai  it  was  Ramon 
who  killed  Fernandez  in  a  burst  of  jealousy. 
Subtly,  the  net  chokes  closer  and  in  a  tiny 
room  overlooking  the  Ritz  dance  floor,  Rita, 
Paul  Dolores,  Ramon,  Artiego  and  Alee 
Rocco  (J.  Edward  Bromberg),  an  Allied 


Pon't  be  that  kind 
of  a  Cover  Girl  I 


You  can't  cover  up  underarm  odor  — but 
you  can  guard  against  it  with  Mum 

YOU  SIMPLY  can't  resist  perfume.  That 
added  dash  of  fragrance  makes  you 
feel  so  feminine.  So  alluring. 

But  you're  only  fooling  yourself.  For 
even  the  loveliest  of  perfumes  won't  cover 
up  underarm  odor. 

Your  bath  washes  away  past  perspira- 


tion, but  you  still  need  protection  against 
risk  of  future  underarm  odor.  And  Mum  s 
the  word  for  that. 

So  take  30  seconds  to  smooth  on  Mum 
after  even-  bath,  before  every  date.  Snowy- 
white  Mum  keeps  you  sweet— nice  to  be 
near  all  day  or  evening. 

Mum  won't  irritate  your  skin  or  injure 
fabrics.  Quick,  safe,  sure  — you  can  use 
Mum  even  after  dressing.  Won't  dry  out 
in  the  jar.  Ask  for  Mum  today. 

•  •  • 

For  Sanitary  Napkins — Mum  is  gentle,  Safe, 
dependable . . .  ideal  for  this  use,  too. 


Product  oj  Brisl-d-Myers 


Mum 


TAKES  THE  ODOR  OUT  OF 
PERSPIRATION 


JOAN  BENNETT,  STARRING  IN  "SCARLET  STREET"  A  FRITZ  LANG 
PRODUCTION,  RELEASED  BY  UNIVERSAL 


HINT  FROM 


u 


St. 


"FOR  ROMANCE  —  HAVE  SOFT  HANDS."  You  easily  can, 
using  Joan  Bennett's  hand  care— this  famous  Jergens  Lotion. 

Hollywood  Stars,  7  to  I,  use  Jergens  Lotion 

MORE  PERFECT  THAN  EVER,  NOW.     Because  of 
wartime  research  in  skin  care,  Jergens  skin 
scientists  now  make  you  an  even  finer 
Jergens  Lotion. 

"Gives  longer  protection;"  "Hands  feel 
even  softer,  smoother;"  is  verdict  of 
women  who  tested  this  postwar  Jergens. 

Oh,  surely!    Those  2  ingredients,  so  well- 
thought-of  for  skin-smoothing  that  many 
doctors  use  them,  are  still  contained  in 
this  more  effective  Jergens  Lotion. 
On  sale,  now — same  bottle — still  100 
to  $1.00  (plus  tax).     No  objectionable 
oiliness  ;  no  stickiness. 

TZh  1foe  SoffestT  Q&ohaUi  44a 

JERGENS  LOTION 


14  Now  more  Effective  than  ever— thanks  to  Wartime  Research 


secret  agent,  keep  a  rendezvous  with  Bali- 
zar— and  death.  For  someone  in  that  room 
is  Balizar,  and  where  Balizar  lives,  death 
stalks,  too. — Univ. 

P.  S. 

Production  was  held  up  for  two  hours 
because  of  a  scene  calling  for  Robert 
Paige  to  gash  his  face  when  he  walks  into 
a  door.  Director  George  Waggner  insisted 
that  no  break  be  made  in  the  scene  so 
that  audiences  could  know  the  injury  was 
a  fake.  The  problem  was  finally  solved 
by  putting  a  made-up  gash  in  Bob's  hand, 
which  he  slapped  to  his  face  when  he  col- 
lided with  the  door  .  .  .  Four  retakes  were 
necessary  for  a  scene  between  Maria  Mon- 
tez  and  Bob  Paige — all  because  of  some 
fish.  Bob  and  Maria  are  standing  in  front 
of  an  aquarium,  and  every  time  the  scene 
was  shot,  the  fish  would  crowd  to  front 
and  center.  It  was  discovered  that  they 
were  attracted  by  the  strong  spotlights. 
Louise  Albritton  liked  her  'movie  boudoir' 
so  well  that  when  production  was  com- 
pleted she  bought  the  set's  furnishings  and 
installed  them  in  her  own  apartment  .  .  . 
The  picture  was  made  during  the  time  of 
butter  rationing  and  a  half-pound  slab 
used  as  prop  sold  for  a  $100  war  bond. 

SENTIMENTAL  JOURNEY 

"I'll  do  anything,  anything  you  say,  doc- 
tor, only  please  don't  tell  Bill."  Old  Doctor 
Miller  (Sir  Cedric  Hardwicke)  shakes  his 
head,  he  never  did  approve  of  Julie's 
(Maureen  O'Hara)  attitude  towards  her 
husband  Bill  (John  Payne)  was  no  baby, 
far  from  it.  Bill  was  William  Weatherly, 
who  had  written  and  produced  three  of 
Julie's  greatest  acting  triumphs.  And  now 
Julie  was  dying,  her  heart  couldn't  take 
the  hectic  Broadway  pace,  and  Bill  must 
still  be  spoiled  and  pampered,  because  Bill 
mustn't  be  distracted  during  rehearsals 
for  the  new  play. 

"How  is  she,  doctor?"  asks  Bill  eagerly. 
"She's  going  to — be  all  right,"  Dr.  Miller 
answers  reluctantly.  "But  she  needs  rest." 
"Swell,"  enthuses  Bill.  "We'll  go  on  a  two- 
week  vacation.  That'll  get  us  both  in  shape." 
So  Julie  spends  her  two  weeks  in  bed — 
learning  her  lines  for  the  shew.  When  it 
ccmes  time  for  the  out-of-town  tryout, 
they  pick  a  little  seashore  town  which  is 
the  site  of  a  large  state  orphanage.  Walk- 
ing along  the  beach  one  day,  Julie  meets 
little  Hitty  (Connie  Marshall).  They  take 
to  each  other  immediately  and  when  Julie 
returns  to  New  York,  she  convinces  Bill 
they  should  adopt  the  child  to  make  up  for 
the  baby  they've  always  wanted. 

Hitty  comes  to  live  with  them,  but  it 
doesn't  work  out.  Bill  is  licked  by  the 
youngster's  "out  of  this  world"  manner. 
Julie  and  Hitty  are  alone  in  the  house  one 
night  when  Julie,  steeling  herself  to  tell 
the  child  she  is  to  be  sent  back  to  the 
orphanage,  has  a  heart  attack,  and  dying, 
begs  Hitty  never  to  leave  Bill.  "But  I'll 
always  be  around  whenever  you  need  me," 
she  promises  the  heartbroken  child. 

Julie's  death  is  a  terrific  blow  to  Bill. 
He  can't  bear  seeing  Hitty  around  the 
house,  especially  since  she  tries  so  hard 
to  imitate  Julie  in  order  to  make  up  for 
her  loss.  But  Bill  is  so  unfriendly,  Hitty 
decides  she  must  run  away.  She  is  stum- 
bling along  the  water's  edge,  the  waves 
lapping  dangerously  close,  when  she  hears 
Julie  calling,  "Everything  will  be  all  right 
now,  darling.  Now  we're  really  a  family. 
You  see,  Bill  loves  you,  Hitty."  The  child's 
face  lights  up.  It  must  be  true,  Julie's 
always  right,  and  anyhow,  here's  Bill,  his 
face  twisted  with  worry,  frantically  search- 
ing for  her.  He  runs  over,  swoops  her 
up  in  his  arms.  "We're  going  home,  Hitty," 
he  murmurs.  "We're  going  home,  daugh- 
ter. .  .  ."—20th-Fox. 


P.  s. 


The  clothes  designed  for  Maureen  O'Hara 
made  her  happy  because  they  called  for 
the  new  hour-glass  figure.  Maureen  re- 
laxed happily  and  forgot  about  her  diet. 
She  was  highly  pleased  with  her  two  lead- 
ing men.  John  Payne  and  Glenn  Langan, 
both  of  whom  are  over  six  feet  three 
inches.  Five  feet  seven  inches  herself,  the 
star  has  often  had  to  work  in  her  stocking 
feet  for  closeups.  .  .  .  John  Payne  gets  his 
daily  exercise  from  dumb-bells  and  weight 
lifting  equipment.  Gloria,  de  Haven  ob- 
jected to  the  noise  at  7  a.  m.  so  John 
moved  his  accoutrements  to  his  dressing 
room  at  the  studio.  .  .  .  In  order  to  give  the 
sets  a  feeling  of  well  lived-in  authenticity, 
over  S15,000  worth  of  antique  furniture 
and  decorations  were  used.  .  .  .  Connie 
Marshall,  the  ten-year-old  actress,  tried  to 
sell  Producer  Walter  Morosco  a  story  she 
had  written  as  part  of  her  school  work. 
Morosco  didn't  buy  it  because  by  the  sixth 
page  everyone  had  been  bumped  off  ex- 
cept the  murderer. 

THE  BLUE  DAHLIA 

Whoever  said  crime  doesn't  pay  was 
cuts.  Sure,  it's  a  short  life  and  a  bang- 
bang  one,  but  with  Alan  Ladd  around  to 
squeeze  triggers  (and  heroines),  who 
wants  %to  quibble? 

The  war's  been  long  enough  and  ugly 
enough  to  make  Johnny  Morrison  (Alan 
Ladd).  Buzz  Wanchek  (William  Bendix) 
and  George  Copeland  (Hugh  Beaumont) 
feel  strange  in  a  civilian  world  and  terri- 
bly close  to  each  other.  But  now  that 
they've  been  discharged,  they  know  that 
the  trio  will  have  to  split  up.  Johnny  to 
go  back  to  his  wife,  Buzz  and  George  to 
set  up  a  bachelor  apartment  where  George 
will  try  to  nurse  his  failing  eyesight  and 
seep  an  eye  on  Buzz,  who's  got  a  piece 
of  metal  the  size  of  your  fist  in  his  skull 
!rom  a  shrapnel  wound.  Not  that  Buzz  1 
■vill  need  much  watching  because  as  a  rule 
ne's  okay,  except  for  those  mental  black- 
outs where  he  forgets  where  he's  been  and 
Ahat  he's  done. 

But  Johnny  finds  out  when  he  returns 
iome  to  Helen  (Doris  Dowling),  that  if 
le's  been  seeing  hell  in  the  Pacific,  at  the 
ame  time  his  wife's  been  seeing  a  lot  of 
Dink  elephants,  Eddie  Harwood,  the  owner 
jf  the  Blue  Dahlia  Club  and  some  gener- 
ally unsavory  characters.  Johnny  doesn't 
ike  the  setup  one  bit  and  when  he  catches 
3elen  and  Eddie  (Howard  DaSilva)  in  a 
:linch,  he  lets  fly  with  a  Sunday  punch. 
Iddie's  a  good  sport  about  it.  but  Helen 
s  so  enraged  she  lets  loose  with  her  hay- 
naker.  Dickie,  the  son  Johnny  idolized 
:o,  she  screams,  did  not  die  of  diphtheria, 
is  she'd  written,  he  died  in  a  car  smashup 
hey  were  in  while  she  was  driving,  dead 
Irunk.  Quietly,  Johnny  goes  to  his  room, 
•epacks  his  grip,  throws  his  gun  on  the  sofa 
iear  Helen.  "You're  not  even  worth  Idli- 
ng," he  grits,  and  stalks  out.  But  not  be- 
ore  Dad  Newell,  the  night  watchman,  has 
,mocked  and  said,  '"See  here,  son,  better 
5ull  down  the  shades  next  time  you  want 
o  threaten  your  wife." 

Frightened,  Helen  phones  Buzz  who 
loes  to  see  her  without  telling  anyone. 
They  have  a  drink,  then  two  drinks,  never 
heaming  that  in  the  meantime,  Johnny 
tas  been  picked  up  along  the  road  by  a 
ovely,  wistful  blonde  (Veronica  Lake)  and 
iven  a  hitch  to  Malibu  Beach.  Because 
hey 're  both  lonely  and  miserable,  Johnny 
nd  Joyce  find  themselves  attracted  to 
ach  other  until  the  radio  blares  out  all 
bout  the  murder  at  Cavendish  Court  and 
--at  "Lieut.  Johnny  Morrison,  the  hus- 
and  of  the  dead  woman,  is  suspected." 
This  is  a  whodunit  with  finesse.  Mur- 
er  with  pink  panties. — Para. 


Are  you  in  the  know? 


What's  the  cure  for  this  coiffure? 

□  An  upsweep 

□  A  snood 

□  A  good  thinning  our 


That  bush  on  Nellie's  head  is  strictly  barber-bait! 
The  cure?  A  good  thinning  out.  A  frizzy  effect 
just  can't  compete  with  a  simple,  sleek  coiffure. 
If  your  locks  have  a  moppish  look,  have  vour 
hairdresser  shear  and  shape  them.  Confidence 
goes  with  ?ood  grooming — and  (on  "those"  davs) 
with  Kotex,  too.  That  exclusive  safety  center  of 
Kotex  gives  you  plus  protection.  And  to  safeguard 
vour  daintiness,  Kotex  contains  a  deodorant — 
locked  in  each  napkin  so  it  can't  shake  out. 


If  you're  budget- bound,  which  should  you  buy?  • 

□  A  suit  ; 
1~1  A  conversation  print 

□  A  fancy  formal  '. 

Does  vour  budget  hoot  at  vour  wardrobe 
plans?  Then  pick  one  of  the  new  soft  suits. 
)ou  can  wear  it  more  often — with  varied 
accessories  keyed  to  most  every  occasion. 
Be  a  shrewd  shopper.  Always  latch  on  to 
the  type  of  duds  you  can  keep  living  with, 
longer.  And  when  buying  sanitary  napkins, 
remember — you  can  keep  comfortable 
with  Kotex.  Because  Kotex  is  the  napkin 
with  lasting  softness  —  made  to  stay  soft 
while  Hearing.  Naturally,  Kotex  is  first 
choice. 


if  stranded  on  a  dance  floor, 
should  you  — 

□  Join  the  wallflowers 

□  Retreat  to  the  dressing-room 

□  Yoo-hoo  to  the  stag  line 


If  ever  a  goon-guy  thanks  you  for 
the  dance  and  leaves  vou  marooned 
— what  to  do  ?  ?  Walk  nonchalantly 
to  the  dressing-room.  There  you 
can  regain  your  composure  and 
reappear  later — with  no  one  the 
wiser.  Such  trying  episodes  chal- 
lenge your  poise.  Just  as  trying 
days  often  do  .  .  .  but  not  when 
you  have  the  help  of  Kotex!  For 
Kotex  has  special  flat,  tapered  ends 
that  don't  show  revealing  out- 
lines. So  whv  be  shv  of  the  public 
eye?  Just  relv  on  Kotex! 


A  DEODORANT  in  every 
Kotex*  napkin  at  no  extra  cost 


More  wo /net?  c/?oose  ffOTEX* 
f/ja/7  a//  of/?er  san/fary  n#/?6ms 


«T.  M.  Ree.  0.  S.  Pat.  Ofl 


15 


perspiration  odor 

•  Made  ore  a  face  cream  base.  Yodora  is  ] 
actually  soothing  to  normal  skins. 

•  Entirely  free  from  irritating  salts.  Can 
be  used  right  after  under-arm  shaving. 

•  Its  soft,  cream  consistency  stays  that  way 
indefinitely.  Never  gets  stiff  or  grainy. 

Contains  no  chemicals  to  spoil  clothing. 

•  Tubes  or  jars,  lOtf,  30tf,  60«!. 

•  Yes,  Yodora  is  a  gentle  y^'""-^'^ 
deodorant.  Try  it— /eeZ (coodHouscke b* 
the  wonderful  difference! 


McKesson  &  Robbins,  Inc.,  Bridgeport,  Conn. 


NEW 


SHAMPOO! 


CLEANS  HAIR  IN  10  MINUTES 
WITHOUT  WATER 

•  No  soap-no  rinsing-no  drying 

•  Removes  oil,  dirt,  hair  odors 

•  Retains   wave;   restores  sheen 

•  Grand  between  water  shampoos 

•  Ideal  during  colds  or  illness 


P.  S. 

In  this  film,  Alan  Ladd  plays  his  real- 
life  role  of  a  returned  veteran,  although 
he  portrays  a  discharged  Navy  flyer  while 
in  reality  he  was^in  the  Air  Force  .  .  .  Ver- 
onica Lake's  role  was  her  last  before  the 
one-year  retirement  occasioned  by  the  ex- 
pected birth  of  her  baby  .  .  .  Director 
George  Marshall  brought  the  picture  in  on 
schedule,  despite  the  fact  that  Ladd,  Chan- 
dler and  Veronica  Lake  were  all  on  the 
sick  list  during  the  filming.  Don  Costello 
suffered  a  broken  toe  when  Alan  over- 
turned a  heavy  table  on  his  foot  during  a 
fight  sequence,  and  Tom  Powers  reported 
for  work  one  morning  on  crutches,  due  to 
the  aggravation  of  an  old  war  injury  .  .  . 
The  cast  and  crew  were  kept  suffering  until 
the  last  day  of  shooting,  when  they  finally 
learned  who  done  it.  No  one,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Chandler  and  the  director,  knew 
the  outcome  of  the  plot,  with  the  result  that 
the  entire  company  made  frantic  bets  as  to 
the  killer's  identity  as  the  shooting  pro- 
gressed. 

JANIE  GETS  MARRIED 

Maybe  it  sounds  far-fetched,  but  Janie's 
probably  one  of  the  reasons  why  we 
Americans  love  our  movies  so.  We're  a 
home  loving,  romantic  people,  really,  and 
it  gives  us  a  kick  to  follow  our  favorite 
characters  around,  through  school  (like 
Andy  Hardy),  and  professional  life  (don't 
you  love  old  Dr.  Gillespie?),  and  adven- 
ture (umm,  Tarzan!),  and  yes,  even  into 
trouble.  And  if  you  don't  think  some  of 
our  pet  picture  people  get  into  trouble, 
well,  you  just  don't  know  Janie! 

All  young  Miss  Conway  (Joan  Leslie) 
wanted  was  to  make  her  old  beau,  Sgt. 
Dick  Lawrence's  (Bob  Hutton)  homecom- 
ing a  pleasant  one.  But  she's  gone  out  of 
her  way  so  thoroughly  that  in  three  weeks, 
Dick  finds  himself  pacing  the  vestibule  of 
the  Conway  home  with  the  wedding  march 
and  his  step-dad's  warning  "Marriage  is 
being  locked  in  a  box  car  with  a  mad 
horse"  dinning  in  his  ears. 

The  rice  and  honeymoon  hysteria  finally 
swept  away,  WAC  sergeant  Spud  Leighton 
(Dorothy  Malone)  appears  on  the  Law- 
rence threshold  with  a  sure-fire  plan  to  make 
her  old  ex-overseas  pal  appreciated  in  his 
budding  journalistic  career.  The  fact  that 
Janie  is  tearing  holes  in  her  heart  with 
jealousy  over  their  conferences  bothers  her 
not  in  the  least,  so  in  desperation,  young 
Mrs.  Lawrence  starts  prancing  around  with 
old  beau  Scooper  Nolan  (Dick  Erdman). 

But  that's  not  even  the  half  of  it.  Be- 
cause enter  Cupid  in  the  guise  of  Harley 
P.  Stowers  (Donald  Meek)  who,  visiting 
Hortonville  to  buy  a  newspaper  from 
Janie's  dad,  is  so  terribly  confused  by 
the  romantic  runnings  around,  that  he  not 
only  refuses  to  let  the  deal  go  through, 
but  insists  that  marriage  is  a  sacred  insti- 
tution, and  that  Janie  should  go  back  to 
her  husband — Scooper,  the  father  of  her 
"child." 

Go  see  "Janie  Gets  Married."  You'll 
come  out  appreciating  anew  that  old  saw 
about  "May  all  your  troubles  be  little 
ones." — War. 

P.  S. 

Agnes  Christine  Johnston,  who  authored 
both  this  film  and  the  original  "Janie," 
feels  that  her  persuasiveness  is  getting 
out  of  hand.  While  she  was  working  on 
the  script  for  "Janie  Gets  Married"  she 
lost  three  secretaries  to  the  altar,  and  to 
cap  it,  Joyce  Reynolds  upped  and  married 
a  Marine  and  retired  from  the  screen. 
Joan  Leslie  took  over  as  Janie,  the  only 
change  in  the  characters  of  the  first  movie 
(Continued  on  page  26) 


INFORMATION  DESK 

(  Questions  of  the  Month) 
by  Beverly  Linet 

Hello! 

Whafs  new?  Pul- 
enty  —  so  let's  get 
started  with  some 
info  on  face-inating, 
Seattle-born,  JOHN 
HEATH.  If  the  sen- 
sation that  he  cre- 
ated at  M.S.'s  Fan 
Club  Party  at  the 
Zanzibar  is  any  in- 
dication of  his  fu- 
ture popularity,  then  he  is  destined 
to  rank  high  with  Peck  and  Power 
among  your  screen  favorites.  Johnny 
was  born  on  Mar.  28,  1918.  Is  6'  1" , 
170  lbs.,  and  has  blue  eyes  and  brown 
hair.  Still  unstung  by  Cupid.  Pic 
credits  include:  "Redhead  from  Man- 
hattan," "30  Seconds  Over  Tokyo," 
and  "Since  You  Went  Away."  Is  cur- 
rently appearing  on  Broadway  in 
"Would-Be  Gentleman,"  and  can  be 
reached  at  the  Wm.  Morris  Agency, 
1270  Avenue  of  Americas,  N.Y.C. 

Another  JOHNNY! 
And  this  time  it's 
19-year-old  MR. 
SANDS  from  Lo- 
renzo, Texas,  who 
can  boast  of  a  Selz- 
nick  contract  in  one 
pocket  and  the  lead 
with  lovely  Janie 
/\  "~~~/4j*^B  Withers  in  her  lat- 
-**  est  "Lonely  Hearts 

Club,"  in  the  other. 
He's  6'  tall,  160  lbs.,  and  also  has  blue 
eyes  and  brown  hair.  Real  name 
is  John  Harp,  and  he's  unmarried. 
Dolores  Billek,  29  E.  31  Street,  Bay- 
onne,  N.  J.  has  his  club. 

You  were  impressed 
by  GLENN  LAN- 
GAN'S  performance 
as  the  Naval  Lt.  in 
"Bell  for  Adano," 
but  when  you  see 
him  in  the  romantic 
leads  opposite  Tier- 
ney  in  "Dragon- 
wyck,"  and  Crain 
in  "Margie,"  you'll 
be  sold  for  life. 
Born  in  Denver,  July  8,  1917,  he's  6'2  " , 
with  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair.  Mar- 
ried Lucille  Weston  in  1939  while  he 
was  on  the  N.Y.  stage.  Write  him  at 
20th-Fox,  Beverly  Hills,  California. 

E.S.,  N.Y.:  MAY  I  HAVE  THE  NAME 
OF  THE  MUSIC  FROM  "MY  REPU- 
TATION," AND  THE  NAME  OF 
THE  BOY  WITH  THE  GREEN 
SHIRT  AND  RED  TIE  IN  THE  "A. 
T.  AND  SANTA  FE"  SCENE  OF 
"HARVEY  GIRLS?"  .  .  .  The  score 
from  "My  Reputation"  is  by  Max 
Steiner.  Stanley  Adams  added  lyrics 
and  it's  published  by  Remick  Music 
Co.  under  the  title  "While  You're 
Away."  Your  blonde  extra  is  JOE 
ROACH,  but  he  just  can't  be  located. 
Minute  he  is,  I'll  feature  him  here. 

You  know  the  rules.  For  info  on  pix 
and  players,  send  a  SELF-ADDRES- 
SED, STAMPED  envelope  to  Beverly 
Linet,  Information  Desk,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  N.Y. 
16,  N.Y. 


Ml  N  I  POO 

30  Shampoos  with  Mitten  $1.00  plus  tax 


The  screen  tells  it  for  the  first  time  ...  a  town 
outside  the  law...  and  all  the  notorious 
badmen  who  fought  to  keep  it  there. 


BADMANS  TERRITORY 


Starring 


RANDOLPH  SCOn 


GEORGE 


Produced  by  NAT  HOLT  •  Directed  by  TIM  WHELAN 

Original  Screen  Play  by  JACK  NATTEFORD  and  IUCI  WARD 
An  RKO  RADIO  PICTURE 


9  Wanted  0 

■ 


o  JESSE  JAMES  * 
?  Wanted 


AVw 

■ 


<«£»5»1*'*-  "^-•-♦-•AW 


All's  fair  in  love  and  war,  you  say?  But  how 
about  that  time  you  cribbed  in  Latin?  Or  switche 
beaux?  Or  smoked  secretly?  Didn't  you  feel  awfi 
after?  So  c'mon,  start  turning  that  new  leal 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 

Bill  ond  I  went  steady  'for  over  a  year, 
then — out  of  a  blue  sky — he  dropped  me. 
How  can  I  get  him  back?  H.  D.,  Butte, 
Montana. 

Actually,  it  wasn't  out  of  a  bine  sky 
at  all.  The  handwriting  had  been  on 
the  ivall  for  a  vuhile,  but  you  didn't  want 
to  see  it,  H.  D.  Maybe  you'd  been  get- 
ting too  possessive,  maybe  you'd  stopped 
making  an  effort  to  be  charming  and 
amusing,  maybe  the  spark  just  gradually 
burned  itself  out.  Try  to  find  the  reason, 
so  that  the  same  thing  doesn't  happen 
again,  and  then  go  about  annexing  some 
nciv  men,  and  forgetting  about  Bill. 
There's  nothing  more  pathetic  than  an 
attempt  to  rekindle  an  old  flame,  noth- 
ing less  satisfactory  than  a  couple  of 
half-hearted  dates  with  a  boy  you  once 
had  fun  with.  Let  him  go,  but  without 
bitterness.  You'll  be  all  the  wiser,  all 
the  more  attractive  for  having  suffered 
a  bit! 

My  mother,  who  is  a  widow,  is  planning 
to  remarry,  ond  my  sister  and  I  are  frantic. 
We  just  don't  want  a  strange  man  clutter- 
ing up  our  nice  cozy  house.  Don't  you 
think  she  should  consider  our  feelings? 
B.  T.,  Spokane,  Washington. 

Frankly,  ive  think  your  mom  is  doing 
the  best  possible  thing  for  you  tivo  gals. 
By  picking  up  the  threads  of  her  own 
life,  she'll  stop  living  yours  for  you. 
Furthermore,  she'll  have  a  companion 
for  her  later  years,  instead  of  converting 
you  or  your  sister  into  same.  After 
you've  had  a  man  in  that  oppressively 
feminine  house  of  yours  for  just  a  little 
while,  you'll  wonder  how  you  ever  got 
along  without  him.    See  if  you  don't! 

I  am  seventeen  and  madly  in  love  with  a 
boy  of  twenty.  Everyone  is  trying  to  tell 
us  we're  too  young  to  marry,  but  gosh — 
look  at  Shirley  (Continued  on  page  20) 


JEAN  KINKEAD 


■  We  overheard  a  couple  of  guys  discussing  women  the  oth 
day,  and  couldn't  resist  a  little  ear  bending.  All  in  all,  th< 
approved  of  us  gals,  thought  we  were  here  to  stay  and  all  the 
But  one  thing  that  they  said  made  us  practically  blow  o 
gauge  with  rage.  "They're  almost  all  dishonest,"  was  wh 
they  said.    "It's  part  of  being  female." 

When  we  cooled  off,  we  got  to  thinking  it  over,  and  < 
you  know  those  guys  had  something?  Oh,  maybe  we  doi 
go  in  for  grand  larceny  or  anything  as  obvious  as  that,  b 
you  know  how  we  are.  A  white  lie  here,  an  exaggerati 
there.  We  wear  our  brother's  fraternity  pin  and  pretend 
gorgeous  man  planted  it.  We  read  a  synopsis  of  a  pi 
and  tell  everyone  we  saw  it.  We're  fakers,  every  single  o 
of  us,  and  it  couldn't  be  less  attractive.  Let's  give  ourselv 
a  long  searching  look,  now,  and  see  just  how  dishonest  • 
are.  And  then  let's  do  something  about  it — for  the  good 
our  characters,  for  the  good  of  our  reputations,  and  for  f 
good  of  our  guy's  peace  of  mind. 

Fooling  the  Family:  You  date  the  lads  mom  doesn't  tn 
smoke  like  a  furnace,  and  read  forbidden  books — but 
strictly  on  the  q.t.    They  think  you're  a  model  child.    It  m 
seem  like  a  good  racket  for  a  while — like  having  your  cc  i 
and  eating  it,  too — but  actually  you're  not  being  very  smc 
Some  day  they'll  find  out  about  you,  and  then  they'll  lose  I 
faith  in  you  and  be  about  a  million  times  stricter.    Also,  ec 
bit  of  chicanery  (g'wan,  look  that  (Continued  on  page  l\ 


.8 


A  JACK  H.  SKIRBALL- BRUCE  MANNING  Production  Screenplay  by  Bruce  Manning  and  James  Clifdea 
Based   upon  "A  Genius  in  the  Family"  by  Hiram  Percy  Maxim        Director  of  Photography  Joseph  Valentine 


19 


CO-ED 

(Continued  from  page  18) 


No  matter  whether  your  hair's  soft 
and  baby-fine  or  heavy  and  sleek 
.  .  .  DeLong  Bob  Pins  will  be  your 
tried  and  true  friend.  Trust  them 
to  keep  every  shining  strand  neat 
and  note-worthy. 


These  wonderful  Bob  Pins  with  the 
Stronger  Grip  cope  with  the  most 
stubborn  hair  because  they're  made 
of  better  quality  steel  that  keeps 
its  gripping  ways  longer. 

Stronger  Grip 

Won't  Slip  Out 

Quality  'Manufacturers  for  Over  50  years 

BOB  PINS         HAIR  PINS         SAFETY  PINS 

SNAP  FASTENERS       STRAIGHT  PINS 
HOOKS  &  EYES  HOOK  &  EYE  TAPES 

SANITARY  BELTS 


one  up)  undermines  your  character  that 
much  more,  submerges  your  conscience 
that  much  deeper,  makes  it  a  wee  bit 
harder  for  you  to  be  good.  The  thing  to 
do,  if  your  family's  especially  strict,  is 
to  have  a  little  conference  with  them  ex- 
plaining—  without  anger  or  defiance  — 
your  side  of  the  various  questions.  Ar- 
range some  sort  of  compromise  whereby 
you  may  exercise  your  judgment  and  still 
benefit  somewhat  by  their  wisdom  and 
experience.  For  instance,  ask  them  to  let 
you  invite  one  of  the  boys  whom  they 
dislike,  but  whom  you  adore,  to  the  house. 
Let  them  talk  to  him,  get  to  know  him. 
Give  them  a  chance  to  see  beyond  his 
boorishness  or  his  hard-boiled  exterior. 
Then,  after  he's  gone,  sit  down  with  them 
and  discuss  him,  calmly  and  fairly.  See 
if  their  opinion  doesn't  change — or  your 
own!  See  if  the  conference  method  isn't 
at  least  95%  successful,  and  gosh,  how 
much  better  you'll  feel.  How  much  better 
you'll  be. 

Fooling  the  lads:  You  "go  steady"  with 
two  guys.  One's  a  local  boy,  the  other's 
from  out  of  town;  and  never  the  twain 
shall  meet.  You  hope.  You  simply  kill 
the  girls  with  your  antics:  Switching  class 
rings,  hiding  football  programs,  describing 
your  latest  hair-raising  escape — when  Bill 
called,  and  Joe  answered  the  phone.  It's 
a  gay,  mad  life,  but  it  can't  go  on  indefi- 
nitely. And  when  they  find  you  out,  they'll 
blacken  your  name  for  miles  around,  and 
you'll  have  a  time  and  a  half  finding  an- 
other beau.  Not  only  that,  the  gals  who 
are  so  entranced  with  you  now  while 
everything's  jake,  will  change  their  tune 
when  you're  high,  dry  and  swain-less. 
The  only  adult,  gentlemanly  solutions  are 


Temple.  What  is  your  opinion  of  early 
marriages?    M.  M.,  Amsterdam,  N.  Y. 

In  the  first  place,  it  isn't  fair  to  compare 
the  average  seventeen-year-old  with  Shir- 
ley. Because  of  the  nature  of  her  work 
she  is  much  more  mature  than  most  girls 
of  her  age.  She  has  been  going  out  with 
boys  (chaperoned  to  be  sure)  for  years 
and  years  and  has  had  a  chance  to  meet 
a  great  variety  of  them.  At  seventeen,  she 
has  the  experience  and  sophistication  of  a 
girl  years  older.  As  for  our  opinion  of 
early  marriages,  it  is  this.  If  both  boy  and 
girl  are  adult,  responsible,  clear-headed 
kids  and  if  they  have  the  means  to  sup- 
port themselves,  we  believe  their  marriage 
can  be  a  pretty  wonderful  thing.  However, 
if  two  youngsters  go  into  marriage  hastily, 
unprepared  for  life  and  with  insufficient 
funds,  they  aren't  going  to  stay  happy. 

My  father  opens  all  my  mail.  It  makes 
me  furious,  but  nothing  I  say  has  any  ef- 
fect on  him.  G.  T.,  Gainesville,  Ga. 

We  can't  blame  you  for  being  furious. 
Your  dad  obviously  doesn't  trust  you. 
Have  you  ever  given  him  reason  not  to? 
Or  have  you  an  older  brother  or  sister  who 
caused  him  to  lose  faith  in  his  kids?  The 
only  solution  is  to  build  up  his  trust  in 
you.  Talk  to  him  about  politics,  showing 
him  that  you  are  growing  up,  have  sound 
ideas.  Discuss  the  gang  at  school,  bringing 
in  morals  and  explaining  your  stand  on 
things  like  drinking  and  woo.    Tell  him 


these:  Either  go  steady  and  really  work 
at  it  or  don't  go  steady  at  all.  Make  up 
your  mind.  Two-timing  is  one  of  the 
worst  forms  of  dishonesty.  It  has  been 
known  to  disillusion  boys  for  life,  and 
furthermore,  it's  a  forerunner  of  marital 
infidelity.  So  watch  it! 

Fooling  Teacher:  Guess  we've  all  been 
tempted.  If  we  could  just  see  how  Mary 
started  the  geometry  problem  on  the  final 
exam — just  a  hint  is  all  we  need.  But 
if  we  have  some  integrity,  we  don't  peek. 
Look  at  it  this  way.  You  wouldn't  pick 
Mary's  pockets,  would  you?  Then  how 
can  you  justify  picking  her  brains?  Out 
in  the  wide,  wide  world,  cribbing  has  the 
unpleasant  name  of  plagiarism  and  is  very 
severely  dealt  with.  It's  a  serious  thing, 
kids,  so  next  time  you're  caught  short  on 
an  exam,  muddle  through  it  somehow. 
Better  to  get  a  D  in  Chem.  and  an  A  in 
honesty  than  vice  versa.  Truly! 

Fooling  Yourself:  You  pretend  you  like 
Frankie,  'cause  the  gang  does,  but  way 
down  deep,  Perry  Como's  your  boy.  You 
wear  purple  lipstick  and  too  much  per- 
fume ('cause  Arlene  does  and  she's  a 
man-trap)  when  you're  strictly  a  pastel 
character.  You  go  around  acting  like  two 
other  guys,  and  you  think  you're  fooling 
the  people,  but  you're  really  just  fooling 
yourself.  Be  honest  about  what  you  think, 
what  you  feel,  what  you  are.  Maybe  the 
people  who  went  for  you  when  you  were 
hidden  under  six  inches  of  pancake  make- 
up and  a  Hepburn  accent  won't  like  you 
any  more.  So  what?  You'll  have  twice 
as  much  fun  with  the  people  who  like  you 
as  just  plain  you.  And  want  to  bet  you 
do  worlds  better  with  the  lads?  Try  it  and 
find  out! 


about  the  boys  you  know  and  why  yoi 
like  and  respect  them.  Confide  in  him  < 
bit,  and  ask  him  at  least  once  in  a  whih 
for  advice.  Some  day  it  will  suddenly  oc- 
cur to  him  that  you're  a  pretty  fine  girl 
one  he's  just  a  bit  proud  of.  And  that  wil 
be  the  end  of  the  letter-opening. 

The  guy  I  adore  is  shy,  has  never  ha< 
a  date  in  his  life,  and  doesn't  even  lool 
at  the  gals.  How  can  I  lure  him?  J.  B 
Grosse  Pointe,  Mich. 

Those  strong  silent  ones  fall  hard  whci 
they  fall,  but  the  approach  must  be  righi 
Chances  are  he's  an  outdoor  man.  Prob 
ably  likes  long  treks  into  the  hills  an< 
excursions  on  his  bike.  Check  on  tha 
and  if  so,  talk  to  him  about  the  hike  you'r 
planning.  Tell  him  about  your  dog  an 
get  him  talking  about  his.  Some  day,  as 
him  if  he'd  mind  taking  a  look  at  you 
bike  and  seeing  what  makes  it  so  squeak\ 
Then  when  you've  got  him  lured  as  far  a 
your  front  door,  ask  him  in  for  som 
cake  and  milk,  praise  his  mechanical  abii 
ity  to  the  skies,  and  start  making  plans  fc 
a  picnic  on  Saturday.  The  lad'll  be  yen 
devoted  slave,  just  wait  'n'  see! 

*       *  * 

Kiddies,  Spring  is  a  dandy,  light-hearte 
time  of  the  year,  if  you're  with  it,  if  you'i 
not  it  can  be  mighty  grim.  So  bring  yo% 
peeves  to  us.  Honest,  we've  got  an  a% 
swer  for  everything.  Mail  the  wails  l 
Jean  Kinkead,  Co-Ed,  Modern  Screen,  U 
Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 

(Continued  from  page  18) 


MONTE  CRIS3T0 

stun  mo 

JOHNLODER 
I/ENORE  HUBERT 

with 

CHARLES  DINGLE  .  FRITZ  KORTNER  -  EDUARDO  CIANELLI 
MARTIN  KOSLECK  -  FRITZ  FELO 

=  LSocicae  '-  odocer  JACK  GRANT  a  Directed  by  EDGAR  G.  ULMER 


A  noman.  dauntlesslv  and  daringly  P  romantic  as  Dumas'  dashing  Count  of  Monte  Cristo! 


21 


BY  LEONARD  FEATHER 


That's  Adrienne  Ames  under  the  floral  display.  Adrienne's  got  a 
radio  spot  on  WHN  nightly,  interviewed  our  own  Leonard  Feather, 
swapped  gossip  of  New  York  for  on-the-beam  stuff  from  H'wood. 


Andy  Russell  takes  o  breather  at  recording  session  to  show  off 
record  of  a  previous  broadcast  to  beautiful,  beaming  wife  Delia. 
Peter  Lawford  horned  in,  got  invited  to  A.'s  new  Encino  ranchl 


■  Calling  all  swing  fans  in  and  around 
New  York!  If  you  want  to  get  the  inside 
track  on  what  kind  of  spontaneous  combus- 
tion results  from  a  meeting  of  two  jazz 
critics,  listen  to  Freddy  Robbins'  1280  Club 
program  on  Tuesday  evening,  April  23. 
You'll  hear  me  and  my  friendly  rival,  John 
Hammond,  talking  about  jazz. 

John  and  I  have  had  many  arguments 
over  the  years,  including  a  long  and  very 
acid  one  about  Duke  Ellington,  whom  John 
doesn't  admire  as  much  as  I  do.  In  spite 
of  our  spats,  though,  we  still  like  the  same 
kind  of  music,  basically,  and  we  both  be- 
lieve very  deeply  in  the  spreading  of  democ- 
racy and  tolerance  through  music.  However, 
I'm  sure  Freddy  Robbins  will  find  some  sub- 
jects to  make  this  battle  of  words  very 
warm  for  April,  and  he'll  probably  have 
to  act  not  only  as  emcee,  but  also  as  referee. 
Hope  you'll  be  listening — it's  on  station 
WOV,  1280  on  your  dial. 

Now,  to  business:  The  month's  records. 
Well,  I  could  hardly  pass  up  the  opportunity 
to  list  the  Frank  Sinatra  album  as  the  best 
popular  selection  of  the  month.  The  choice 
of  tunes  is  so  good — many  of  our  old  favor- 
ites— and  the  overall  picture  so  typical  of 
Frankie,  that  my  recommendation  goes  with- 
out saying.  And  for  the  best  hot  jazz  I  sug- 
gest "Blue  at  Dawn"  and  "Bouncy"  by 
Timmie  Rozenkranz  and  his  Barons  on 
Continental.   Reasons  later. 


»  •  ••»*»•*'•  4  ♦  * 

«  ♦  «  »   »   f  it   «  ♦  •  I  M  » 


<■  B  ■    *>„«  . 


BEST  POPULAR 

I  DON'T  KNOW  ENOUGH  ABOUT  YOU— 
Peggy  Lee  (Capitol) — Peggy  scored  such  a 
hit  with  her  recordings  of  her  first  two  com- 
positions "You  Was  Right,  Baby,"  and 
"What  More  Can  a  Woman  Do?"  that  she 
sat  down,  chewed  her  pen  awhile  and  came 
out  with  this  new  one,  also  co-authored  by 
guitarist-hubby  Dave  Barbour.  You  probably 
don't  know  it,  but  in  the  past  couple  of 
months  Peggy  has  turned  down  movie  offers, 
a  five-figure  deal  for  an  (Cont'd  on  page  102) 


OF  COl£  POZTfZ  tf/fS/ 


tt 


IGHT  and  DAY" 

starring 

ALLAN  JONES 


Includes: 

Night  and  Day,  I've  Got  You  Under  My  Skin,  Begin  the 
Beguine,  Why  Shouldn't  I?,  What  Is  This  Thing  Called  Love?, 
Rosalie,  Easy  to  Love,  In  the  Still  of  the  Night  .  .  .  With 
Orchestra  and  Chorus,  Ray  Sinatra,  Conductor.  Album 
M-1033,  $4.50,  suggested  list  price  exclusive  of  taxes. 


Hear  the  top  RCA  Victor  artists  in  their  latest  hits— 
at  your  dealer's  ...  on  the  radio  ...  on  juke  boxes 

Henry  "Red"  Allen  *  Louis  Armstrong  *  Desi  Arnoz  *  Eddy  Arnold  *  Bill  Boyd 
Elton  Britt  *  Helen  Carroll  and  The  Satisfiers  *  Perry  Como  *  Johnny  Desmond 
Tommy  Dorsey  *  Duke  Ellington  *  The  Ginger  Snaps  *  Al  Goodman  *  Erskine 
Hawkins  *  Lena  Home  *  Betty  Hutton  *  Spike  Jones  *  Sammy  Kaye  *  Greta  Keller 
Wayne  King  *  Zeke  Manners  *  Freddy  Martin  *  The  Glenn  Miller  Band  with  Tex 
Beneke  *  Vaughn  Monroe  *  Henri  Rene*  Carson  Robison  *  Roy  Rogers  *  David 
Rose  *  Sons  of  the  Pioneers'  *  Charlie  Spivak  *  Mortha  Stewart  *  Billy  Williams 

Listen  to  The  RCA  Victor  Show,  S-jndcys,  4:30  p.m..  Eastern  Time,  NBC. 
Radio  Corporation  of  America,  RCA  Victor  Division,  Camden,  N.  J. 


THE    WORLD'S     GREATEST     ARTISTS     ARE     ON  (Kg 

RCA\/ieTOR  RECORDS 


23 


char?s 


e/fW  CHARTS  THIS  MONTH  ^ 

HOW  TO  THROW  A  PARTY — How  to  moke  your 
shindig  a  sure-fire  success,  whether  it's  an 
orchids-and-tails  gala,  or  Sunday  supper  for  the 
gang.  Sound  advice  on  good  hostessing,  re- 
freshments, decorations,  entertainment,  etc., 
and  charted  Party  Index  for  all  occasions. 
FREE,  send  LARGE,  self-addressed,  stamped 
(3c)  envelope  D 


y  GUIDE  FOR  BRIDES — Complete  wedding  eti- 
quette for  the  girl  who'll  be  a  bride  this  June — 
and  every  girl  who  ever  hopes  to  be  one.  Covers 
invitations,  announcements,  showers,  trousseau, 
reception,  flowers,  music,  expenses  for  formal 
and  intormal  affairs.  Also,  a  time-table  to  help 
you  make  orderly  preparations  for  the  big  day. 
FREE,  send  LARGE,  self-addressed,  stamped 
(3c)  envelope,  or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE 
offer   □ 


FOR  FANS 

SUPER  STAR  INFORMATION  CHART  <10c)_Com- 

pletely  revised  to  include  all  the  latest  data  on 
the  lives,  loves,  hobbies,  new  pix ,  little  known 
facts  about  the  stars.  Send  10c  and  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope  O 


MUSIC-MAKERS— 1945--46— by  Harry  James  (5c) 

— Be  in  the  know!  The  Trumpet  King  tells  ALL 
in  this  15-page  super  guide  to  the  lives,  loves, 
records,  movies,  radio  shows  of  your  favorite 
recording  stars.  Send  5c  and  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope  L~D 


HOW  TO  JOIN  A  FAN  CLUB_Brand-new.  re- 
edited  chart,  listing  over  100  of  the  best  clubs 
for  all  your  favorites — Frank  Sinatra,  June  Ally- 
son,  Peter  Lawford,  Alan  Ladd,  etc.  Learn  about 
the  MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIA- 
TION. Also,  how  to  write  good  fan  letters. 
FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c).  self- 
oddressed  envelope  □ 


INFORMATION  DESK — Answers  to  every  question 
that  ever  pops  into  your  mind  about  Hollywood, 
the  stars  and  their  movies.  If  you're  hankering 
to  know  about  casting,  musical  scores,  or  who 
socked  the  heroine  with  a  tomato  in  the  film 
you  saw  last  night,  see  box  on  page  16  for 
details.    THIS  IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  GLAMOR 

^SKIN  CARE  FOR  TEENS — Teen  beauty  de- 
pends on  care,  diet,  grooming.  Here's  a  chart 
that  tells  you  all  about  skin  care,  facials,  PROB- 
LEM skin.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c), 
self-addressed  envelope,  or  see  THREE-IN-ONE 
offer   □ 


COUPON 


CHECK  THE  BOXES  OPPOSITE  THE  CHARTS  YOU'D  LI 


y  HAIR  DO'S  AND  DON'TS  FOR  TEEN-AGERS— 

This  is  the  last  word  on  hair  glamor!  It's  got 
everything — hair-grooming  directions,  charts  for 
facial  types,  new  hair  style  ideas!  FREE,  send 
a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  en- 
velope, or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.  .  □ 


\/  YOU  CAN  BE  CHARMING!  —Says  Jean  Kinkead 
— Charm  is- the  way  you  look,  walk,  talk,  think, 
dress,  act,  behave  toward  others.  It's  the  dif- 
ference between  being  the  belle-of-the-ball  and 
Alice  Sit-By-The-Fire.  Anyone  can  have  it  for 
a  small  investment  of  patience,  time  and  effort. 
This  chart  explains  how  YOU  can  have  it.  FREE, 
send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed 
envelope,  or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.Q 


FOR  ROMANCE 

</  HOW  TO  BE  POPULAR  WITH  BOYS — by  Jean 

Kinkead — ge  dated,  re-dated,  but  never  super- 
annuated! The  secret  of  making  the  right  kind 
of  impression  on  the  nice  boys  you  know.  Hold- 
your-man  tactics  that  WORK!  FREE,  ser*J  a 
LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope, 
or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


y  BE  A  BETTER  DANCER!— by  Arthur  Murray- 
Easy  to  follow  directions  on  all  the  turns  and 
tricks  that  will  make  you  a  honey  on  the  dance 
floor.  Plus  dance  floor  etiquette — what  to  wear, 
how  to  be  popular  with  the  stags.  FREE,  send 
a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  enve- 
lope, or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


^  PLEASE  BEHAVEI  Easy  etiquette  for  sailing 
through  any  social  situation  without  awkward, 
embarrassing  moments.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


CO-ED  PERSONAL  ADVICE_Want  to  know  how 
to  get  him  to  ask  for  a  date,  or  when  it's  cagey 
to  be  'hard  to  get"?  Write  to  Jean  Kinkead, 
c/o  MODERN  SCREEN.  She'll  answer  all  your 
vital  heart-problems  in  a  personal  letter.  THIS 
IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  THE  FASHION-WISE 

y  DATE  DRESS  DATA  FOR  TALL,  SHORT,  STOUT 
AND  THIN  GIRLS — New-as-tomorrow  ideas  about 
dressing  for  dates.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


y  SPORTSWEAR  FOR  TALL,  SHORT.  STOUT  AND 
THIN  GIRLS — Now  that  sport  clothes  are  worn 
from  sun-up  to  dancing-in-the-dark,  here's  how 
to  look  your  best  in  them.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


S  ACCESSORIES  FOR  TALL,  SHORT,  STOUT  A 
THIN  GIRL! — It's  accessories  that  make  yc 
outfit!  How  to  glamor-up  your  cloThes 
those  little  touches  that  mean  everything!  FRE 
send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-address 
envelope,  or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer. 


FOR  HOME  SWEET  HOME 


)/  DESSERTS  FRANKIE  LOVES — by  Nancy  Sinatrc 

— Here  are  recipes  for  making  Frankie  s  Fa 
ite  Lemon  Pie,  Apples  Delicious,  Sigh-Guy  G 
gerbread,  and  many  more  that  are  high  on 
Sina-tra  Dessert  Parade.    FREE,  send  a  LARG 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  o 
THREE-IN-ONE  offer  


y  MAKE  YOUR  HOME  MORE  ATTRACTIVE — J] 

of  looking  at  the  same  old  four  walls,  year 
year-out?  A  paint  brush,  some  old  orar 
crates,  a  saw,  and  a  little  imagination 
transform  your  home  into  a  thing  of  beauty 
penny-cost.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stomp 
(3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see  spec 
THREE-IN-ONE  offer  


FOR  CAREER 

HOW  TO  PICK  THE  RIGHT  JOB— Career  Che 
No.  I — Select  the  job  that's  right  for  you — 
the  basis  of  your  hobbies,  natural  abilities,  p 
sonal  desires.  Private  secretary,  model,  nur 
interior  decorator,  statistician — whatever  y 
choice — here's  how  to  decide  whether  you'd 
in.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  s 
addressed  envelope  (see  Career  Chart  No.  2] 


JOBS  AND  HOW  TO  GET  THEM_Coreer  Cr 

No.  2 — Once  you  decide  which  job  is  for  y 
you'll  want  to  know  how  to  go  about  getting 
Here's  the  straight  low-down  on  scores  of  car 
jobs — how  to  be  interviewed,  salaries  to  be 
pected,  even  your  chances  of  marrying  the  b- 
The  same  envelope  that  brings  you  Car 
Chart  No.  I  will  take  care  of  this  one,  too 
you  check  here  


tyiecja/  THREE-IN-ONE  OFF 


Save  postage  by  taking  advantage  of 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.     Look  up 
down  the  list  of  free  charts.    You'll  find  an  e 
dozen  (12)  checked  \V)  like  this.  Select/* 
THREE  of  these  checked  charts  and  enc 
ONE  large  envelope  bearing   SIX  CENTS 
stamps.    We'll  send  you  all  THREE  in  this 
envelope,  and  you'll  save  three  cents.  Enc 
additional  envelopes  (6c  postage  on  each) 
each  additional  choice  of  three  checked  ch; 
Four  envelopes  (6c  stamps  on  each)  for  er 
series  of  12  charts. 


24  Write  to:  Service  Dept..  Modern  Screen.  149  Madison  Ave..  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  Don't  forget  your  zone  numb 


The  love  story 
that  will  live 
with  you 
today 


GOOD  ENTERTAINMENT 


25 


"PURSE  PAC" 
BOBBIE*  PINS 

u*mmumjt  The  bobbie*  pin  of 
tempered  steel... 
assures  perfect 
heir  control. 


Hold  more  than         \  / 
enough  hair  pins  to     ^  ^>-~n  ^ 
do  a  complete  coif.  •—> *  s^^i^f  \ 


Z*CsO€r!tyVy  corporation 

Buftolo  14.  N«v»  Yolk  ✓         I    M     BAIV  r....j. 


1871-1946  .  .  .  75th  YEAR    .  ..  SETTING  STYLES 


9 


feawi  wifA  new 


RADIANT 


2(, 


"Shampoo"  is  hardly  a  big  enough  word 
for  Kay  Daumit's  Lustre-Creme,  excited 
women  tell  us.  It  cleanses  wonderfully 
well,  of  course,  and  rinses  swiftly  with 
no  trouble  at  all,  but  it's  the  glowing, 
shimmering  beauty  which  follows  that 
makes  Lustre-Creme  so  different.  Secret 
ingredients  bring  out  thrilling  sheen  .  .  . 
glamour  you  may  never  have  suspected 
— and  your  hair  behaves!  Department 
stores,  and  all  good  drug  stores,  have 
Lustre-Creme;  long-lasting  jar  costs  $1. 

Proof!  This  coupon  and  25c  will  bring 
you  a  trial-size  of  tustre-Creme. 
Money  back  if  it  doesn't  please  you. 

Name  

Address   _  

Post  Office  State  

MAIL  WITH  25c  TO  KAY  DAUMIT 

Lwstae  •  Ctetne 

Dept.  DM-5.  540  No.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  (11) 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  16) 


.  .  .  Clare  Foley  again  plays  the  loathesome 
kid  sister  and  this  role,  added  to  her  part 
in  "Janie"  both  on  the  stage  and  screen, 
tacks  up  a  thespic  record  for  the  young- 
ster. Eleven  years  old,  she  has  been  the 
brattish  Elsbeth  847  days,  or  more  than 
twenty  percent  of  her  lifetime. 

BOYS'  RANCH 

There  are  rough  boys  and  tough  boys, 
boys  who  play  hookey  and  boys  who  need 
a  mother,  but  there's  no  such  thing  as  a 
mean  boy  and  never,  never  a  bad  one. 

That,  at  least,  is  the  premise  Dan  Walker 
(James  Craig)  has  always  gone  on,  and  so 
far,  he's  never  found  it  untrue.  As  short- 
stop for  a  professional  ball  team,  Dan's  al- 
ways been  popular  with  the  gang  that 
hangs  around  outside  the  ball  park,  wait- 
ing for  him  to  bat  a  "fungo"  over  the  fence 
so  they  can  catch  the  ball  and  claim  a  free 
admission.  But  this  particular  day,  two 
of  his  special  pals,  Skippy  (Skippy  Ho- 
meier),  the  leader  of  the  local  "tough 
guys,"  and  Hank  (Darryl  Hickman),  his 
sidekick,  are  hanging  around  to  say  good- 
bye to  Dan  because  Dan's  just  been  asked 
to  resign,  it  seems  he's  outlived  his  use- 
fulness for  the  team.  Not  that  he  minds 
too  much,  it's  just  that  he  hadn't  quite 
planned  to  settle  down  on  that  ranch  in 
Texas  for  a  while  yet.  Anyhow,  he's  just 
packing  when  Skippy  and  Hank  pop  up 
in  the  lockers  with  a  farewell  gift,  a  swell 
pocket  knife  "worth  at  least  three  bucks." 
Dan  is  touched,  but  before  he  has  a  chance 
to  express  his  gratitude,  a  big  cop  ambles 
over  and  hauls  them  all  to  the  police 
station — the  knife  is  worth  at  least  three 
bucks  but  it  would've  been  nice  if  the  boys 
had  paid  for  it  instead  of  swiping  it  off 
the  park  vendor.  There's  a  lot  of  commo- 
tion and  talk  about  reform  school  and 
before  he  knows  it,  Dan's  volunteered  to 
take  the  two  boys  in  custody.  Dan's  wife 
isn't  too  pleased  with  the  whole  setup,  so 
when  they  get  to  Texas,  he  ships  the  boys 
off  to  a  pal's  ranch,  where  they  so  ingratiate 
themselves  that  the  pal  promptly  heaves 
them  out.  Which  leaves  Mr.  Walker  right 
where  he  started. 

But  a  responsibility's  a  responsibility, 
and  Dan  talks  rancher  Banton  into  lend- 
ing him  an  old  abandoned  courthouse  and 
640  acres  of  land  to  start  Boys'  Ranch,  which 
will  be  a  home  for  Skippy  and  Hank  and 
some  other  choice  teen-age  characters 
who've  taken  to  hanging  around  lately. 

Everything  is  fine  until  someone  dis- 
covers that  Skippy  has  skipped  out  with 
the  ranch  funds.  But  he's  stopped  in  time 
to  avoid  messing  up  a  graveyard,  giving 
the  ranch  a  bad  name  and  to  rescue  Hank 
from  a  fate  worse  than  death. 

And  by  the  way,  there's  a  very  small 
fry  in  the  picture  by  name  of  Jackie 
"Butch"  Jenkins  who  should  be  arrested. 
Little  guy  steals  every  heart  in  sight. 
— M-G-M. 

P.  S. 

One  of  the  scenes  required  "Butch"  Jen- 
kins to  look  slightly  jaded  after  devouring 
eight  slabs  of  lemon  meringue  pie.  Butch 
took  it  upon  himself  to  actually  eat  six 
pieces  before  going  into  the  scene.  As  he 
reeled  toward  the  cameras  he  said,  "This 
is  gonna  be  easy  to  do.  I  don't  feel  so 
good."  When  the  director  asked  him  why 
he'd  eaten  so  much  pie,  the  sprout  in- 
formed him  that  he  had  merely  "been  get- 
ting in  the  mood"  .  .  .  During  the  filming 
of  the  picture,  Skippy  Homeier  and  "Butch" 


invented  what  they  term  "Circus  talk,' 
which  consists  in  putting  the  letters  "iz" 
before  the  first  vowel  in  every  word.  As 
time  progressed  they  were  slinging  the 
lingo  all  over  the  set,  but  Skippy's  mother 
confessed  that  all  she  had  picked  up  per- 
sonally were  the  words  "jizerk"  and 
"dizope"  .  .  .  Butch  Jenkins  spent  anxious 
hours  rehearsing  his  most  difficult  scene, 
which  involved  dialogue  with  veteran 
George  Cleveland.  When  the  time  arrived 
for  the  take,  it  was  Cleveland,  not  Butch, 
who  blew  his  lines.  When  Cleveland  apol- 
ogized, Butch  smiled  sweetly.  "That's  all 
right,  Mr.  Cleveland,"  he  said,  "I  used  to 
do  that  myself." 

RAINBOW  OVER  TEXAS 

For  thirty  years  now,  bluff  millionaire 
Wooster  Dalrymple  (Robert  Emmett 
Keane),  has  been  trying  to  break  into 
society,  but  failing,  he  tries  to  buy  a  way 
into  the  Blue  Book  for  his  rebellious 
daughter,  Jacqueline  (Dale  Evans).  But 
Jackie's  got  just  as  much  spunk  as  her  old 
man.  "You  should  be  proud  of  your  back- 
ground," she  storms,  "tea  parties  and  so- 
cials, I  want  to  live!"  And  because,  to  her 
mind,  the  only  Living  being  done  today  is 
out  Texas  way,  :.he  jumps  her  dad's  ship 
and  stows  away  on  the  train  bearing  Roy 
Rogers  and  the  Sons  of  the  Pioneers  to 
Dalrymple,  the  town  her  father  founded. 

Once  the  troupe  hits  Dalrymple,  how- 
ever, things  get  too  hot  for  them  to  bother 
much  with  wimmin  folk.  Roy  is  being 
needled  by  Pete  McAvoy  (Kenne  Duncan) 
who  tries  to  insult  him  into  a  fight,  thus 
keeping  the  champ  out  of  circulation  when 
the  big  pony  express  race,  with  its  huge 
winner's  prize,  will  be  run.  But  Roy  re- 
fuses to  let  anything  get  his  dander  up. 
Until  the  racketeer  who's  behind  all  the 
crooked  gambling  in  town,  Kirby  Haynes 
(Sheldon  Leonard),  shows  his  hand  by 
having  a  defenseless  man  shot  in  the 
back — and  Roy  framed  for  the  murder. 
That  does  it!  Through  stampedes  and  fixed 
races  and  ambushes  Roy  rides,  fury  on  a 
white  horse.  There  are  many  more  dead 
men  before  the  picture  rat-tats  to  a  blaz- 
ing finish,  and  a  lot  of  evil-doing  punished, 
but  there's  also  another  convert  to  the 
wild  'n'  woolly  West,  Wooster  Dalrymple. 
And  romantically  speaking,  the  fearless 
Roy  Rogers  nearly  bites  the  dust — but  not 
quite. — Repub. 

P.  S. 

Even  if  Dale  Evans  does  enjoy  working 
in  Westerns,  she  gets  a  bit  fed  up  with 
the  eternal  riding  clothes  which  give  her 
little  or  no  glamor.  She  was  gay  as  a 
Hopper  hat  when  she  found  that  the  script 
called  for  her  to  wear  a  white  bathing 
suit.  When  the  bathing  suit  arrived  in 
her  dressing  room,  it  was  an  all-white 
number,  with  lovely  lines,  but  across  the 
front  of  the  skirt  was  painted  a  bucking 
broncho.  Miss  Evans  bowed  her  head  in 
meek  submission  .  .  .  During  the  filming 
of  the  picture,  Roy  Rogers  bought  twenty- 
seven  sorrel  mares  to  be  mated  with  Trig- 
ger. The  first  colt  will  be  used  in  the  next 
Rogers  film,  depicting  the  story  of  how  the 
cowboy  star  acquired  his  famous  horse  . . . 
The  prop  department  turned  sculptor  when 
it  had  to  build  a  life-sized  statue  of  Robert 
Emmett  Keane,  who  portrays  Dale's  in- 
dustrialist father  in  the  film  . . .  For  the 
movie,  Tim  Spencer,  one  of  the  Sons  of  the 
Pioneers,  wrote  two  songs,  "Texas,  U.  S.  A." 
and  "Cowboy  Camp  Meeting."  The  latter  is 
a  tricky  tune  which  promises  to  be  a  big  hit. 


For  G) 


racious 


L 


Wherever  the  better 
things  of  life  are  en- 
joyed and  appreci- 
ated . . .  Schlitz  is  a 
natural  and  expected 
part  of  the  setting. 


JUST 
THE  klSS 
OF  THE  HOPS 

JVo  harsh  bitterness 


THE  BEER  THAT  MADE  MILWAUKEE  FAMOUS 


It's  dark . . .  it's  exciting . . .  it's  the  new  Cutex  color  for  intrigue.  Put  it  on  your  long,  temptress 
nails  .  .  .  wear  it  — then  let  men  beware!    •   And  when  in  lighter  mood  try  the  new  Cutex  Proud  Pink. 


April,  1946 


TO  QUE  HEADERS, 

Thing3  have  been  popping  at  MODERN  SCREEN,  and 
I've  got  to  make  up  my  mind  whether  to  tell  you  about  our  beautiful 
new  circulation  or  about  our  recent  gay  Matinee  Party  at 
the  Cafe  Zanzibar.    I  really  haven't  room  to  do  justice  to  both. 

But  in  a  nutshell,  this  is  the  circulation  story. 
When  Henry  and  I  got  off  to  a  timid  start  back  in  1940,  newsstand 
sales  hovered  precariously  around  400,000.  The 
latest  figure  is  1,600,000.    The  sale  has  doubled  twice.  Bugs 
Bunny  himself  couldn't  have  done  better I 

I  won't  grumble.    1,600,000  is  fine.    As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  makes  us  eighth  in  the  country  -  right  after  LIFE  magazine  I 
Yet  all  the  circulation  in  the  U.S.A.  wouldn't  mean 
as  much  to  us  as  that  Zanzibar  party.    And  I'll  tell  you  why. 

From  the  beginning,  Henry  and  I  have  been  fighting 
kind  of  a  crusade.    We've  believed  that  there's  so  much  more  to  a 
magazine  than  just  making  money.    We  made  up  our  minds  that 
MODERN  SCREEN  would  be  "the  Friendly  Magazine"  -  and  we've  stuck  to  it. 
Tor  our  readers,  young  and  old,  we  have  friendly  services  - 
advice  and  information  charts.     So  far,  3,000,000  charts 
and  personal  letters  have  been  mailed  off  to  readerk  who  needed 
a  friendly  shoulder  to  lean  on. 

And  yet,  we've  never  been  quite  satisfied. 
Tons  of  mail  -  but  mail  isn't  the  real  thing.    Friendship  is 
personal  and  direct.    And  that's  how  the  Zanzibar  party  happened  - 
first  a  dream  -  then,  early  in  February  of  this  year, 

a  warm,  charming  reality.    To  one  of  the  biggest  night  clubs  in  New  York, 

we  invited  500  readers  to  meet  nearly  100  stars  of  stage  and 

screen.    G-ene  Kelly,  Hurd  Hatfield,  Sonja  Henie, 

Jan  Clayton,  Cesar  Romero,  Danny  Eaye  -  countless  others. 

It  was  a  great  party  (see  pages  30-37).  Far 
more  -  it  was  a  party  that  meant  something.    You  readers 
got  together  with  us  staff  members.    You  chatted 
with  the  stars.    On  that  February  afternoon 

in  the  Zanzibar,  MODERN  SCREEN'S  //of1*"4 
friendly  policy  came  to  life.  ^  0**0"V 

Of  that  fact  we  are  unspeakably 
proudi 


Executive  Editor 


P. S.  For  an  important  announcement 
please  turn  to  page  119. 


MODERN  SCREEN  THROWS  A 


I 

4 


So  it  can't  happen 

here,  eh?  But  it  did!  A 

hundred  guest  stars  jamming  the 

Club  Zanzibar,   and  all 

for  you — all  in  honor  of  our 

M.  S.  fans! 


■  Bet  every  time  you  read  about 
a  big,  flashy  four-alarm  party  for  a 
group  of  movie  stars,  you  picture 
Elsa  Maxwell  or  M-G-M  engineering 
the  whole  thing.  Don't  you,  now? 
And  aren't  you  wrong!  Lookit. 
We've  just  been  to  a  party,  and  it  was 
the  "Oklahoma,"  the  Cadillac,  the 
Van  Johnson  of  all  parties.  No  josh- 
ing, it  was  fine.  And  guess  who  was 
at  the  bottom  of  it?  Not  Elsa  or 
Louis  B.  or  any  of  the  publicity  boys. 
Just  a  queen-size  blonde  with  a  won- 
derful smile  and  a  yen  for  Dane 
Clark.  So  help  us,  she  was,  and  here's 
how  it  happened. 

Peggy  Field  (  this  dishy  blonde  we 
mentioned )  is  mad  for  Dane  Clark. 
She  considers  him  absolutely  atomic, 
and  she'd  planned  a  stupendous  party 
for  him  when  he  came  East  on  his 
vacation.  She  lived  and  breathed  that 
party  for  iveeks,  and  then  came  the 
heartbreaking,  hysterics-making  tele- 
gram from  Dane  that  his  vacation 
had  been  cancelled,  that  the  party 
was  off.  It  was  a  kick  in  the  teeth  for 
Peggy.  It  was,  she  told  her  mom. 
the  End  of  the  World. 

That    [Continued   on   page  118) 


Oh  happy  day,  oh  bliss!  When  pert  Peggy  Fields  received  her  invitation  to  the 
MODERN  SCREEN  Fan  Club  party,  she  jumped  with  joy,  nearly  trampled  those  math 
and  Latin  books.   P.  S.  See  that  Dane  Claris  pic?   It  s  SOOO  affectionately  autographea 


30 


Aside  from  being  a  perfect  host,  Exec.  Ed 

Al  Delacorte  has  an  eye  well  trained  for  a  pretty 
gal,  so  naturally  he  spotted  Peg  at  the  entrance. 


Nat  Reiff,  co-sponsor  of  the  party  with  Fan  Club  director 
Shirley  Frohlich  (she's  downstairs  being  trampled  on),  we 
comes  Peggy  with  a  list  of  the  doin's — and  makeup  advice. 


Peggy's  just  trying  it  on  for  size,  thank  you.  It  all  started  when  Frankie  mentioned,  on  an  air 
show,  that  Staten  Island  sure  was  foggy.  So  Jane  Harris,  Dolores  McMullen,  Dot  Nix  and  Anna- 
belle  Corbo  banded  into  "The  Foggy  Girls" — identical  as  to  pea  jackets  and  hero  worship. 


Wreathed  in  smiles  and  mink,  Sonja  Henie  was  intro- 
duced by  M.  C.  Ed  Sullivan,  giggled,  "If  I'd  known 
how  big  this  party'd  be,  I'd  have  brought  skates!" 


Could've  set  the  place  afire  and  this  fan 
wouldn't  have  budged.  Why?  Danny 
Kaye,  of  the  gay  charm,  was  onstage! 


jpr 


Danny's  floored  by  evidence  of  Frankie's  fame 


33 


% 

ft  Ji 

fa  .JTa*, 


Peggy  cribbed  party  music-maker  Joe  Mar- 
sala's clarinet  to  see  if  she  could  produce 
purty  noises — Jimmy  Dorsey  begged  "No!' 


34 


tver  the  gentleman,  Robert  Paige  murmurec 
"After  you,"  to  pretty  Peggy  as  they  auto 
graphed  the  huge  party  celebrity  register 


;o  Peqgy's  plea  for  autographs,  singer  Carl  Ravazza  scribbled  "A  swell  party."   "Me.  too."  penned  thrush  Eileen  Barton. 


35 


-1 


'2s 


Hurd  Hatfield's  still  new  to  the  fan  rush  act,  even  though  "Diary  of  a  Chamber- 
maid's" bound  to  make  him  a  big  time  swooner  sensation.  When  a  kind  M.S.  staffer 

should  say  not — -I  love  it!" 


offered  to  help  him  out  of  the  mob,  he  rumbled, 


V 


Li 


It  wasn't  long  before  our  canny  guests  latched  on 
to  Peggy's  dazzling  celebrity  personality,  with  the 
result  that  she   had   writer's  cramp  for  days  after! 


It  was  a  tough  fight,  but  M.S.  Executive  Editor  Al  Delacorte,  with  the  help  of 
a  beaming  Kelly-ite,  finally  won.  Seems  Gene  originally  refused  to  remove  his 
overcoat — it  was  government  property  and  darned  if  he'd  let.it  get  ripped,  up! 


36 


£d  Sullivan  farewell'ing  Hurd,  Peggy, 
Vlaggie  Whiting  and  Al  D.  And  so  good 
"ight.     It's  been  fun,  see  you  next  year. 


Now  that  she's  a  "Junior  Mrs.,"  Shirley's  studio 
plans  to  ream  her  with  Guy  Madison  in  young- 
love  roles  like  Janet  Gaynor-Chos.  Farrell  pics. 


were  Ichaki-whacky  for  so  long  that  Shirley  began  t 
wasn't  any  other  color!  Shirl  -  kept  that  blue  twee< 
sprayed,  hugged  it  so  much  she  smothered  the  moths 


Shirley  got'  cookery-conscious  while  John  was  still  in  the  Army,  trotted 
off  to  cooking  school  and  made  hash1  of  all  those  bride's  biscuits 
jokes  in  no  time!    J.'s  rich,  but  he  and  S\  like  to  do  things  themselves. 


38 


HUSBANDS  ARE 


HUSBANDS!  SIGHS  SHIRLEY  TEMPLE.  THEY 


SET  HOTEL  ROOMS,   FIX  CAR  DOORS.  PRAISE 


YOUR  COOKING— AND  LOOK  SO  HELPLESS 


WHEN  THEY'RE.  SICK!    «    BY  VIRGINIA  WILSON 


■  Shirlev  plumped  up  the  pillows  expertly,  and  said. 
"Okay.  Let's  see  that  thermometer."  She  held  it  to 
the  light  while  the  big  guy  sprawling  in  the  bed 
grinned  at  her.  She  was  such  a  little  girl,  even  in 
those  tall,  stilted  heels.  So  little  and  so  pretty  and 
such  a  darling!  He  could  hardly  believe  even  now 
that  she  was  his  own  wife. 

"Fine  thing,"  he  said  ruefully.  "I  finally  get  out 
of  the  Army  and  right  awray  the  flu  catches  up  with 


Shirl's  keeping  house  in  her  old  playhouse — but  she's  all  grown 
up  now,  with  problems  like  deciding  what  husband  John  should  do. 
He's  torn  between  wanting  to  finish  college  or  becoming  an  actor. 


Shirley  smiled  at  him  over  the  thermometer. 
"You're  better  today.  Your  temperature's  normal." 

"That's  what  you  think!  Not  with  you  around 
it  isn't,  Mrs.  Agar." 

"Mrs.  Agar."  Shirley,  suddenly  serious,  repeated 
it,  her  brown  eyes  enormous  with  the  wonder  of  it. 
Of  being  really  married  with  a  husband  out  of  the 
Army,  and  a  whole  life  ahead  of  them.  "Jack,  are 
you  happy?    Happy  like  (Continued  on  page  84) 


"Dear  John,"  she'd  write,  "I  know  you're  indispensable,  but  the  Army 
should  realize  I  need  you  more  than  they  do!"  Now  John's  home  lor 
good,   and   happiness  isn't  just  an   occasional  furlough — it's  forever! 


39 


By  KIRTLEY  BASKETTE 


■  One  sultry  summer  evening,  back 
in  1939,  at  Des  Moines,  Iowa,  a  slim, 
sun-tanned  California  girl  of  seventeen 
poised  for  a  racing  plunge  into  the 
biggest  moment  of  her  young  life. 

It  was  the  final  race  and  the  top 
event  for  women  of  the  National  Swim 
Meet — the  100-meters  free  style  sprint 
for  the  championship  of  the  United 
States — and  Esther  Williams  was  tired. 
That  day  she  had  churned  the  distance 
in  the  soupy  water  five  times,  and 
five  times  she  had  won.  The  elimination 
heats  followed  so  close  she  hadn't  had 
time  to  eat  anything  except  tea  and 
crackers  all  day.  The  night  before, 
the  Midwestern  heat  had  stifled  her  in 
the  sweltering  hotel  room  and  she 
hadn't  slept  a  wink.  It  was  seven  o'clock 
and  she  was  wilted.  Her  arms  and  legs 
felt  like  lead. 

But  as  Esther  Williams  waited  for 
the  starter's  signal  she  chanted  to  her- 
self, "This  is  it!  I  can  do  it!"  over 
and  over  again,  and  as  her  body 
spanked  the  water  in  the  flat  racer's 
dive  at  the  last  she  dug  her  long  arms 
deep  to  the  rhythm  of  the  same  chant 
that  never  left  her  brain,  "This  is  it! 
This  is  it !  I  can  do  it !  I  can  do  it ! " 

The  strength  she  knew  would  come 
flowed  through  her  body  and  she  cut 
the  water  fast  and  clean.  At  the  turn, 
she  kicked  off  the  tank  wall  and  an 
instant's  peek  told  her  what  she  knew 
— that  the  class  of  the  country  was 
well  in  her  wake.  She  was  laughing 
when  she  popped  up  like  a  porpoise, 
sleek,  dripping  (Continued  on  page  42) 


Even  at  3,  Esther's  grimy  knuckles  and  spotted  socks  anticipated  her  approaching 
tomboy'ism.  Of  pioneer  stock,  her  maternal  grandfather,  a  Civil  War  vet,  knew  Abe 
Lincoln  well,  and  her  grandmother  had  8  children  between  treks  by  covered  wagon! 


SHE  WAS  A  GAWKY  KID  WITH  A  WILL 

TO  WIN  WHO  ALWAYS  MUTTERED  "I  CAN  DO 

IT!"  WHEN  THE  GOING  GOT 

TOUGH— AND  DID  IT!    (PART  ONE.) 


V* 


One  of  ex-GI  Ben  Gage's  first  gifts  to  his  wife  was  a 
tiny  star  sapphire  ring  clustered  by  diamonds.  "As 
our  marriage  grows,"  E.  smiles,  "it  will  grow,  too. 


Jr5 


Esther's  mother  (here  with  E.  at  the  "Going  My  Way"  premiere),  was  the 
first  to  sympathize  with  the  fellow  who  stole  several  "Bathing  Beauty" 
reels — and   then   tried   to   hire   a    projectionist   to   run   them   for  him. 


Her  marriage  to  Dr.  Leonard  Kovner  ended  on  a  "we'll  always 
le  pals"  note  after  four  years.  Here,  together  before  the 
livorce,  on  one  of  his  rare  nights  away  from  his  hospital  dorm. 


Hobby  lobby:  When  the  Gages  moved  into  the  new 
house,  Ben  gave  E.  a  spittoon;  she  converted  it  into  a 
lamp  base!    The  shade  above  is  an  old  gingham  dress! 


Esther  combined  business  with  pleasure  by  honeymooning  at  Acapulco  1 
two  weeks — then  running  back  to  finish  work  on  "Fiesta"  in  Mexico  Ci 
After  seeing  her  first  bull  fight,  she  raved,  "It's  better  than  a  ball  qam< 


With  her  new  contract  running  into  the  four-figure  class,  busy 
Esther  has  very  little  leisure  time,  still  finds  working  out  in  the 
swimming  pool  Metro  built  especially  for  her,  her  pet  relaxation. 


42 


ZiZWm  STOS7 


weren't  for  her  strong  Williams  will  power,  an  old  childhood  incident  would  have 
her  swear  off  playing  darts  forever.  Seems  she'd  been  playing  with  older  brother 
,  when  he  tossed  one  over  his  shoulder  and  it  pierced  her  cheek  right  below  the  eye! 


and  fresh  at  the  finish  for  the  cameras 
to  catch  the  new  national  speed 
queen  s  winning  smile.  But  only 
Esther  Williams  knew  that  she  alone 
hadn't  really  won  that  race. 

She  couldn't  have;  she  wasn't  that 
good  a  swimmer,  she  wasn't  that 
strong,  she  wasn't  that  sharply  con- 
ditioned to  skim  the  distance  in  1 :08 
for  a  new  world's  record.  Something 
stronger  than  herself,  she  knew,  had 
guided  her.  A  power  beyond  her  body 
had  flowed  into  her  aching  muscles — 
the  all-perfect  power  she  had  believed 
in  and  trusted  since  babyhood  had 
worked  the  miracle. 

Esthers  mother  had  taught  her 
that  faith,  will,  philosophy,  religion 
— whatever  it  was — and  she  had  ab- 
sorbed it  like  a  flower  does  sunshine. 
"Never  be  afraid  of  anything.  You 
can  do  it,  because  it's  not  your 
strength  or  your  talent,  but  some- 
thing stronger  than  you.  If  you  re 
ever  afraid  of  anything,  just  remem- 
ber that  you  don't  have  to  do  it  alone. 
If  you  believe,  it  will  be  done  for 
you." 

Esther  Williams  learned  that  lesson 
early  and  it  became  the  theme  of  her 
life  and  sometimes,  looking  back  on 
the  other  girls  thrashing  in  her  wake 
— in  a  swimming  pool  or  out — while 
she  was  still  strong  and  fresh  and 
confident,  she  felt  sorry  for  them,  be- 
cause they  didn't  know.  Her  belief 
in  herself  is  the  keynote  of  Esther 
Williams'  existence  today  and  it's  the 
story  behind  the  success  story  of  a 
very  normal,  average  American  girl. 
It's  what  has  lifted  Esther  off  the 
sport  page  to  a  Hollywood  star's 
enviable  pedestal  and  brought  her 
fame. 

In  Hollywood  there  are  better 
actresses  than  Esther  Williams,  by 
far,  as  there  were  always  at  one  time 
better  swimmers.  Plenty  of  beauties 
in  the  extra  line  have  prettier  faces 
than  she  and  more  divine  figures. 
Hundreds  know  more  smooth  career 
tricks  about  howr  to  get  ahead  in 
Hollywood  and  dozens  and  dozens 
can  give  Esther  cards  and  spades  in 
experience,  talent  and  technique. 

But  Esther  (Cont'd  on  page  104) 


THERE'S  MUTT  'N  JEFF,  DAVID  'N  GOLIATH, 
AND  NOW  THERE'S  PECK  'N  PECK,  WITH  JONA- 
THAN P.  RUNNING  GREGORY  P.  RAGGED! 


short 


■  Mr.  Jonathan  Peck,  an  exuberant  gentleman  of  twenty-one 
months'  brisk  experience,  has  tvvo  (at  least)  highly  exciting 
events  scheduled  for  the  future.  Item  1:  He  is  to  become  a 
brother  this  fall. 

Jonny's  father,  Gregory,  is  adamant  about  the  addition  to 
the  family — he  wants  a  girl,  to  be  named  Stephanie.  If  Jonny 
could  speak  his  mind,  he'd  probably  hold  out  for  a  sister,  too. 
Yet,  in  case  the  recruit  should  prove  to  be  of  more  eventual 
interest  to  Burma  Shave  than  to  Max  Factor,  he  will  be  called 
Stephen. 

Stephen,  if  that's  what  he  turns  out  to  be,  couldn't  possibly 
be  a  failure  if  he  manages  to  capture  himself  one-tenth  of  the 
charm  now  owned  and  operated  by  his  older  brother.  Which 
brings  us  back  to  Jonny. 

Master  Peck  now  has  fourteen  teeth;  he  distinguished  him- 
self by  cutting  his  first  molars  before  he  cut  his  eye  teeth,  a 
situation  that  made  lead  pencils,  medium-sized  twigs,  and  a 
vagrant  rung  from  his  highchair  very  interesting.  He  could 
bite  into  all  of  these  articles  hard  enough  to  leave  the  imprints 
of  two  sturdy  teeth. 

Jonny  has  been  walking  .  .  .  take  that  back,  .  .  .  Jonny  has 
been  RUNNING  for  several  months.  He  is  always  in  a  hurry. 
When  taking  off  for  some  spot,  preferably  that  just  forbidden 
by  his  mother,  young  Peck  lifts  his  arms,  elbows  bent,  thrusts 
out  his  chest,  and  hurls  himself  against  the  air.  His  feet  appear 
to  follow  from  force  of  habit. 

Most  of  the  time  this  form  of  locomotion  gets  Mr.  Brown 
Eyes  around  the  house  in  record  (Continued  on  page  99} 


he  tneater's  never  lost  its  fascination  for  Greg  (here  with  Bette 
)av\s  on  a  C.B.S.  air  show).  -A  recent  Broadway  musical  had  on 
"Angel"  list,  "S.  Peck — $1500."  His  next  pic's  "Dud  in  the  Sun." 


Greg  still  isn't  used  to  his  popularity.  When  a  studio  publicist  apologized 
for  phoning  six  times  in  one  day,  "Forget  it,"  said  Greg.  "It  feels  good 
after  the  d  ays  when  no  one  called!"    Greta  beamed,  nodded  "Sure!" 


45 


1.  When  the  "Mjnnie  Tolbert"  is  torpedoed  in  mid-ocean  and  young  Ray 
Estado  (T.  Renaldo)  is  wounded,  it  hits  his  fellow  Merchant  Mariners 
hard,  especially  Mudgin  (T.  Mitchell),  who  stays  with  Ray  till  the  end. 


2.  Harry  Patterson  (Clark  Gable)  and  Mudgin  wander  into  the  San  Fra 
cisco  Public  Library  for  information  on  something  Mudgin  lost  on  boa 
ship — his  soul.  But  Emily  Sears  (G.  Garson),  the  librarian,  thinks  it's  a  go 


4.  Helen's  a  good  kid  and  she  has  to  keep  reminding  herself  that  Harry 
and  Emily  are  her  two  favorite  people,  because  down  deep  she's  a  little 
bit  scared:  Soared  that  maybe  she's  falling  in  love  with  Harry  herself. 


5.  But  she  knows  it  can  never  be.    Why?    Oh,  lots  of  reasons.    Like  t' 
fun  those  two  have.   Like  the  time  when,  not  finding  any  Sundoy  dinn 
they  spied  a  hen  on  the  road  ond  presto.  2  hours  later — fried  chicke 


7.  After  that  life  becomes  a  wild  thing:  The  crazy  ride  into  Reno  with  the 
wind  whipping  their  hair  and  the  meek  little  Justice  of  the  Peace  and 
Helen,  h 


face  white,  crying,  "You  ran  out  on  me,  where've  you  been?' 


S.  They  explain  and  Helen  beams,  "Why,  I'll  move  out  so  you  can  se  | 
down!"   But  Horry's  a  seaman,  no  firesides  for  him.  He  stalks  off,  ret' 
to  his  ship,  and  Mudgin,  after  arguing  with  him,  trips  and  breaks  his  b 


46 


By  Maris  MacCullers 


WAS  A  SAILOR. 
WITH  THE  SEA  IN  HIS  BLOOD.  AND  WOMEN 
WERE  POISON — TILL  HE  MET  EMILY 
(©ARSON)  WITH  THE  SEA  IN  HER  EYES . . . 


— 

3.  But  even  though  they  start  out  by  bickering,  Harry's  personality  sweeps 
Emily  off  her  feet  and  as  she  keeps  running  into  him  at  the  apartment  she 
shares  with  Helen  Melohn  (Joan  Blondell),  slowly  her  antagonism  fades. 


i.  Suddenly,  the  fun  and  the  fury  and  the  fears  all  merge.  "And  I  swore 
fiever  to  fall  in  love,"  murmurs  Emily.  "You  have  the  ocean  in  your  eyes," 
Harry  answers.    "I  never  met  a  girl  before  with  the  ocean  in  her  eyes." 


.  A  star  twinkles  as  Mudgin  dies  and,  tortured,  Harry  thinks:  He's  found 
",  Mudgin's  found  his  soul.  Finally,  Harry  finds  his,  too,  finds  it  in  the 
cme  he  returns  to  share  with  Emily,  with  Emily  and  their  new-born  son. . . . 


STORY  His  name  was  Harry  Patterson  and  there 
was  enough  of  the  sea  in  his  walk  and  in  the 
wind-squint  of  his  eyes  so  that  you  knew  he 
couldn't  be  long  off  a  ship.  He  was  standing  now 
at  the  edge  of  die  desk  set  near  the  front  of  the 
room,  waiting  for  the  girl  with  the  horn  rim 
glasses  to  turn  to  them.  It  was  the  last  place 
in  the  world  you'd  expect  to  find  him — a  sailor 
on  shore  leave,  on  the  town — waiting  at  the 
Reading  Room  desk  of  the  San  Francisco  Public 
Library.  The  man  at  his  side  looked  around 
warily  once  and  tapped  his  shoulder. 

"Harry,"  Mudgin  said,  "maybe  we  better  come 
back  some  other  time." 

"There's  no  time  like  (Continued  on  page  88) 


PRODUCTION  While  the  picture  was  being  filmed, 
Richard  Ney  was  discharged  from  the  Navy,  and 
he  and  wife  Greer  Garson  spent  a  short  vacation 
at  their  cottage  at  Pebble  Beach,  California.  Despite 
the  fact  that  they  re-did  the  living  and  dining 
rooms,  built  cupboards  in  the  kitchen  and  painted 
the  outside  of  the  house,  Ney  gained  15  pounds 
as  a  result  of  Greer's  cooking  .  .  .  The  story  was 
taken  from  the  novel  "Anointed"  by  Clyde  Brion 
Davis,  and  chosen  for  Gable's  first  film  since  his 
return  to  civilian  life  because  director  Victor 
Fleming  felt  it  was  a  story  of  a  virile  man  with 
not  only  a  mind  of  his  own,  but  fists  to  back  it 
up  .  .  .  Gable,  the  guy  who  made  famous  the 
turtle-neck  sweater,  found  that  his  first  day  of 
shooting  called  for  a  (Continued  on  page  93) 


47 


SO  LONG  THE  WAITING,  SO 


SWEET  THE  HOMECOMING  . —  BUT  AT 


LAST  THEY'RE  TOGETHER  AGAIN, 


JEAN  PIERRE  AUMONT  AND  MARIA 


MONTEZ— TOGETHER  FOR  KEEPS! 


■  When  Jean  Pierre  Aumont  stepped  off 
the  gangplank  of  the  troopship  he  didn't 
bend  down  and  kiss  the  ground  as  several 
other  soldiers  did.  After  all,  his  wife  was 
in  a  hotel  room  somewhere  there  in  New 
York,  and  why  kiss  a  bit  of  damp  concrete 
flooring  when  Maria  Montez  was  waiting? 

He  hoisted  his  large  duffel  bag  and 
started  hurrying  down  toward  the  end  of 
the  long  pier,  then  hiked  another  couple 
of  blocks  and  wormed  his  way  down  into 
the  subway. 

It  disgorged  him  at  a  swanky  hotel  in 
uptown  New  York — a  few  words  to  the 
desk  clerk,  then  an  impatient  call  on  the 
hotel  phone,  a  dash  for  the  elevator.  Ten 
stories  up  the  doors  slid  open  and  the  tall 
soldier  hurried  down  the  long  carpeted 
hall,  his  duffel  bag  banging  at  his  knees. 
From  around  a  corner  a  dark  haired 
figure  in  a  black  negligee  came  running. 
The  two  stopped,  then  went  to  each  other 
with  open  arms.   Jean  Pierre  was  home. 

Late  that  same  afternoon  he  lounged 
back  in  a  deep  (Continued  on  page  80) 


Although  ^"crazy  about  the  U.S.,"  Jean  Pierre  is  still  a  French  citizen,  had  his  greatest 
thrill  being  the  first  to  enter  his  home  town  of  St.  Tropez  and  planting  the  Free  French 
flag  there.    (Here  as  composer  Rimsty-Korsalcoff  in  his  latest  picture,  "Fandango.") 


Odd  Coincidences:  Pierre,  colled  "Europe's  John  Garfield,"  broadcasting 
with — Johh  Garfield.  Wife  Maria  Montez  was  born  in  the  Dominican  Repub- 
lic, is  billed  in  France  as  "Mrs.  J.  P.  Aurnont" — otherwise  she's  unknown! 


BY  EDWARD  HERRON 


4; 


PEGGY  ANN  TEEN- 


DREAMS    OF    BLUE  CONVERTIBLES, 


SLINKY  BLACK  GOWNS,  CO-ED 


COLLEGES— AND  THEN  MOM  GAR- 


NER WAKES  HER  UP! 


^  So-o-o  grown-up  Peggy  Ann  Gorner  with  Lon  McCallister 
at  Ciro's,  where  she  sipped  a  coclttail  (so  what  if  it  was  to- 
mato juice?),  sported  jungle  red  lipstick  for  the  occasion. 


■  Are  you  having  trouble  with  your 
Algebra?  Are  you  not  allowed  to  have 
real,  honest-to-goodness  dates?  Does 
your  mother  disapprove  of  blue  denims, 
overdraped  by  one  of  your  father's 
cast-off  plaid  shirts?  Is  there  a  little 
problem  in  your  home  about  how  long 
you  can  talk  over  the  telephone,  and 
how  many  records  you  can  buy  each 
week? 

Then  step  right  up  and  shake  hands 
with  Peggy  Ann  Garner — she's  a  fellow- 


50 


In  feilia  Umlk 


nd  confides  she  spends  most  of 
bronze  glow,  is  beginning  to 


A  "Home,  Sweet  Homicide,"  si' 
and  her  new  home.   Den  is  stacked  with  records 
Diet  Haymes.    Peggy  would  rather  be  a  cham 


ufferer.  Peggy  is  fourteen  and  going 
studio  school  in  what  would  be— on 
the  outside — ninth  grade  or  high  school 
freshman  year.  That  Algebra  gets  her, 
it  really  does.  For  the  life  of  her  she 
can't  get  excited  about  what  X  is  doing, 
nor  what  became  of  Y. 

In  addition  to  Algebra,  she  is  strug- 
gling mightily  with  Latin  declensions. 
She  has  reached  the  "Hie,  haec,  hoc, 
huius,  huius,  huius"  routine  and  it 
leaves  her  cold.  About  the  only  bright 


spot  is  an  absurdly  jumbled  Latin  poem 
supplied  by  Mrs.  Garner,  who  studied 
Latin  herself  in  high  school.  This  death- 
less bit  of  verse  reads: 

"Boyibus  kissabus  sweeta  girlorum; 
Girlibus  likabus,  wanta  someorum. 
Papabus  seeabus  kissa  someorum,. 
Kickabus  boyibus  outa  la  doorum." 

Despite  Peggy's  intense  distaste  for 
these  two  subjects,  she  is  snagging  an  A 
minus  in  each.  In  the  two  subjects  she 


really  likes,  History  and  English,  she 
is  maintaining  an  A  rating.  On  school 
nights,  she  has  to  be  in  bed  by  nine 
o'clock,  and  she  is  required  to  rest  for 
ninety  minutes  in  the  afternoon.  That 
rest  period  has  caused  occasional  dis- 
agreements between  Peggy  and  her 
mother.  "'But  I'm  not  tired  in  the  least," 
Peggy  will  protest. 

"You  wouldn't  admit  it  if  you  were," 
says  her  mother  placidly.  "You'll  be  a 
lot  livelier   {Continued  on  page  114) 


51 


BY   CYNTHIA  MILLER 


■  A  few  weeks  ago,  David,  oldest  son  of 
Dana  Andrews,  came  home  bearing  a  big 
box;  he  and  Mary  Andrews  had  been  shop- 
ping for  a  new  suit  for  him.  The  instant 
mother  and  son  set  foot  in  the  house,  Dana 
knew  from  Mary's  quizzical  smile  that  some- 
thing special  had  happened. 

David  was  agog.  "Here  is  my  new  suit," 
he  announced,  divesting  himself  of  his  pull- 
over sweater  and  squirming  into  the  coat. 
He  added,  "It's  a  lot  like  that  grey  pin-stripe 
of  yours,  Dad." 

It  was.  But  something  was  seriously 
wrong.  "Better  slip  into  the  trousers,  too, 
son,"  Dana  said,  hoping  that  the  complete 
ensemble  would  show  off  David's  figure  to 
better  advantage.  David  is  now  at  that 
growing-boy  stage  wherein  he  strongly  re- 
sembles a  triangle— broad  at  the  base  and 
receding  at  the  shoulder  line. 

He  hopped  into  the  trousers,  then  strutted 
around  in  his  finery.  Dana  rubbed  his  hand 
over  his  chin,  looked  at  the  floor,  exchanged 
glances  with  Mary,  and  tried  to  think  of 
some  way  in  which  {Continued  on  page  96) 


At  the  Ice  Show,  Dana  Andrews  listens  while  George  Montgomery  tells 
one  on  his  wife,  Dinah  Shore.  Dana,  father  of  three,  approves  the 
Montgomerys'    desire    to    "stay    happily    married    and    have    5  kids!" 


52 


ightclubbing  with  the  miSsus,  Dana  and  Mary  gab  about  their 
Yorite  hobby:  The  theater.  Dana's  just  won  a  press  award  for 
ng  the  "second  most  co-operative  actor;"  Greg  Peck's  the  first. 


53 


SHE'S  SMOOTH  AND  SULTRY. 

THE    SCREEN'S    NEWEST    SIREN.  SHE'S 


LIZA  BETH  SCOn— SIXTH  WINNER 

OF  HEDDA  HOPPER'S  GRUEN  WATCH 

AWARD  TO  A  HEADED-FOR- 


STARDOM    STAR   OF   THE  MONTH. 


■  All  right,  boys,  all  right — this  month  it's 
your  turn.  Modern  Screen's  Star-of-the-Month 
golden  Gruen  watch  latches  right  on  to  the 
wrist  of  the  lass  with  the  lazy  name,  Miss 
Lizabeth  Scott — and  I  hope  that  sort  of  evens 
things  up  in  the  Hollywood  battle  of  the  sexes. 

After  all,  I'm  just  a  weak  woman,  so  how 
can  you  blame  me  for  bobbing  a  nod  at  five 
straight  fellows  packing  the  collective  charm 
quotients  of  Pete  Lawford,  Guy  Madison,  Bill 
Williams,  Johnny  Coy  and  Mark  Stevens? 
Maybe  I've  been  swept  away  by  the  gust  of 
gorgeous  guys  blowing  Stardust  into  my  eyes 
everywhere  I  look.  Anyway,  there  have  been 
a  few  complaints  that  I'm  selling  my  sisters 
short — and  that  ain't  necessarily  so.  Because 
while  the  males  wail,  "How  about  some  pin-up 
appeal  instead  of  all  these  magnificent  jerks?" 
the  girls  also  berl,  {Continued  on  page  120) 


Lizabeth,  now  in  "The  Strange  Love  of  Martha  Ivers,"  finds  her  trouping 
background  stands  her  in  good  stead  these  days  of  maid  shortages 
Producer  Hal  Wallis  just  refused  a  $50,000  loan-out  offer  for  her. 


V  t*E*>DA  HOPPER 


At  long  last — an  actress  wins  Hedda  Hopper's  Gruen  Award  for  the 
Star-of-the-Month!  It's  a  striking  pink  gold  watch  flanked  by  two  small 
diamonds,  and  judging  from  the  girls'  delighted  expressions,  it's  a  beaut! 


55 


Easter  parading  at  Lou  Cos+ello's  party  with  the  three  Mitchums,  Buddy,  Carol,  and  Patsy  Costello;  Elizabeth  Taylor,  and  their  chubby  host,  Lou  C 


HEAVENLY  BODIES,  THOSE 


STARS'  KIDS — THE  LITTLE  MITCHUMS, 


DURYEAS  AND  REAGANS — TILL 


THEY  SPIED  LOU  COSTELLO  DRESSED  AS 


PETER  RABBIT! 


Who's  afraid  of  the  big,  bod  bunny?  Not  Maureen 
Reagan,  who  bravely  feeds  Lou  (Harvey?)  Costello 
ot  Easter  party.   Patsy  Costello  keeps  her  distance! 


That's  the  back  of  Josh  and  Chris  Mitchums'  heads,  with  Pete  and 
Dick  Duryea  leaning  against  pop  Dan.  A  .friend,  Sharon,  June 
Allyson's  brother,  Elii.  Taylor  and  Maureen  round  up  the  rinq-a-rosv. 


One  omelette  coming  up!  Josh's  an  adventurer,  like  poppa 
Bob  Mitchum.  He  found  first  Easter  egg,  impressed  Jone 
Wyman  and  Ronald  Reagan's  daughter  Maureen  no  end! 


57 


INGRID'S  A  VIKING  WHO 

BLUSHES,  AN   OSCAR  WINNER  WHO   LIKES  TO 
WALK  IN  THE  RAIN,  A  NATURAL  BEAUTY 
WHO  DRESSES  IN  15  MINUTES  FLATI 


-ary  Grant  teased  Ingrid — Hollywood's  greatest  "walker" — about  her  new  120-foot 
iving  room  she's  had  built:  "Now  you  con  hike  in  your  own  home!"  After  the  picture 
vos  shot,  Leo  McCarey  gave  Ingrid  a  music  box  which  tinkled  "Bells  of  St.  K/lary." 


(f 


■  "Cut!"  said  Leo  McCarey.  "That's 
it.  That's  the  picture." 

It  was  the  last  scene  in  "The  Bells  of 
St.  Mary's,"  a  scene  which  probably 
only  Bing  Crosby  and  Ingrid  Bergman 
could  have  played  like  that.  The  fare- 
well scene  where  Father  O'Malley's  re- 
solve to  banish  his  best  nun  from  her 
favorite  parish  to  another  climate,  with- 
out letting  her  know  the  real  reason, 
cracks  all  to  pieces.  When  he  calls  her 
back  and  explains  that  she  has  tubercu- 
losis, her  face  glows  with  a  beatific 
smile,  and  she  breathes,  "Thank  you — 
you've  made  me  so  happy." 

If  you  saw  "The  Bells"  you'll  under- 
stand why  that  most  touching  ending 
of  any  Hollywood  picture  in  years  sent 
a  hush  over  the  RKO  stage  as  if  a  felt 
curtain  had  fallen.  On  the  set  that  day, 
the  simple  power  of  Bing's  and  Berg- 
man's acting  momentarily  banished  the 
artificiality  of  Hollywood  props  and 
stage  settings.  It  muted  the  crew's  cus- 
tomary chatter  and  break-up  bustle. 
There  were  none  of  the  usual  wise^ 
cracks,  let-down  laughter  and  rowdy 
relaxation  when  a  picture  ends.  The 
air  was  tense.  Nobody  moved  or  made 
a  sound.. 

Ingrid  Bergman  sensed  the  awkward 
situation  and  broke  it  up.  She  flew 
over  to  Bing  Crosby,  tossed  her  arms 
around  his  startled  neck — and  gave 
him  a  great  big  kiss! 

A  warm,  impulsive  gesture  like  that 
is  typical  of  Ingrid  Bergman,  Holly- 
wood's greatest  actress,  undisputed  first 
lady  and  new  Divine  Swede. 

Ingrid  Bergman  has  never  met  the 
first  Divine  Swede,  Greta  Garbo — 
although  she  (Continued  on  page  127) 


louella  parsons'  good  news 


GENE  TIERNEY'S  GOT  A 
DESIGNING  HUSBAND;  GARBO  SAYS  NO  TO  CROSBY; 

VAN  J.  KEEPS  THE  PRESIDENT 
WAITING;  MARIA  MONTEZ  STAR  GAZES ! 


Rita  Hayworth  dances  with  Tony 
Martin  at  Ciro's,  tells  her  bosses 
she'd  like  him  as  her  next  lead- 
ing man,  but  says  "just  friends!" 


Before  being  discharged  from  the  Marines,  Ty 
Power  was  promoted  to  captain,  said  the  thrill 
was  nothing  to  being  reunited  with  Annabella! 


Nora  and  Errol  Flynn  couldn't  stay  long  at 
Mocambo's,  'cause  Errol's  so  busy  writing 
books!  Warners'  are. bidding  for  his  latest. 


■  I  can  hardly  believe  that  Bette  Davis  is  being  as  rude  to 
Joan  Crawford  as  the  spies  on  the  Warner  lot  tell  me. 

Bette's  always  been  swell  about  extending  the  welcoming 
hand  to  visiting  stars  and  every  young  player  at  the 
studio  will  tell  you  that  Queen  Bette  is  generosity  itself 
when  it  comes  to  giving  them  good  breaks  in  her  pictures. 

But  the  other  day,  the  air  turned  to  icicles  when  Joan 
entered  the  commissary  and,  seeing  Bette,  went  up  to  her 
table  with  the  intention  of  inviting  her  to  a  dinner  party. 

While  Joan  stood  there,  Bette 
continued  to  eat  with  gusto  and 
relish,  barely  looked  up,  and. 
never  once  invited  the  Academy 
Award  winner  for  "Mildred 
Pierce"  to  sit  down.  I'd  hate  to 
think  such  unusual  conduct  was 
because  this  is  the  first  time  in 
many  years  that  Bette  wasn't  in 
the  running  for  the  Oscar  herself. 
•  *  • 
If  Maria  Christine  Aumont 
doesn't  grow  up  under  a  lucky 
star  she  can  sure  blame  her 
mammy,  Maria  Montez. 

Maria  is  a  great  one  for  the 
blights  and  blessings  of  Astrol- 
ogy. So  when  she  heard  she  was 
going  to  have  a  baby  and  in 
what  month  it  was  due,  she  went 
to  work  on  her  charts  and  came 
up  with  St.  Valentine's  Day.  Since 
the  baby  was  to  be  delivered  by 
a  Caesarean  operation,  Maria 
had  almost  as  much  control  over 
the  date  as  the  stars. 

Sure  enough,  St.  Valentine's 
morning  an  eight-pound  daugh- 
ter was  bom  to  her  at  St.  Vincent's  hospital. 

I'll  say  one  thing.  The  baby  got  off  to  a  romantic  start. 
Pacing  the  floor  step  by  step  with  papa  Jean  Pierre  Aumont 
was  the  family's  good  friend,  Charles  Boyer! 

*        *  * 

Tyrone  Power  and  Annabella  came  over  to  my  house  for 
dinner  the  second  night  after  they  got  back  from  their  vaca- 
tion in  Canada.  Ty  looks  like  a  million  dollars,  much  thinner, 
but  believe  me,  soooooo  handsome.  They  had  a  wonderful 
time  on  their  trip,  but  he  told  me,  (Continued  on  page  62) 


ARTA  FOLWELL 
TO  WED  STEPHEN  T.  EARLY.  JR. 
EX-INFANTRY  OFFICER 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  Philip  Folvcell  of 
Jackson,  'Mississippi,  have  announced  the 
engagement  of  their  daughter,  Aria  Parvin 
Folwell,  to  Mr.  Stephen  Tyree  Early,  Jr., 
of  Washington,  D.  C,  formerly  a  Lieu- 
tenant in  the  Infantry. 


She's  like  "a  dainty  rogue  in  porcelain,"  with  an  adorable  jeune  fille  look! 


MERCY  STEEL — Arta  helps  sort  and  clean  sur- 
gical instruments  to  be  shipped  to  Europe.  Since 
1940  the  Medical  and  Surgical  Relief  Committee 
has  been  sending  supplies  throughout  the  free 
world.  Volunteer  workers,  like  Arta,  help  collect, 
sort,  and  clean  them  before  they  are  sent. 


SHES 


rWAS  AT  A  PARTY  in  Atlanta  that 
Arta  and  Stephen  met,  and  it's  easy 
to  see  why  she  danced  into  his  heart. 

Her  hair  is  silk-spun,  her  eyes  warm, 
friendly  brown,  her  complexion  pink- 
and-white  and  baby  soft.  "I  use  lots  of 
Pond's  Cold  Cream  on  my  face  right 
along,"  she  says.  "It  makes  my  skin  feel 
really  super." 

Yes— she's  another  engaged  girl  with 
a  charming  soft-smooth  Pond's  complex- 
ion! And  this  is  how  she  cares  for  it: 

Arta  smooths  snowy  Pond's  generously 
all  over  her  face  and  throat — and  pats 
well  to  soften  and  release  dirt  and  make- 
up. Then  tissues  off. 

She  rinses  with  a  second  creaming  of 
silky-soft  Pond's,  working  it  round  her 
face  with  little  circles  of  her  cream- 
covered  fingers.  Tissues  off  again.  "I 


hue's 


HER  RING— 
a  stunning 
diamond  in  a 
square  setting. 


like  to  cream  double  each  time — for  extra 
cleansing,  extra  softening,"  she  says. 

Pond's  your  face  twice  a  day — as  Arta 
does — every  morning  when  you  get  up, 
every  night  at  bedtime.  In-between  clean- 
ups, too!  It's  no  accident  so  many  more 
women  use  Pond's  than  any  other  face 
cream  at  any  price.  Get  a  big  luxury  jar 
of  Pond's  Cold  Cream  today! 


A.  IKW  OF  THE  MAWY  FONDAS 
SOCIETY  BEAtmxS 


61 


FORGET  ME  SOT 
BLONDE- 4^*^ 


! 


Celebrated  painter,  John  Collins,  shows  how 
a  blonde  complexion  is  glorified 
with  original*  "Flower-fresh"  shade  of 
Cashmere  Bouquet  Face  Powder 

Want  to  make  your  blue  eyes  seem  bluer?  Want 
to  make  your  fair  skin  look  richer,  more 
radiant?  Then  smooth  on  Cashmere  Bouquet's 
new  "Flower-fresh"  shade  of  Natural.  With  a 
whisper  of  pink,  fresh  as  a  bon-bon,  it  imparts 
a  pearly-smooth  finish  to  your  skin. 
Masks  tiny  blemishes;  clings  for  hours  .  .  . 
it's  the  face  powder  find  of  the  year. 
There  are  "Flower-fresh"  Cashmere  Bouquet 
shades  to  glorify  all  skin  types. 


Here's  the  right  Cashmere 
Bouquet  shade  for  you! 

FOR  LIGHT  TYPES 

♦Natural,  Rachel  No.  1 
Rachel  No.  2 

FOB  M  EDI  I'M  TYPES 

Rachel  No.  2.  Rose  Brunette 

FOR  DARK  TYPES 

Rose  Brunette,  Even  Tan 


f!WJJ^S'-Jflec  Wit 


"Louella.  I'm  so  damned  glad  to  get  home  and 
settled  again,  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see  an- 
other train  or  plane." 

He  also  told  a  very  funny  story  about  being 
in  New  York  with  Cesar  Romero.  Ty  and 
"Butch"  were  walking  down  Fifth  Avenue  one 
day,  enjoying  themselves  very  much  for  the 
few  minutes  before  they  were  recognized. 
Then,  out  of  the  blue,  the  bobby-soxers  started 
descending  on  them. 

Quickly,  the  boys  hopped  in  a  cab — only  the 
cab  wouldn't  start.  It  stalled  just  as  they  were 
about  to  drive  off. 

"So  there  we  sat,"  laughed  Ty,  "like  a 
couple  of  monkeys  on  display  in  a  cage.  And 
the  girls  would  stick  their  heads  in  the  cab 
window  and  discuss  us  impersonally. 

"One  of  them  was  particularly  smitten  with 
Cesar.    She  kept  saying  to  her  girl  friend 

'He's  a  DOLL,  that's  what  he  is; — just  a  DOLL!'  " 

*  *  • 

Gene  Tierney  is  a  little  bit  miffed  with  de- 
signer Orry  Kelly  because  he  failed  to  nomi 
nate  her  among  Hollywood's  best  dressed 
women  on  my  radio  show. 

If  it  makes  her  feel  any  better,  I'd  put  Gene 
on  my  list  if  I  were  a  fashion  expert — which  1 
ain't.  Her  husband,  Oleg  Cassini,  design: 
everything  she  wears  off  the  screen  and,  be 
lieve  me,  she  was  a  vision  at  a  party  a 
Atwater  Kent's  home. 

Gene  walked  in  wearing  a  long,  fitted  rost 
colored  gown — at  least  we  all  thought  it  wa: 
a  gown.  Suddenly  she  electrified  everyon 
by  starting  to  take  off  her  dress!  You  see,  i 
wasn't  a  dress  at  all,  but  a  beautifully  fitte' 
coat  under  which  she  was  wearing  a  whit 

dress  of  the  exact  same  cut  and  fit! 

*  »  • 

Poor  Lizabeth  Scott  can't  find  a  place  to  live 
She's  been  evicted  from  so  many  apartment 
in  the  past  twelve  months  that  the  gang  c 
Paramount  has  labeled  her,  "Miss  Movie  c 
1946." 

*  »  * 

Only  those  incorrigible  clowns,  Billy  Wilde 
and  Charlie  Bracket!  (the  men  behind  "Lo: 
Weekend")  would  tell  this  on  themselves- 
but  I  swear,  those  two  would  tell  anythun 

Seems  they  were  very  anxious  to  get  Grei 
Garbo  for  "Emperor's  Waltz"  with  Bing  Crosb 
After  days  of  trying  to  locate  her  they  we: 
finally  able  to  obtain  her  private  telephoi 
number  and  get  G.  G.  on  the  wire. 

When  they  explained  that  they  would  lil 
to  meet  her  and  discuss  the  movie  with  he 
Garbo  surprised  them  by  consenting.  "We' 
getting  somewhere,"  said  Brackett  to  Wildt 

So  they  made  the  appointment  and  went  o 
to  her  home  one  afternoon  to  discuss  the  fi1 
with  her.  Not  only  was  Garbo  most  cordi< 
but  at  cocktail  time  she  invited  the  boys 
remain  for  a  drink  and  hors  d'oeuvres.  Di 
ing  an  unobserved  moment,  Charlie  hissed 
Billy,  "We're  getting  somewhere." 

Finally,  came  dinner  time — and  surpri 
of  surprises,  she  invited  them  to  remain  I 
the  evening  meal.  Once  again.  Bracken  w 
moved  to  comment  to  his  director-friend,  "We 
getting  somewhere." 

After  dinner,  all  very  gay  and  happy,  th 
retired  to  the  living  room  for  coffee  and  mc 
enthusiastic  discussion  about  the  movie.  Gai 
could  not  have  been  more  charming.  £ 
laughed  loud  and  long  at  the  witty  dialoc 


good  news 


From  one  uniform  to  another!  Dick  Greene's  just  back  after  2'/2  years  with  the 
British  Lancers,  donned  fancy  duds  for  Atwater  Kent  party  with'  wife,  Pat  Medina. 
He  and  Pat  toured  France  doing  camp  shows  after  he  got  his  medical  discharge. 


June  Haver  with  Vic  Orsatti  at  the  Kents — but  there's  still  Bobby  Breen,  Vic 
Mature,  director  Lucky  Humberstone — and  that  ain't  ail!  So  how  come  June  s  formed 
a  club  of  bachelor  girls  on  the  20th-Fox  lot  called  the  "No  Rata  Data''  Club??? 


A  designing  gal,  Gene  Tierney  dreams  up  most  of  her  own  clothes,  then  has  'em 
made!  Husband  Oleg  Cassini's  another  ex-serviceman  who  delights  in  dressing  up 
after  all  those  slap-khaki  years.    Gene's  hair's  back  to  its  natural  brunette  shade. 


and  situations.  Finally,  they  thought  the  right 
moment  had  arrived  to  pin  her  down. 

"Miss  Garbo,"  they  said,  almost  in  unison/ 
"have  you  reached  any  decision  about  this 
picture  with  Bing?" 

"Yes,  gentlemen,"  said  Garbo,  "I  have." 
Came  the  breathless  moment  of  suspense.  "I 
HAVE  DECIDED  NOT  TO  DO  IT!" 

"Charlie,"  said  Wilder  to  Brackert,  "I  think 
we  are  beginning  to  get  somewhere — right 
OUT  THE  DOOR!" 

*  *  * 

Vignette  on  Dennis  Morgan:  He  never  calls 
his  wife  "Baby,"  "Mamma"  or  "The  Little 
Woman."  Her  name  is  Lillian  and  he  calls  her 
Lillian.  He  never  calls  his  children  "the  kids." 
They  have  names,  too.  He's  the  most  amiable, 
hospitable  guy  in  the  world  about  everything 
but  guests  who  drop  in  without  being  invited. 
He's  more  like  a  prosperous  business  man 
than  a  movie  actor.  He  doesn't  even  live  in 
Hollywood  or  Beverly  Hills.  His  home  is  an 
old  estate  over  near  Pasadena.  He  likes 
frogs'  legs  and  little  out-of-the-way  cafes.  He 
doesn't  like  popular  night  clubs  where  you  get 
an  exploding  flashlight  bulb  in  your  face  while 
eating.  His  favorite  color  on  women  is  blue — 
any  shade.  He  doesn't  like  red  evening 
gowns — but  red  hats  are  cute.  He  sings  in 
the  shower,  while  driving  his  car,  or  on  the 
slightest  provocation.    He's  a  very  good  guy. 

*  •  * 

Lana  Turner  sold  her  house  in  Bel  Air  for  a 
pretty  penny  and  I  believe  it  was  that  same 
pretty  penny  that  made  up  her  mind — and  not 
that  the  place  reminded  her  of  Turhan  Bey. 

And  speaking  of  pretty  pennies,  the  Fred 
MacMurrays  parted  with  their  Brentwood  home 
for  5100,000  cash.  And  Fred  already  one  of 
the  richest  men  in  Hollywood! 

*  *  * 

I  had  a  long,  long  talk  with  Rita  Hayworth, 
who  is  one  of  the  sweetest  girls  in  this  town. 
And  here  is  the  truth  about  the  three  men 
in  her  life — at  least,  in  the  newspaper  columns 

She  and  Victor  Mature  will  not  resume  their 
romance  where  they  left  off.  That's  over  and 
done  with. 

She  is  definitely  NOT  carrying  a  torch  for 
her  ex,  Orson  Welles — but  she  has  nothing 
but  the  kindest  and  most  complimentary  things 
to  say  about  the  man  she  is,  divorcing. 

She  IS  very,  very  fond  of  Tony  Martin,  her 
current  steady  "date,"  but  she  says  it  isn't 
love — yet. 

Personally,  I'm  not  too  sure  about  that 
They  look  like  they  are  in  seventh  heaven 
when  they  are  dancing  in  each  other's  arms. 
They  have  both  been  through  little  private 
hells.  Tony,  particularly,  suffered  as  the  re- 
sult of  the  "investigation"  into  his  Navy  com- 
mission in  the  early  days  of  the  war.  But 
he  more  than  made  up  for  that  blot  with  his 


63 


fine  record  in  the  China-Burma-India  Theater 
of  war. 

Perhaps  Tony  and  Rita  are  more  in  love 
than  they  are  willing  to  admit — even  to  them- 
selves. When  two  people  have  been  hurt — 
not  once  but  many  times — they  fear  to  wear 
their  hearts  again  on  their  sleeves. 

But  if  I  were  a  fortune  telling  lady  I  would 
predict  that  Tony  and  the  gorgeous  Rita 
will  be  our  next  serious  Hollywood  romance. 

*  *  * 

A  Word  To  The  Wise  Department: 

The  too  frequent  visits  of  Paul  Brinkman 
to  the  set  of  his  bride,  Jeanne  Crain,  are 
beginning  to  get  into  20th  Century-Fox's  hair. 
Or  does  a  studio  have  hair? 

Those  last  four  stories  you  picked  for  your- 
self got  bad  reviews,  Deanna  Durbin.  How 
about  letting  Universal  select  your  next  one? 

The  next  time  Van  Johnson  is  invited  to  the 
White  House  nothing  should  stop  him  from 
being  there  on  the  exact  hour — and  I  mean 
NOTHING.  Van's  too  nice  a  kid  to  be  criticized 
for  even  a  delay  (he  stopped  to  sign  auto- 
graphs) that  came  out  of  the  kindness  of  his 
heart.  But  no  one  should  be  late  to  the  home 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

*  •  * 

Lila  Damita  took  her  son,  Sean,  to  see  his 
father,  Errol  Flynn,  in  "San  Antonio." 

When  they  came  out  of  the  Beverly  Hills 
picture  show,  she  asked  him  how  he  had 
liked  the  movie. 

"It  was  good,"  said  the  little  boy,  "but  I 
can't  make  up  my  mind  whether  I  like  him 
better  on  or  off  the  screen!" 


IT'S  A  GIFT! 

— That  knack  you  have  of  spot- 
ting new  faces  and  flashing  the 
word  to  us.  So  we'd  like  to  match 
your  gift  with  one  of  our  own. 
Just  mail  us  the  Questionnaire 
Poll  on  page  10  IMMEDI- 
ATELY (after  you've  filled  it 
out,  of  course) ,  and  you  may  be 
among  the  500  lucky  ones  who'll 
receive  the  next  4  issues  (June, 
July,  August  and  September) 
absolutely  free! 

I  think  the  following  letter  speaks  for  itself — 
and  there  is  little  more  I  can  add : 
Dear  Louella: 

I  do  hope  you  remember  me.  I've  just 
come  home  horn  St.  John's  Hospital  in  Santa 
Monica  and  I  thought  you  might  be  interested 
in  something  that  I  saw  there.  Of  course,  it's 
just  another  of  Bob  Hope's  nice  gestures — 
but  the  Head  Sister  and  I  thought  you  might 
like  to  know. 

There  has  been  a  tragically  ill,  17-year-old 
girl  there,  dying  trom  an  absolutely  unknown 
illness.  The  staff  and  sisters  had  found  her 
almost  impossible  to  handle,  particularly  in  re- 
gard to  her  mental  viewpoint,  as  she  herself 
knew  there  was  no  hope. 

But  ever  since  Mr.  Hope  (he's  well  named) 
took  the  time  and  trouble  to  visit  her  and 
cheer  her,  it  has  made  the  last  part,  if  not  the 
ending  to  her  story,  quite  a  different  thing. 
The  Sisters  and  everyone  are  very,  very  grate- 


ful to  Mr.  Hope.    Perhaps  this  seems  unim- 
portant, but  remembering  you,  I  don't  think 
it  will.  Six  weeks  is  a  short  time  to  have  left. 
Sincerely, 

Mimi  Forsythe. 
»        *  • 

The  nerve  of  some  people! 

The  girl  who  has  been  impersonating  Bar- 
bara Stanwyck  in  New  York  finally  over- 
stepped herself  when  she  checked  in  at  one  of 
the  best  hotels  as  "Miss  Barbara  Stanwyck, 
California."  A  New  York  columnist  printed 
the  "arrival"  which  nearly  knocked  the 
real  Barbara  off  her  pins  when  she  read 
it  sitting  in  her  sunny  Beverly  Hills  patio. 

"I  knew  SOMEBODY  had  been  trying  to  get 
away  with  murder  because  several  New  York 
shops  had  reported  there  was  an  attempt  to 
use  my  charge  accounts,"  Barbara  told  me, 
"but  it  was  the  last  straw  when  she  registered 
at  a  hotel!"  Of  course,  detectives  were  put  on 
the  trail  immediately. 

*        •  » 

The  top  drawer  stars,  all  gorgeously 
gowned,  danced  'til  the  wee  small  hours  at 
the  formal  dinner  dance  L.  B.  Mayer  gave  in 
honor  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  Ford  II,  of  De- 
troit— who  certainly  had  a  whirl  when  they 
visited  Hollywood.  The  young  Fords  are  very 
attractive  and  everyone  who  met  them  com- 
mented on  their  simplicity  and  genuineness. 

I  don't  believe  I  have  ever  seen  such  lovely 
gowns  and  so  many  beautiful  women  at  one 
party.  Loretta  Young  was  a  vision  in  an 
elaborate  white  gown  trimmed  in  gold. 

Greer  Gar  son  was  stunning  with  her  red 


Straight  Line  Design 

I 


say 


♦1st.  Vote*  i" 

crushes'-  <7 


Strol8w 


re  o*Wed 


Why  Pepsodenl  Straight  Line  Design  Cleans 
Teeth  Best.  Most  teeth  in  the  average  mouth 
lie  in  a  series  of  relatively  straight  lines.  Author- 
itative research  shows  Pepsodent's  Straight 
Line  Design  fits  more  teeth  better  than  convex 
or  concave  designs . . .  Actually  cleans  up  to  30% 
more  tooth  surface  per  stroke. 


SverY  j 

peps0** 


has  the  Straight  Line  Design 
most  dentists  recommend 


hail  drawn  simply  away  from  her  face  and 
she,  too,  was  in  white. 

Joan  Bennett  wore  a  stunning  black  frock 
with  tulle  and  ostrich  trimmings  and  Joan  told 
me,  in  an  aside,  that  she  and  Peggy  ("Forever 
Amber")  Cummins  were  wearing  the  identical 
dress,  although  Peggy's  was  in  white.  I  would 
never  have  noticed  it — but  the  "wearers" 
are  always  conscious  of  those  things. 

I  was  particularly  attracted  to  a  beautiful 
girl  with  red  hair  and  brown  eyes.  She  is 
Beverly  Tyler,  and  after  "The  Green  Years" 
is  released,  you  can  bet  she  will  be  a  star. 

Irene  Dunne  arrived  late.  She  had  had  an 
early  supper  with  her  husband.  Dr.  Francis 
Griffin,  who  is  getting  better  but  who  is  still 
not  yet  able  to  attend  these  soirees. 

Lady  Millford  Haven's  handsome  young  son, 
in  Navy  uniform,  came  with  the  Douglas  Fair- 
banks'. I  think  Doug  looks  more  like  his 
famous  dad  every  day. 

The  two  daughters  of  L.  B.,  Mrs.  William 
Goetz  and  Mrs.  David  Selznick,  helped  him 
receive.  Irene  Selznick  was  with  Eddy 
Duchin,  the  famed  orchestra  leader,  who 
seems  crazy  about  her. 

*  *  * 

Speaking  of  parties — perhaps  the  prettiest 
social  affair-  of  the  season  was  the  Valentine 
dance  hosted  by  Atwater  Kent,  the  Los  An- 
geles millionaire.  His  home,  atop  a  Beverly 
hill,  is  an  ideal  setting,  for  it  seems  that-the 
whole  world  is  spread  out  twinkling  in  lights 
at  your  feet.  As  for  the  house — it  is  so  big 
that  Atwater  can  entertain  two  or  three  hun- 
dred guests  as  easily  as  you  or  I  could  have 
eight  for  dinner!  He  is  a  marvelous  host  and 
so  popular  with  the  film  people. 

Gene  Tierney  was  something  out  of  a  pic- 
-ture  book  in  a  lacy  Scarlett  O'Hara  gown  of 
the  Civil  War  period  and  her  husband,  Oleg 
Cassini,  came  as  a  dandy  of  those  days. 

Greer  Garson  went  mischievous  and  ap- 
peared as  a  British  sailor.  June  Haver  looked 
like  a  Valentine  in  a  white  and  red  costume. 
Ginny  Simms  and  Mrs.  Edgar  Bergen,  both 
expectant  mothers,  dodged  the  costume  idea, 
but  they  looked  beautiful  in  modern  gowns. 

*  *  * 

That's  all  for  now.   See  you  next  month! 


IN  THE  MERRY.  MERRY 
MONTH  OF  MAY 

We  were  strolling  through  the  park 
one  day,  chewing  on  a  stray  blade  of 
grass,  when  we  thought  how  hungry 
a  body3 d  get  if  he  had  to  live  on  that 
cow  food.  Then  we  brightened  up, 
because  we  knew  all  along  that  a 
really  hungry  soul  could  make  $5  just 
like  that  if  he'd  just  take  himself  to 
a  nice,  quiet  cell  and  write  us  all 
about  what  Gertie  Glamorpuss  said 
when  he  met  her.  We  call  'em  "I  Saw 
It  Happens,"  and  we  pay  five  smack- 
eroos for  every  one  we  accept.  So, 
if  you've  been  eating  off  the  grass 
lately  and  would  welcome  a  change 
in  diet,  cudgel  your  brain  and  come 
up  with  a  true,  clearly  written,  brief 
account  of  what  happened' when  you 
met  a  star — and  let  us  know.  Mail 
your  entry  to  the  "I  Saw  It  Hap- 
pen" Editor,  Modern  Screen,  149 
Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


J 


They'll  c[m  your  bzby 
/  b  t/ie  riqht  start,  too! 


These  two  Gerber's  Cereals  are  made  for  one  purpose  — 
to  serve  the  special  needs  of  baby  and  build  healthy 
little  bodies. 

First  of  all,  Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal  are 
excellent  starting  cereals— they  mix  to  a  creamy,  smooth  consistency.  They 
are  rich  in  added  iron,  so  necessary  for  babies  ready  to  start  on  solid  food. 
For  just  about  that  time,  your  doctor  will  tell  you,  the  supply  of  precious 
iron  you  give  baby  before  birth,  begins  to  run  low. 

As  a  further  aid  to  baby's  well-being,  both  Gerber's  Cereals  contain 
generous  amounts  of  B  complex  vitamins  (from  natural  sources),  calcium 
and  phosphorus.  Furthermore,  both  cereals  are  made  to  taste  extra  good! 
Millions  of  babies  have  done  well  on  Gerber's  Cereals.  When  buying, 
look  for  "America's  Best-Known  Baby"  on  every  package! 


Gerber's  Cereal  Food 
(blue  box)  and  'Gerber's 
Strained  Oatmeal  (red 
box)  are  pre-cooked, 
ready-to-serve  right  in 
baby's  dish  by  adding 
milk  or  formula  (either 
hot  or  cold). 


sure  to  get  both,  and  serve 
Gerber's  Cereal  Food  at  one 
feeding,  Gerber's  Strained 
Oatmeal  at  the  next. 
Remember,  it  is  wise 
to  check  your  baby's 
feeding  program  with 
your  doctor. 


NATIONAL  BABY  WEEK,  April  27  to  May  4.  "Give  your  baby  the  right  start  in  life.' 


erber's 


FREMONT.  MICH. 


OAKLAND.  CAL. 


S£t/ff&f?£€  Cereals        Strained  Foods       Chopped  Food: 


©  1946.  G.  P.  C. 

Address:  Gerber  Products  Co.,  Dept.  DE5-6,  Fremont,  Michigan. 
Name    


My  baby  is  now   months 

old.  Please  send  me  samples  of 
Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal  and 
Gerber's  Cereal  Foods. 
Address  -  -  City  and  State 


E 


mergency 


tations! 


FIRST  AID  IS  THE 

BEAUTY  DEPARTMENT'S  THEME — LEARN 
TO  BE  A  GOOD  SAMARITAN 
AND  THEN  YOU  CAN  BE  SURE  THAT 
YOUR  LIFE  IS  BEAUTIFUL 


■  "Hey,  we're  not  going  to  recommend 
any  hand  lotion!"  Al  Delacorte  and 
Henry  Malmgreen  yelled  at  me.  I  was 
telling  your  editors,  Al  and  Henry  about 
their  big  influence  on  the  new  Beauty 
Department  story.  But  when  they  heard 
that  the  subject  was  First  Aid  they 
seemed  right  happy  about  the  set-up. 
Figure  it  out  this  way:  Al  and  Henry 
are  missionaries  of  the  neighborly  way 
and  it's  contagious!  Usually  we  talk 
about  looking  beautiful,  but  now  let's  do 
some  serious  thinking  about  moving  out 
of  the  window  dummy  class  and  really 
beginning  to  act  the  life  beautiful 

Two  thousand-year-old  gossip  has  it 
that  the  good  Samaritan  not  only  felt 
sorry  for  the  injured  man,  he  knew  what 
to  do  for  him.  It  behooves  all  of  us  to 
learn  First  Aid.  True,  we  might  not 
chance  upon  a  man  who's  been  beaten  by 
robbers  but  accidents  do  happen  on  the 
job,  in  school  or  at  home.  That's  why 
it  is  such  a  good  idea  to  keep  handy 
the  materials  needed  to  check  minor 
injuries  or  to  help  an  accident  victim 


By  Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor 


Ella  Raines'  Red  Cross  training  makes  her  a 
great  help  in  an  emergency.  Soon  you  will  be 
seeing  her  in  Universale  hit,  "The  Runaround." 


until  the  M.D.  arrives.  You  can  buy 
these  separately  or,  better  yet,  you  can 
invest  in  especially  prepared  First  Aid 
Kits  and  then  you  are  sure  of  having 
all  the  necessities.  Of  course,  you'll  keep 
a  kit  in  the  family  medicine  cabinet,  but 
remember  to  get  a  smaller  one  for  the 
automobile.  If  you  are  planning  to  hie 
yourself  to  a  beach  or  mountain  cot- 
tage for  the  summer,  by  all  means  bring 
along  a  First  Aid  Kit. 

You  can  learn  First  Aid  through 
community,  school  or  church  groups. 
Too,  there  is  still  a  need  for  Red  Cross 
workers  .  .  .  Lniversal's  Ella  Raines  is  a 
shining  example  of  one.  With  this  train- 
ing you  can  be  a  really  useful  citizen. 
But — this  is  important — never  try  to 
take  the  place  of  a  doctor! 

Here  are  some  of  the  helps  which  we 
can  provide,  I've  checked  these  with 
a  doctor.  First,  be  sure  the  injured 
person  is  kept  lying  down.  Then  attend 
immediately  to  serious  bleeding,  cessa- 
tion of  breathing  and  poisoning.  Ex- 
amine for  less  apparent  injuries.  Keep 
the  victim  warm  and  comfortable  and, 
if  he  is  unconscious,  never  give  him 
liquids — that  might  cause  choking. 

All  dressings  and  bandages  that  you 
use  should  be  absolutely  sterile.  The 
best  are  those  packaged  in  sealed  enve- 
lopes. Adhesive  tape  holds  bandages  in 
place,  but  is  never  placed  directly  on 
wounds.  Always  use  fresh  iodine  labeled 
"Tincture  of  Mild  Iodine,  U.S.P."  Old 
iodine  is  dangerous  because  some  of  the 
alcohol  may  have  evaporated,  leaving  a 
solution  so  strong  it  might  burn  skin. 

Bear  these  pointers  in  mind.  Set  to 

work  learning  all  that  you  can  to  help. 

You'll  be  well  on  the  way  to  leading 

the  good  life  when  you  can  respond 

promptly  to  "Emergency  Stations!" 
«      *      *  * 

It  certainly  warms  your  Beauty  Edi- 
tor s  heart  to  hear  from  you  MODERN 
Screen  readers!  So  keep  sending  in 
your  problems  of  complexion,  makeup, 
figure,  hair  care.  VII  be  glad  to  answer. 
And  as  a  special  May  treat,  there  is  a 
pile  of  booklets  on  "Hair  Do's  and 
Don'ts  for  Teen  Agers"  on  my  desk.  To 
get  yours,  just  drop  me  a  note  and, 
pretty  please,  accompany  it  with  a 
stamped,  self-addressed  envelope.  The 
address:  Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor, 
Modern  Screen,  149  Madison  Ave., 
New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


Why  not  bring  out  the  natural 
glossy  highlights  of  your  hair  iik 


Miss  Jane  Gilbert,  stunning  Powers  Girl,  is  thrilled 
the  way  beautifying  Kreml  Shampoo  keeps  her 
hair  shining-bright  and  lustrous  for  days.' 

Positively  uever  leaves  any  excess  dull, 

soapy  film.  Men  can't  help  admire  shimmering 
highlights  in  a  girl's  hair.  They  like  the  soft,  silky 
feel  of  it  under  their  fingers. 

So,  girls — why  not  take  a  tip  from  gorgeous  Powers 
Models  who  are  famous  for  their  naturallv  soft  lus- 
trous hair?  Powers  Girls  use  Kreml  Shampoo  to  wash 
their  hair!  Kreml  Shampoo  is  an  arch  conspirator 
for  ensnaring  vour  man.  And  here's  why  — 

Sllben-sbeea  beauty  lasts  for  days.  Kreml 
Shampoo  not  only  thoroughly  cleanses  scalp  and  hair 
of  dirt  and  loose  dandruff  but  it  actually  brings  out  the 
natural  sparkling  highlights  that  lie  concealed  in  the 
hair.  Kreml  Shampoo  leaves  hair  so  much  softer, 
silkier,  easier  to  set. 

Wonderful  to  softeu  dry,  brittle  ends.  Kreml 
Shampoo  is  so  mild  and  gentle  on  your  hair.  It  positively 
contains  no  harsh  caustics  or  chemicals.  Rather,  it 
has  a  beneficial  oil  base  which  helps  keep  hair  from 
becoming  dry  .  It  never  leaves  anv  excess  soapy  film 
that  makes  your  hair  so  dull  and  lifeless  looking.  So 
be  glamour-wise  and  always  wash  your 
hair  with  Kreml [Shampoo— a  trump  card  /$-rQuamSetii,y 
in  any  woman's  bag 'of  beautv  tricks!  I  Good  Housekeeping 
All  drug,  department  and  10c  stores. 

KREML  SHAMPOO 

A  product  of  R.  B.  V«/*r,  Inc. 
FOR  SILKEN- SHEEN  HAIR  — EASIER  TO  ARRANGE 
MADE  IY  THE  MAKERS  OF  THE  FAMOUS  KREML  HAIR  TONIC 


First  wash  hair  icilh  Kreml 
Shampoo  so  that  vour  hair  ui'.l 
sparkle  with  its  natural  lustre.  Set 
pin  curls  in  direction  of  arrows. 


Foilnw  directions  of  arrows  for 
setting  pin  curls  in  front,  Notice 
hate  Kreml  Shampoo  leaves  hair 
so  much  easier  to  set. 


Shotting  proper  position  of  braid. 
Kreml  Shampoo  h  MffntHNM  for 
thick,  long  hair,  because  it  thor- 
oughly cleanses  each  tiny  strand. 


«pf  ED  SULLIVAN  SPEAKING.. 


B  "{Catherine,  that  man  is  here." 

The  voice  boomed  into  the  C.B.S.  Theater  studio,  over 
the  control  room  channel,  and  a  score  or  more  shirt- 
sleeved  musicians  looked  up  idly  to  see  what  was  about 
to  happen. 

The  speaker  was  Ted  Collins;  Katherine  was  Kate 
Smith;  "that  man"  was  Sullivan,  on  the  Paul  Revere 
mission  of  iniorming  the  countryside  that  in  consequence 
of  the  magnificent  standards  maintained  by  Kate  in 
3,000  air  shows,  the  Ed  Sullivan-MoDEHN  Screen  radio 
plaque  had  been  awarded  to  the  Columbia  Broadcasting 
System  star. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned  ii  it  isn't  Edward,"  exclaimed 
a  bespectacled  gent  at  one  of  the  "mikes,"  as  Collins  and 
I  emerged  from  the  control  room.  The  bespectacled 
gent  was  Tommy  Dorsey,  appearing  that  night  on  the 
Smith  show,  and  greatly  enjoying  the  ordered  informality 
present  at  any  Kate  Smith  rehearsal.  But  the  informality 
never  gets  out  of  hand,  because  Ted  Collins  has  definite 
ideas  of  showmanship,  and  the  cardinal  point  of  the 
Collins  creed  is  that  performers  in  general,  and  Kather- 
ine in  particular,  must  be  handled  with  respect.  He 
always  has  felt  that  way.  The  first  time  he  ever  saw 
Kate  Smith,  in  "Honeymoon  Lane,"  Collins  resented  the 
gags  that  had  been  composed  about  her  in  the  script  of 


the  show.  "I  don't  care  whether  you  weigh  108  pounds," 
stormed  Collins.  "Once  you're  on  the  stage,  you  are  not 
to  be  treated  as  anything  but  a  fine  performer.  If 
broken-down  comics  can't  get  laughs  except  at  the  ex- 
pense of  other  members  of  the  cast,  they  ought  to  get 
out  of  business."  It  has  been  on  that  basis  that  the 
Smith-Collins  partnership  not  only  has  endured  but 
flourished. 

Down  the  years,  there  has  been  no  break  in  the  con- 
sistency of  the  policy  established  by  Collins.  In  Holly- 
wood, when  the  Kate  Smith  show  originated  out  there  for 
a  spell,  the  studio  musicians  and  announcers  were  thun- 
derstruck to  learn  that  Collins  had  banned  sport  jackets, 
vari-colored  flannel  trousers  and  gay  socks  for  them. 
"But  this  is  California,"  they  protested  to  Ted.  "We  don't 
dress  formally  out  here  for  a  radio  show."  Collins  didn't 
waste  any  time  in  argument:  "Listen,  chums,  this  is  a 
big  league  show.  Kate  Smith  followers  have  a  very 
definite  idea  in  mind  when  they  think  of  her,  and  they  like 
to  find  her  in  a  studio  surrounded  by  a  dinner-jacketed 
cast.    If  you'd  rather  drop  out  of  the  show  ?" 

There  was  the  day  that  Collins  went  into  Bill  Paley's 
office  at  C &.S.  "I've  got  a  new  attraction  for  you.  Bill," 
said  Collins.  Paley  was  interested,  quick,  because  the 
Kate  Smith  show  has  incubated  such  finds  as  Abbott  and 


Costello.  "I  have  got  probably  the  top  com- 
mentator of  the  networks,"  said  Collins,  "but 
she  should  be  on  an  afternoon  spot."  Paley 
gazed  at  him  incredulously :  "SHE,  did  you  say 
she  is  a  SHE?"  Collins  nodded:  "That's  right, 
Kate  Smith."  Paley  explained  patiently  that 
Kate's  following  had  been  built  as  a  singer, 
that  it  would  be  suicidal  for  her  to  invade 
the  field  of  commentation.  But  Collins  per- 
sisted, and  today,  Kate  Smith's  rating  as  a 
daytime  commentator  is  phenomenal. 

As  this  story  demonstrates,  it  is  inevitable 
that  in  any  discussion  of  Kate  Smith,  I  find 
myself  reverting  almost  continuously  to 
Collins.  It  is  inevitable  because  never  in 
the  history  of  contemporary  showmanship 
has  there  been  such  a  relationship  between 
star  and  manager.  At  each  stage  of  their 
journey  to  the  top  brackets,  this  has  been 
an  integrated  effort  that  found  every  short 
cut,  that  eliminated  every  wasteful  expen- 
diture of  time  or  energy  or  talent.  Collins 
finds  time,  on  the  side,  to  run  his  Boston  pro- 
fessional football  team  in  the  winter,  and  go 
trout  fishing  in  the  Adirondacks  in  the  sum- 
mer, when  their  program  originates  from  Lake 
Placid. 

The  girl  from  Washington,  D.  C,  Kate  Smith, 
is  even  more  extraordinary  than  her  manager 
and  friend.  She  is  something  special  because 
of  a  God-given  voice  that  is  subject  to  none 
of  the  distresses  that  plague  other  singers. 
Typical:  Other  singers  scream  in  agony  at  the 
very  thought  of  snow-covered  mountains,  claim 
that  extreme  cold  so  tightens  vocal  chords  that 
Whispering  Jack  Smith  could  out-shout  them. 
Kate  listens  sympathetically  to  her  fellow 
thrushes,  then  heads  for  the  bob  sled  run  at 
Lake  Placid.  After  a  full  day  outdoors,  she 
relaxes  on  her  island  estate  by  drinking  some- 
thing cold,  iced  milk  or  iced  tea.  According 
to  all  accepted  standards,  by  this  time  her 
voice  should  have  been  as  frozen  as  an  OPA 
ceiling,  but  instead,  it  gets  better  with  the 
years;  streams  out  cool  and  clear  as  an  Adiron- 
dack stream.  ' 

Recently,  when  I  made  the  first  Ed  Sullivan- 
Modern  Screen  award  to  Edward  Johnson,  i 
of  the  Metropolitan  Opera,  we  were  talking 
about  my  favorite  Metropolitan  singer,  the  great 
Ezio  Pinza.  "He's  such  a  fine  actor,  too,"  I 
applauded.  Mr.  Johnson,  a  former  "Met"  star, 
acted  amused:  "Pinza  has  such  a  magnificent 
voice  that  he  doesn't  have  to  concentrate  on 
singing.  He  acts  his  roles  brilliantly  because 
there  is  no  fear  in  his  mind  about  his  singing." 

It  is  the  same  with  Kate  Smith.  Like  Pinza, 
she  has  a  voice  that  occasions  her  no  appre- 
hension, and  so  she  handles  all  other  chores 
brilliantly.  Singing  is  child's  play  to  her,  and 
eagerly  she  turns  to  dialogue  or  commercials 
or  speech  makng  that  would  demoralize  the 
better-than-average  singer.  Conditioning  all  of 
her  extra-curricular  activities  is  a  fine  mind 
and  a  nice  dignity  that  are  reflected  in  her 
very  level  eyes.  Beyond  that  is  a  very  genuine 
feeling  for  people.  Kate  likes  them,  and  they 
know  it,  and  it  is  evident  in  her  voice  and 
attitude. 

This  past  summer,  when  Parks  Johnson 
and  Warren  Hull  left  "Vox  Pop"  to  swell 
comedian  Peter  Donald  and  me,  one  of  our 
shows  took  us  to  Lake  Placid,  where  the 
0.  S.  Army  was  running  the  exclusive  Lake 


MORE  THAN  AN  INK  .  .  . 


IT  PROTECTS  PENS ! 


PAR  KE.R 

Quink 

TBto'   REO.T.M.WADE  IN  U.S.  A  . 


Permanent  Blue  Black 


Copr.  1946  by 
The  Parker  Pen  Company 


Only  Parker  Quink  contains  solv-x 


/Ordinary  high-acid  inks 
cause  65%  of  all  pen  ills. 
Quink  with  solv-x  ends 
gumming  and  clogging.  Keeps 
your  pen  free-flowing  always. 


4    Solv-x  (available  only  in 
<S .    Quink)   eliminates  all 
sediment  left  by  ordi- 
nary inks.  Your  pen  starts  in- 
stantly .  .  .  ink  flows  smoothly. 


Smooth,  brilliant 
*     '   Quink  with  solv-x 
actually  cleans  as  it  writes  .  .  . 
helps  keep  your  costly  pen  out 
of  the  repair  shop. 


ENDS  RUBBER  ROT,  J 
METAL  CORROSION!  j 


Quink  with  solv-x 
'  •     prevents  the  rubber 
rot  and  corrosion  of  delicate 
metal  parts  caused  by  ordinary 
high-acid  inks. 


•  Keep  your  pen  free  from  trouble.  Next  time,  ask  for  Parker  Quink  with  magic 
solv-x!  In  4  permanent,  5  washable  colors,  at  25?!-  School  size,  15^.  Also  pints  and 
quarts.  The  Parker  Pen  Company,  Janesville,  Wisconsin,  and  Toronto,  Canada. 


THE    ONLY    INK    CONTAINING  SOLV-X 


Placid  Club  as  a  reconditioning  spot  for  re- 
turning GIs.  As  part  of  the  program,  hidden 
from  the  audience,  a  GI  and  his  girl  were 
married  by  a  Catholic  priest  in  the  Army 
chapel.  The  youngsters  didn't  have  any- 
body to  stand  up  for  them.  So  I  talked  to 
Ted  Collins,  and  he  came  in  from  a  fishing 
trip,  covered  with  four  days  of  beard.  I 
told  him  about  the  GI  and  his  fiancee. 

That  night,  the  two  youngsters  had  Kate 
Smith  as  bridesmaid  and  Ted  Collins  as 
•  best  man,  and  Kate  sang  a  song  for  them 
with  a  GI  pianist  accompanying  her. 

So  for  this,  and  hundreds  of  other  equally 
fine  things,  Kate  Smith  gets  our  second 
monthly  award.  It  couldn't  go  to  a  nicer 
person. 

Personality  of  the  month:  For  my  money, 
most  promising  new  comic  is  Herb  Shriner, 
Indiana,  who  appeared  with  me  before 
President  Truman  at  the  White  House 
Correspondents'  dinner.  Shriner,  just  out 
of  the  service,  returned  to  radio  with  the 
same  drawling,  Will  Rogerish  comedy  that 
distinguished  him  before  he  became  a  sad 
sack.  Typical  of  the  youngster's  cracker- 
barrel  type  of  comedy:  "With  New  York 
City  shut  down  because  there  was  no  fuel 
for  heat,  it's  too  bad  we  couldn't  have 
gotten  that  filibustering  senator  up  here 
with  these  city  slickers — where  we  really 
could  have  used  some  of  that  hot  air." 

Gash  of  the  month: 

Cantor:  "Haven't  seen  yqu  in  a  long 
time,  Jack  and  you  really  look  marvelous. 
Hope  I  look  as  good  when  I'm  your  age." 

Jack  Benny:  "You  did." 

Dinah  Shore:  "What  has  six  legs  and 
sings?"  "The  Andrews  Sisters!" 

Frank  Morgan — "Bing,  what  is  your 
secret  for  winning  an  Academy  Award?" 

Bing  Crosby:  "Hard  work,  perseverance 
and  Barry  Fitzgerald." 

Ollie  OToole:  "Before  we  got  married, 
my  wife  said  to  me  'Ollie,  just  a  re- 
minder. Lips  that  touch  liquor  shall  never 
touch  mine'  and  I  agreed  with  her." 

Jack  Haley:  "That's  fine.  And  you've 
stuck  to  it?" 

Ollie:  "I  certainly  have,  Jack.  Haven't 
kissed  her  in  forty  years." 

Molly:  "Don't  think  I've  ever  seen  a 
clearer  winter  day.  It  must  be  very  cold." 

Fibber:  "Cold!  I  had  to  walk  down  the 
street  backwards  because  my  sheepskin 
coat  kept  turning  its  tail  into  the  wind." 

News  of  programs:  When  Long  Beach, 
California  resident,  Merle  G.  Overholtzer, 
won  the  first  prize  in  the  Guy  Lombardo 
(ABC— 9  P.M.  Tuesday  EST)  song  title 
contest,  little  did  he  know  of  the  head- 
aches that  Lombardo  went  through  as  a 
result  of  that  stunt.  Post  Office  regula- 
tions demand  that  the  judges  in  such  a  con- 
test actually  read  everything  submitted. 
Lombardo  was  telling  me  at  the  Hotel 
Roosevelt  that  he  has  never  slaved  so 
frantically,  wading  through  miles  of  titles. 
Some  idea  of  Guy's  feeling  may  be  ob- 
tained from  the  winning  selection:  "Do 
Sheep  Count  People  When  They  Sleep?"  . . . 
Radio  Row  agreed  that  the  Hit  Parade's 
action  in  dropping  Dick  Todd  on  a  24-hour 
notice  was  one  of  the  top  churlish  instances 
of  the  year.  (You  wonder  if  sponsors  ever 
realize  the  emotional  makeup  of  the  per- 
formers. Todd  was  crushed  by  the  sum- 
mary dismissal.  Understandably.  The 
money  factor  is  incidental  in  such  an  up- 
set) .  .  .  Kay  Kyser,  the  Carolina  Boy  who 
made  good  in  all  of  the  big  cities,  now  is 
drawling  through  his  umpteenth  radio 
year  (10  P.  M.  Wednesday,  EST,  NBC). 
Kyser's  success  has  been  largely  a  per- 
sonal thing.  No  performer  works  harder 
70    or  is  more  anxious  to  please  an  audience, 


and  that  quality,  flavored  with  homespun 
humor  and  modesty,  has  kept  him  in  the 
top  brackets. 

An  autograph  fan  crashed  the  Bob  Hawk 
show,  CBS,  by  showing  up  with  a  drum 
under  his  arm  and  telling  the  gateman 
that  he  was  with  the  Van  Steeden  crew. 

They-Never- Win-In-New-York  Dept.: 
Comics  always  get  a  laugh  by  comment- 
ing that  New  Yorkers  never,  or  rarely 
ever,  win  radio  contests.  Despite  the  fact 
that  there  are  7,000,000  New  Yorkers, 
representing  a  terrific  market  for  any 
product,  the  winners  always  seem  to  come 
from  Kalamazoo  and  stations  East.  In  the 
Jack  Benny  contest,  not  a  New  Yorker 
finished  in  the  first  three.  Carroll  P.  Craig, 
the  champ,  hails  from  Pacific  Palisades, 
Cal.,  Clevelander  Charles  Dougherty  was 
second,  Detroiter  Joyce  O^Hara  finished 
third.  Yet  I'll  guarantee  that  percentage- 
wise, the  letter  writers  of  Brooklyn,  N.  Y., 
the  most  prolific  letter  writers  in  the  na- 
tion, topped  all  other  areas.  Benny,  de- 
lighted with  the  popularity  of  the  contest, 
was  most  pleased  with  the  fact  that  only 
one  vitriolic  letter  arrived.  It  was  mailed 
on  the  first  day  of  the  contest,  was  a  model 
of  poison-penning.  A  Pacific  Coaster 
wrote  it,  unsigned. 

Femme  Dept.:  Kate  Smith's  announced 
intention  to  resume  an  hour  show  has 
other  sponsors  reviewing  their  belief  that 
30  minutes  is  about  the  ideal  time  in 
which  to  hold  the  attention  of  an  audience. 
Kate,  after  experimenting  with  a  shorter 
program,  determined  that  in  a  variety 
show,  you  can't  crowd  in  all  of  the  fea- 
tures in  less  than  60  minutes.  .  .  . 

Cass  Daley  stays  with  Fitch  Bandwagon, 
(Sundays,  NBC),  although  the  name  band 
policy  yields  to  guest  star  policy. 

"Junior  Miss,"  with  Mary  Small,  fades 
from  the  airlanes,  but  Mary,  as  a  result 
of  clicking  individually,  is  a  cinch  to  get 
a  long-termer  with  some  other  radio  spot. . . 

Abbott  and  Costello  call  Amy  Arnell 
"The  Creep."  She  collects  macabre  gold 
charms,  cheery  little  things  like  miniature 
coffins,  a  tombstone,  a  death  mask.  ... 

Radio  is  following  the  Dinah  Shore-Jo 
Stafford  Hooperating  race,  in  which  Miss 
Stafford  gained  a  perhaps  momentary  ad- 
vantage, 14.9  to  Dinah's  13.9.  These  ratings, 
compiled  from  telephone  polls  of  various 
national  areas,  fluctuate  from  month  to 
month,  so  Dinah  isn't  too  disturbed.  But 
there's  no  doubt  that  Jo  is  booming  along 
faster  than  any  other  femme  singer. 

All  around  the  radio  polls:  About  the 
only  thing  that  radio  polls  agree  upon  is 
that  Joan  Davis  is  the  top  air  comedienne, 
that  Lux  Radio  Theater  is  the  best  in  its 
field,  that  Jo  Stafford  is  best  of  the  Jane- 
Come-Lately's.  Radio  Daily,  Motion  Pic- 
ture Daily,  Song  Hits  and  Esquire  findings 
are  reproduced  for  your  own  observations. 

More  than  1,000  editors  in  the  Radio 
Daily's  ninth  annual  poll  came  up  with 
the  following  "Top  Ranking"  voting: 

Program  of  '45— Fibber  McGee,  Molly. 

Comedian  and  individual  entertainer — 
Bob  Hope. 

Popular  singers — Crosby  and  Dinah 
Shore. 

King  of  the  sweet  orks — Guy  Lombardo. 

Swing  band — Tommy  Dorsey. 

Classical  vocalists — John  Charles  Thom- 
as and  Lily  Pons. 

Symphonic  program — N.  Y.  Philharmon- 
ic. 

Symphonic  conductor — Toscanini. 
Popular  musical  show — Hit  Parade. 
News  commentator — Lowell  Thomas. 
Dramatic  program — Lux  Radio  Theater. 
Dramatic  serial — One  Man's  Family. 
Sports  commentator — Bill  Stern. 
Children's  show — Let's  Pretend. 
Education  series — American  Town  Meet- 
ing. 

Quiz — Information  Please. 
Daytime  variety — Breakfast  Club. 


DlANA  LYNN,  grown-up  and  beautiful, 
will  soon  be  seen  in  Pararnount's  "The  Bride 
Wore  Boots."  Here  Diana  wears,  not  boots, 
but  Henry  Rosenfeld's  superbly  cut  sun  dress 
of  Loomshire  cotton  poplin.  It  has  a  tiny 
separate  jacket  to  cover  its  one  bare  shoulder. 
See  also  the  accessory  ideas  made  possible 
by  the  subtly  contrasting  tones  of  the  belt. 
Diana's  friend  is  none  other  than  "Harvey," 
made  visible  by  Dorzar,  a  firm  of  geniuses  in 
toy  making,  who  have  caught  all  the  charm 
of  the  country's  favorite  animal  character. 
•       *  • 

To  find  out  where  to  buy  this  dress,  as  well 
as  the  other  fashions  in  MODERN  SCREEN'S 
fashion  pages,  write  to:  Toussia  Pines,  Fashion 
Editor,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Madison  Ave- 
nue, New  York  16,  N.  Y.,  enclosing  a  stamped, 
self-addressed  envelope. 


Comedienne — Joan  Davis. 

Announcer — Don  Wilson. 

Singing  unit — Andrews  Sisters. 

Song  of  the  year— Till  The  End  Of  Time. 

From  the  Motion  Picture  Daily's  poll: 

Most  promising  stars  of  tomorrow — Jack 
Smith  and  Jo  Stafford. 

All  around  winner  and  best  dramatic 
show — Lux  Radio  Theater. 

Best  new  program — Request  Perform- 
ance. 

Best  female  singers — Stafford  and  Mun- 
sel. 

Best  male  singers — Melton  and  Eddy. 

Best  quiz— Take  It  Or  Leave  It 

Best  Children's  Show — Let's  Pretend. 

Best  comedienne — Joan  Davis. 

Song  Hits  poll  finds  Danny  OTOeil  the 
top  newcomer  of  the  year  and  Evelyn 
Knight  the  year's  outstanding  recording 
vocalist. 

Esquire  awarded  its  statuettes  to  Duke 
Ellington,  The  King  Cole  Trio,  and  Woody 
Herman  for  representing  the  best  of  jazz 
music  in  the  U.  S. 

Duke  won  the  gold  award  .  .  .  Herman 
won  the  bronze  award,  and  Nat  "King" 
Cole  won  the  gold  award  as  pianist,  and 
the  silver  award  as  male  vocalist.  The 
Esky  award  is  presented  annually  and  was 
given  during  the  yearly  Esquire  concert 
on  Jan.  16  over  ABC. 

Leave  'em  laughing  dept.: 

Ish  Kabibble,  on  the  Kay  Kyser  pro- 
gram: "People  are  stuff  that  there  are 
more  of  than  anybody,  if  there  was  no 
more  people,  it  would  sure  cut  down  a  lot 
on  the  population.  Some  people  are  a  lot 
younger  than  other  people,  especially 
babies.  Babies  start  out  with  hair  and  no 
teeth  and  waste  about  ninety  years  getting 
right  back  where  they  started  from." 

Rosella  Hipperton:  "On  my  last  birth- 
day, I  just  turned  35." 

Joan  Davis:  "When  you  turn  35,  dearie, 
it  comes  out  53." 

Jack  Carson:  "Don't  tell  me  anything 
about  a  cow.  Back  on  the  farm  in  Wis- 
consin, I  used  to  milk  208  cows  twice  a 
day,  seven  days  a  week.  Then  I'd  clean  up 
and  go  to  the  city." 

Arthur  Treacher:  "For  some  relaxation?" 

Jack  Carson:  "No,  to  get  my  fingers 
straightened." 

Abbott:  "Do  all  of  your  uncle's  cows 
give  milk?" 

Costello:  "No,  none  of  them  give  milk. 
You  have  to  take  it  away  from  them." 


This  rayon  gabardine  beauty  will  be  the  most 
versatile  item  in  your  wardrobe.  With  flats 
and  a  beanie,  wear  it  to  school  or  to  work: 
With  your  big  black  straw  cartwheel  hat  plus 
a  pair  of  black  shortie  gloves  and  your  high- 
heeled  suede  pumps,  it  will  go  dancing  with 
equal  confidence.  Comes  in  print  shantung, 
too!  Gail  Gray  Junior  Classic  for  under  $6.00. 


A  steal  from  General  Ike  is  this  two-piece 
battle- jacketed  honey.  Skirt  is  tailored  to  a 
T,  a  swell  mix-matcher  with  your  other 
blouses.  The  sharply  tailored  jacket  makes 
your  waist  look  tiny.  Wear  it  casual-like,  the 
way  you  see  it  here,  or  with  a  white  ascot, 
hat  and  gloves  to  give  you  that  put-together 
look.    Another  Gail  Gray  for  under  $6.00. 


Look  sweet  'n  lovely  in  this  charmer  of  a 
two-piecer,  with  its  expensive  looking  dress- 
maker touches  that  are  found  in  dresses 
twice  its  tiny  price  (under  $6.00).  Wear  it 
with  that  new  flowered  Easter  bonnet,  and 
don't  go  out  without  snow-white  shortie 
gloves!  All  these  Gail  Gray  Junior  Classics 
are  made  by  the  Jack  Wasserman  Company. 


(I  A  Personality  Two-some  by  Ambassa- 
dor, this  charming  print  dress,  with  its  perky 
peplum  front,  will  be  your  standby  through 
warm  Summer  days.  It's  an  Adventure  print 
in  washable  rayon  and  it's  under  $13.00 

U  Ponemah's  washable  one-denier  rayon, 
which  is  the  very  last  word  in  fabric  news, 
makes  this  circus-y  print  dress,  with  that  flat- 
tering sweep  to  the  side.  It's  a  Personality 
Classic  by  Ambassador,  and  it's  about  $  I  5.00. 


He's  home  again!  Nothing  like  American  women!  No  colors  like  Revlon  "American  originals"  to  idealize  American  beauty! 

£^^JlJ^/t4A  A  ...... 

Nail  Enamel  •  Lipstick  •  Face  Powder 


What's  this?  The  one  color  that  defies  convention — 
imaginative — like  the  new  fashions!  A  capricious  carmine. 

with  a  tender  passion  . . .  plucked  from  the  heart  of  his  carnation  . . . 
turns  siren  on  your  matching  lips  and  fingertips.  And  suddenly. . .  it's  spring! 
"Bachelor's  Carnation"  Face  Powder  breaks  all  the  rules,  too.  Packed  with 
beauty  surprise!  All  this... and  that  incredible  Revlon  "stay-on"  power 


turr 


"The  handsomest  things!" 

"Bachelor's  Carnation"  Match  Box  set  1.75  Face  Powder  1.00  Plus  Tax 


COPYRIGHT  1946,  REVLON  PRODUCTS  COP 


#.V  A  GAEL  GRAY 

JL'XMOH  CLASSMC 


Got  a  date?  Then  you  rate 
Gail  Gray  Juniors!  The 
prettiest  traffic-stoppers  on 
the  avenue  —  and  so  easy  on 
the  budget.  Left:  a  button 
beauty  with  a  soft  pleat  skirt. 
Right:  a  pocket  pin-up. 
Both  in  frosty  cool  rayon 

shantung  prints.  Sizes 
9-11-13-15.  Under  '6. 


76      At  leading  stores  throughout  the  country.  For  store  in  your  city,  write:  Dept.  MS5  JACK  WASSERMAN  CO.,  INC.,  225  W.  35  St.,  N,  Y.  1 


s 


UITING  THE  STARS 


"YOU'RE  always  well  dressed  in  a  suit,"  is  the  fashion  adage,  and 
our  favorite  gals  in  Hollywood  swear  by  that  idea.  Their  suits  range  from 
tried  and  true  classics  to  knockout  dressed-up  numbers  that  can  go  anywhere. 

JANE  WYMAN,  famed  for  that  "put-together"  look,  always  ap- 
pears as  trim  without  her  suit  jacket  as  she  does  with  it  on,  because  she  sews 
small  shoulder  pads  into  her  sweaters. 

JOAN  CRAWFORD,  who  looks  terrific  in  her  suits,  avoids  that  sat- 
out-skirt  look  by  having  her  suit  skirts  rounded  in  the  back  waistline  as  much 
as  two  and  one-half  or  three  inches,  to  follow  the  natural  contour  of  her  body. 
To  hold  her  skirt  down  and  keep  it  hanging  perfectly  she  has  the  hemlines 
weighted. 

ALEXIS  SMITH  avoids  having  her  blouses  ride  up  out  of  her  skirts 
by  having  one-inch  ribbon  tacked  inside  her  blouse  at  the  waistline,  hooking 
it  at  the  center  front.  This  fits  the  blouse  to  her  waist  and  prevents  it  from 
pulling  out  of  her  skirt. 

DOROTHY  MALONE  accessorizes  her  basic  tweeds  in  unexpected 
ways.  She  has  a  dark  brown  tweed  suit,  which  she  dresses  up  for  festive  oc- 
casions by  wearing  a  dull  gold  lame  gilet  and  adding  jeweled  buttons.  A 
dull  gold  beanie  completes  a  fascinating  costume. 

Ida  lupino  glamorizes  a  wine  wool  suit  by  adding  a  pink  satin 
brocaded  gilet  and  stunning  flared  satin  gloves.  Ever  try  making  your  own 
from  patterns  given  by  almost  all  the  well  known  pattern  companies?  It's 
not  too  hard! 

E  LEANOR  PARKER'S  favorite  dress-up  is  a  black  velvet  with  a 
slight  bustle  effect  in  the  back.  With  it  she  wears  a  black  velvet  ribbon  drawn 
through  her  up-swept  hair,  and  through  the  bow  of  it  she  draws  three  white 
ermine  tails. 

ANOTHER  bustle  suit  is  worn  by  Joan  Leslie,  who  has  a  back  interest 
suit  in  green  wool.  She  wears  with  it  an  unexpected  hat  of  natural  Tuscan 
straw  and  a  straw  handbag.    Matching  hats  and  handbags  are  NEWS! 

A  DRESSMAKER  gabardine  suit  was  made  really  dressed-up  by 
Joan  Crawford,  who  wore  a  black  velvet  and  pearl  choker  with  her  black  suit, 
which  has  a  low-cut  square  neckline.  A  white  straw  sailor  hat  completes  her 
costume. 

J  OAN  CRAWFORD  again  (that  gal  lives  in  suits)  has  a  novel  idea 
for  wearing  flowers  on  one  of  her  summer  suits.  She  draws  them  through  two 
slits  cut  in  the  shoulder  of  her  jacket,  bound  in  the  same  shade  as  the  binding 
of  her  buttonholes. 

ELEANOR  PARKER  mix-matches  a  stunning  two-tone  grey  outfit. 
Her  skirt  Is  dark  grey,  her  simple  tailored  jacket  is  lighter  grey.  A  three- 
quarter  length  topper  of  the  same  shade  as  the  jacket  makes  a  workable  outfit. 

J  OAN  WIN  FIELD  looks  very  smart  in  a  severely  tailored  black  satin 
suit,  which  she  wears  with  a  snowy  "dandy"  blouse  and  a  white  hat.  Red  roses 
on  the  hat,  red  roses  pinned  to  her  suit  give  her  a  romantic  air. 


new 


The  Miracle  Girdle 
with  the  Magic  Inset 

The  girdle  miracle  of  the  century — 
an  amazing  construction  that  every 
woman  has  dreamed  of. 

"Perma-lift"*  has  created  a  new 
— youthful — lightweight  girdle  with 
all  the  advantages  of  boning — but 
With  No  Bones.  A  "Perma-lift" 
Girdle  won't  wrinkle,  won't  roll 
over,  banishes  the  dis- 
comfort that  boning 
has  caused  you  — 
withstands  countless 
washings  and  wear. 

Smartly  styled, 
youthful,  light- 
weight "Perma- 
lift"  Girdles,  Pan- 
ties, Foundations — 
$5  to  $10— at  fine 
stores  everywhere. 
The  perfect  com- 
panion  to  your 
"Perma-lift"  Bras- 
siere, America's  Fav- 
orite Bra  "The  Lift 
that  never  lets  you 
down." 

*"Perma-lift"  and  "Hickory" 
are  trademarks  of  A.  Stein  & 
Company.  (Reg. U.S.  Pat. Off.) 

TRUST  THE  TRADEMARKS 
THAT  HAVE  STOOD  THE 
TEST  OF  TIME 


.  "onus 

STAYS  Up 
WITHOUT  STAYS 


Charm  Bracelet 


A  truly  sensational  offer!  This  bracelet  is  virtually  yours  for 
the  asking.  It  is  guaranteed  24K.  Gold  Finish,  complete 
with  sturdy  clasp  and  Four  Dainty  Charms.  You  can  add 
more  if  you  like.  Sent  Postpaid  for  only  lOcJr  and  a  Radio  Girl 
Perfume  label.  (See  coupon  below). 


RADIO  GIRL 


An  exotic,  tantalizing  fragrance  ...  so  full  of  mystery 
and  loveliness  ...  So  truly  different,  so  inviting  to  romance  . 
Radio  Girl  Perfume  lingers  like  a  haunting  melody. 


To  Ge*  Your 
Cbafttv 
Bracelet 
FILL  OUT 
AND  MAIL 
COUPON 
TODAY 


RADIO  GIRL  PERFUME,  Dep't.  M-l 
544  So.  Wells  St.,  Chicago  7,  111. 

Send  me  postpaid,  without  futther  obligation,  ,  

Chatm  Btacelet(s).  (Enclosed  is  10{  and  a  Radio  Girl 
Perfume  label  for  each  one.) 


ADDRESS- 
ClTV_ 


HEADY  FASHIONS 

Hats  and  umbrellas  match 
this  year!  Mary  Goodfellow  makes  a 
striped  lovely  with  lush,  lush  roses  high  on 
the  crown,  and  matches  it  with  a  striped 
parasol!  It's  an  idea  that's  going  to  qo 
over  big,  so  watch  for  it  in  your  local 
shops! 

EVER  see  those  dashing  high 
chechia  hats  worn  by  the  Russian  Cos- 
sacks? They're  in  the  news,  made  not  of 
fur,  but  of  felt,  of  straw,  of  ribbon.  Try 
one  with  that  flared  short  coat  to  give 
you  that  swashbuckling  look! 

TAKE  one  white  straw  beanie 
or  bowler.  Buy  a  few  yards  of  polka  dot 
ribbon  and  a  bit  of  veiling.  Tie  the  rib- 
bon into  a  multitude  of  bows  and  ar- 
range them  smack  in  the  middle  of  the 
front  of  your  hat.  Add  veil.  Lo!  An 
Easter  bonnet! 

A  NITA  ANDRA,  creator  of  the 
exotic,  makes  a  turban  of  natural  colored 
Tuscan  straw.  Tuscan  is  that  lacy, 
fragile  natural  straw  that  drapes  like 
fabric  and  looks  luscious.  You'll  be  see- 
ing it  around! 

LOTS  and  lots  of  open-crowned 
hats  are  being  shown  this  season!  Know 
what  that  means?  It  means  that  your 
public  sees  the  crown  of  your  head, 
which  is  more  than  you  do,  unless  you 
LOOK!  So  take  that  hand  mirror  before 
you  go  out,  and  see  that  the  top  of  your 
head  is  sleek  and  shiny. 

Remember  the  off-the-face 

Breton  sailor  you  wore  when  you  went  to 
Sunday  school?  Remember  the  elastic 
under  your  chin?  Well,  grown-up  Bre- 
tons don't  have  the  elastic,  but  otherwise 
they're  the  same  school  girl  stuff  that 
those  were.  They  come  big,  bigger, 
biggest,  so  buy  one  to  match  your  size! 

THE  perennial  straight  brimmec 
sailor  is  perennial!  And  never  prettier 
than  this  season,  made  of  rough  or 
smooth  straw,  piled  high  with  bows,  rib- 
bons, fruit,  butterflies!  Your  fancy  car 
run  riot,  if  your  fingers  are  nimble;  if  not, 
look  for  the  lovely  ones  you'll  find  on  the 
counters  of  your  local  stores. 


JEWELRY  MAGIC 

TRY  wearing  your  gold  chain 
necklace  looped  over  the  shoulder  of 
your  new  Spring  suit,  the  way  our  boys 
wear  their  beautiful  looped  braid  deco- 
rations. Just  drape  it  over  your  sleeve, 
and  fasten  on  the  shoulder  with  a  gold 
pin  or  clip.   It's  new! 

A  PRETTY  pin  or  clip  is  nice, 
three  of  'em  marching  down  your  lapel, 
on  your  handbag  or  your  blouse  are  bet- 
ter! Even  a  very  inexpensive  pin  gains 
in  importance  when  it's  triplets!  If  you 
can  get  different  sizes,  it's  even  cuter! 

BEEN  wearing  your  pins  or  clips 
on  your  suit  lapel,  just  like  everybody 
else?  Well,  don't,  'cause  it's  newer  to 
pin  them  on  your  sleeve,  just  below  the 
shoulder,  or  on  your  blouse  cuff.  The 
new  bishop  sleeves  are  just  perfect  for 
that  kind  of  accent. 

YOU'VE  got  a  string  of  pearls, 
haven't  you?  And  we  bet  you  have  a 
gold  chain  necklet,  because  everybody 
bought  'em  this  season.  Add  one  to  the 
other,  a  twist  of  the  wrist  (or  two,  or 
three),  and  you've  got  the  very  latest 
thing  in  necklaces. 

THAT  charm  bracelet  that 
you're  sort  of  tired  of  wearing  makes  a 
fascinating  chatelaine!  Wear  it  looped 
across  your  suit  front,  with  perhaps  a 
pretty  pin  on  one  end,  the  other  dis- 
appearing into  your  suit  pocket.  Or  try 
it  looped  swag-like  from  the  bottom  but- 
ton of  your  suit  into  your  right  hand 
pocket. 

THAT  same  old  chatelaine  is 
just  the  thing  to  wear  looped  on  your 
shiny  calfskin  belt.  Try  the  same  with 
your  chain  necklet.  Dresses  up  that  skirt 
and  blouse  combination  into  high  style! 

TAKE  one  plain  white  blouse. 
Add  a  bright  ribbon  going  under  the 
collar  and  crossing  over  just  at  your 
throat.  Cut  the  ribbon  ends  into  an  in- 
verted V.  Pin  your  prettiest  heirloom  pin 
where  the  ribbon  crosses.  It  gives  that 
"dandy"  look! 


; 


POLKA  DOT  DREAM 

day's,  begun  . . . 

l 

and  day  is  done . . . 
'  you'll  revel  in  these  cool . . .  smart . 
comfortable  pajamas 
j  superbly  tailored  by 
Schildu . King  of  the  Polka  Dots. 


V*:rite  for  the  name 
of  your  nearest  store 


jjjjSM/  St 

m- 

ijSSMPBlIll  in 

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r  \ 

KHTLDltf 


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{Continued  from  page  49) 


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chair,  his  feet  cocked  comfortably  on  the 
bed  while  he  watched  Maria  try  on  one 
of  the  several  dozen  hats  she'd  picked 
up  while  waiting  for  the  boat  to  come  in. 

"I'm  a  lucky  guy,"  he  murmured. 

Maria  turned  her  head  sideways,  one 
hand  shoving  a  stray  bit  of  hair  under 
the  hat  perched  on  her  head.  "Why?" 

"Having  you.  Getting  sent  back  with 
the  Mission.  Coming  home  with  almost 
a  whole  skin." 

luck  hounds  him  .  .  . 

Jean  Pierre  Aumont  is  one  of  the  luck- 
iest men  in  Hollywood.  He  went  through 
the  first  phase  of  the  war  in  Europe  with 
the  Nazis  biting  at  his  heels  every  step 
he  took,  only  holding  back  long  enough 
for  the  handsome  Frenchman  to  pick  up 
a  Croix  de  Guerre  in  the  midst  of  the 
fighting.  Somehow  he  slipped  out  of 
Europe  and  over  to  the  United  States  in 
1941  while  France  fell  back  into  the 
shadows.  He  had  thirteen  years  of  theat- 
rical experience  behind  him  when  he  first 
gawked  his  way  along  Broadway.  One 
startling  piece  of  good  fortune  after  an- 
other came  his  way;  theatrical  engage- 
ments, Hollywood  and  stardom  in  two 
pictures,  all  climaxed  by  his  marriage  to 
Maria  Montez. 

Then  it  was  war  again,  North  Africa, 
Italy,  the  invasion  of  Southern  France, 
another  Croix  de  Guerre,  a  couple  pieces 
of  shrapnel,  and  now  this  return  to  the 
States  with  a  French  Military  Mission  to 
the  United  Nations  Conference.  There 
was  a  lot  of  flesh  gone  off  his  bones,  the 
circles  under  his  eyes  made  him  look 
as  though  he'd  had  a  bad  night,  but  at 
33  he  was  still  packed  with  energy. 

And  the  biggest  piece  of  luck  was  still 
in  the  cards  for  Jean  Pierre  and  his  wife 
— the  baby  born  to  them  in  February  of 
this  year.  But  before  Maria  Christina's 
St.  Valentine's  Day  bow,  the  Aumonts 
were  sure  busy  dodging  rumors — and 
hunting  rooms. 

Like  that  time  the  manager  knocked  on 
their  hotel  door.  "Mr.  Aumont,"  the  gen- 
tleman said  very  dramatically,  "I'm  afraid 
I'll  have  to  ask  you  and  Mrs.  Aumont  to 
leave  the  hotel." 

Jean  Pierre  was  astonished.  This  was  no 
homecoming  reception  for  a  soldier  after 
eighteen  months  of  war.  "What's  wrong?" 

"There  have  been  scores  of  autograph 
collectors  in  the  lobby  for  days.  We  can't 
move  about  and  the  other  guests  are  com- 
plaining. On  top  of  that,"  he  continued, 
touching  a  white  handkerchief  to  his 
cheek,  "one  of  them  slapped  my  face  when 
I  wouldn't  let  her  come  upstairs  to  you!" 

Jean  Pierre  kept  Maria  from  charging 
out  into  the  hallway  while  he  nodded 
grimly.  "We're  leaving  this  afternoon  for 
San  Francisco.  But  don't  forget,  mister,  if 
it  wasn't  for  those  autograph  people,  we 
might  not  have  the  money  to  stay  at 
your  hotel.  Goodbye." 

Maria  was  ready  to  climb  on  the  fur- 
niture, to  start  tearing  the  pictures  off 
the  walls,  to  do  a  thorough  job  of  wreck- 
ing the  joint,  but  Jean  Pierre,  who  sup- 
plies the  tempering  influence  in  the  fam- 
ily, hushed  her.  "Anyhow,"  he  asked, 
"how  did  so  many  people  know  I  was 
coming  back?  It  was  supposed  to  be  a 
military  secret." 

Maria  jammed  a  hat  down  on  her  head. 
"Every  time  I  signed  an  autograph  book 
in  these  eight  days  I've  been  waiting  for 
you,  I  told  them.  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  was 
bursting  inside  of  me." 

Before  they  left  the  hotel,  there  was 


the  business  of  exchanging  homecoming 
gifts. 

Maria  had  bought  her  husband  a  hand- 
some watch,  and  she  was  positive  Jean 
Pierre  had  picked  up  some  French  per- 
fume for  her.  It  might  even  be  he'd 
fetched  along  a  couple  of  hats  from  the 
French  capital  or  brought  back  a  gown, 
something  out  of  this  world,  something 
from  France.  She  waited  breathlessly 
while  he  dove  into  the  battered  duffle 
bag.  He  turned  around  triumphantly. 

In  the  air  he  waved  two  very  old,  very 
spotty  scarves  made  from  parachute  silk. 
"An  American  paratrooper  gave  them  to 
me,"  he  explained,  "I  thought  they'd  be  a 
fine  souvenir  for  you." 

The  Gypsy  Wildcat  tried  to  hold  back 
her  disappointment,  then  she  let  loose  with 
a  scream  of  rage  that  must  have  startled 
the  autograph  hunters  ten  floors  below. 
Aumont  listened  in  astonishment. 

"Why  didn't  somebody  tell  me  about  this 
perfume  business?  Everyone  on  the  boat 
had  bottles  of  perfume,  but  it  never  oc- 
curred to  me  French  perfume  was  any 
better  than  what  you  buy  here  in  New 
York.  Somebody  should  tell  the  French 
about  their  own  country." 

"And  the  hat?" 

He  slapped  his  hands  hard  against  his 
sides.  "On  a  military  mission,  do  you 
think  I  can  come  down  the  gangplank 
with  a  couple  of  hat  boxes  under  my 
arm?  I  would  be  a  disgrace!  Do  you  want 
me  to  be  court  martialed?" 

Then  he  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed,  and  after  a  while  Maria  joined 
in  with  him.  Besides,  she  found  she  could 
twist  the  scarves  about  her  head  and 
make  quite  a  fancy  chapeau  with  them. 

They  slept  on  hat  boxes  on  the  train 
back  to  the  Coast.  And  in  Chicago,  as 
usual,  Maria  lost  one  of  her  traveling  bags. 
It's  become  such  a  bad  habit  with  her 
that  the  insurance  people  are  beginning 
to  look  sideways  each  time  she  walks  up 
and  smiles  her  way  into  a  baggage  insur- 
ance policy. 

Nothing  much  happened  on  the  train. 
Nothing  except  that  time,  at  three  in  the 
morning,  when  the  Super  Chief  was  roar- 
ing through  Missouri,  Jean  Pierre  felt  a 
long  slim  hand  reaching  through  the  wel- 
ter of  hat  boxes  and  poking  him. 

"Jean  Pierre!"  It  was  Maria's  voice,  in 
a  long,  hissing  whisper. 

Aumont  doesn't  frighten  easily,  but  this 
time  he  felt  the  short  hairs  on  the  back 
of  his  head  lift  up  and  do  a  can- can. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Someone  is  at  the  door  of  the  com- 
partment!" 

fame  at  dawn  .  .  . 

With  the  vision  of  a  third  Croix  de 
Guerre  in  his  head,  Jean  Fierre  vaulted 
out  of  the  berth,  stumbled  over  a  hat  box 
and  fell  heavily  against  the  door.  When 
he  opened  it  warily,  he  saw  a  line  of 
GIs,  the  rear  guard  of  the  club  car  con- 
tingent. One  of  them  thrust  an  autograph 
book  in  Aumont's  face.  "Do  you  mind? 
We're  getting  off  at  the  next  stop,  and  we 
thought  maybe — " 

Aumont  didn't  mind,  but  the  GIs  must 
have  been  puzzled  at  the  strange  hiero- 
glyphics that  came  out  as  autographs.  At 
three  a.m  Maria  refused  to  turn  on  the 
light,  and  she  devised  a  signature  that 
was  something  akin  to  Braille  pin  pricks. 

After  a  quick  visit  to  Hollywood  and  a 
party  given  by  his  great  friend,  Charles 
Boyer,  Jean  Pierre  and  Maria  went  on  to 
the  United  Nations  conference  in  San 
Francisco  where  Aumont  was  to  arrange 


an  exhibit  of  French  war  documents.  And 
it  was  in  San  Francisco,  with  the  start  of 
a  new  era  in  a  new  world,  that  the  couple 
decided  a  baby  was  about  the  only  thing 
missing  from  their  lives. 

They  neglected  to  take  the  War  De- 
partment in  on  their  plans  for  a  baby, 
however,  so  that  Aumont,  still  on  the 
payroll  of  the  French  Army,  was  ordered 
on  a  speaking  tour  in  aid  of  the  Canadian 
Victory  Loan  Drive^part  of  the  lend- 
lease  agreement. 

In  New  York,  at  LaGuardia  Field,  he 
was  talking  to  the  ticket  clerk.  "You  re- 
member me,  Lieutenant,"  the  clerk  said, 
"I  was  with  you  at  Rodiconfani  in  Italy 
when  you  took  over  those  tanks." 

Lieutenant  Aumont  nodded,  for  it  was 
at  Rodiconfani  he  had  earned  his  second 
Croix  de  Guerre.  Hatred  of  the  Nazis  was 
more  than  just  a  pat  line  with  him.  It  was 
tied  in  with  death,  and  the  screams  of  dy- 
ing men,  and  a  long  memory.  Then  the 
departure  of  the  Montreal  plane  was  an- 
nounced. He  shouted  goodbye,  grabbed 
his  bag  and  ran.  Seconds  later  the  clerk 
came  running  after  him,  waving  a  yellow 
slip  in  the  air.  "Lieutenant,"  he  gasped, 
"look  what  just  came  over  the  ticker." 

prayer  for  peace  .  .  . 

Jean  Pierre  read  the  words.  "This  morn- 
ing the  German  High  Command  signed 
the  surrender  terms."  The  rest  was 
blurred.  He  fastened  his  safety  belt  auto- 
matically, and  rested  his  head  against  the 
cushion.  A  hand  touched  his  shoulder 
and  a  voice  inquired  anxiously,  "Are  you 
sick,  Lieutenant  Aumont?  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do?" 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  shook  his  head 
at  the  stewardess. 

"No,  I'm  well,  thank  you." 

"But  you  had  your  head  thrown  back, 
and  your  lips — " 

"I  was  praying." 

Two  months  later  he  was  back  in  Holly- 
wood with  discharge  papers  in  his  pocket. 

In  the  house  in  Beverly  Hills  there  was 
Maria  and  her  sisters,  Consuelo,  Adita 
and  Lucita,  and  there  was  Jean  Pierre. 
It  was  a  small  house,  with  only  two  bed- 
rooms, and  the  knuckles  of  Jean  Pierre's 
right  hand  were  sore  from  tapping  on 
doors  to  see  if  it  was  safe  for  the  one  man 
in  the  house  to  enter.  And  there  was  that 
baby  on  its  way.  They  moved  to  a  bigger 
house,  with  bedrooms  to  spare,  a  nursery, 
and  a  room  Maria  thought  would  do  well 
for  storing  her  hats. 

Jean  Pierre  is  enthusiastic  about  the 
house  because  he  can  drive  home  from 
the  Universal  studios  in  less  than  twenty 
minutes.  And  in  the  Los  Angeles  area, 
where  every  minute  of  the  day  is  like 
New  York's  Broadway  at  five-fifteen  each 
night,  that  is  a  blessing. 

Under  contract  to  M-G-M,  he's  been 
loaned  first  to  RKO  to  make  "Heartbeat" 
with  Ginger  Rogers,  and  currently  to  do 
"Fandango"  with  Yvonne  DeCarlo  and 
Brian  Donlevy.  At  the  studio  there  has 
been  no  problem  of  readjustment  for  the 
volatile  Frenchman  who  cavorts  before 
the  camera  like  a  bundle  of  steel  springs 
tightly  coiled.  In  the  whip  duel  scene  of 
"Fandango"  with  Phil  Reed,  he  became 
too  enthusiastic  and  touched  Phil  twice 
with  the  murderous  bull  whips,  bringing  a' 
spurt  of  blood  to  Reed's  cheek,  and  a 
howl  from  the  director,  the  cameraman, 
and  a  mixed  up  moan-and-groan  from 
the  script  reader,  the  publicity  department, 
and  thirty-two  service  men  being  escorted 
through  the  set. 

"I  had  no  trouble  getting  used  to  the 
routine  about  the  studio,"  he  says.  "It 
was  just  like  when  I  was  in  the  Army — 
after  five  days  I  felt  as  though  I'd  been 
there  all  my  life.  I've  been  an  actor  for 
sixteen  years,  and  acting  is  like  swimming 
— it's  hard  to  forget." 


TFORM 


Girdles 
Brassieres 
All-in-ones 


BRASSIERES  79*to*1.50 
FOUNDATIONS  $2.50  to  $6.50 


1*.. 


To  save  COD  fee  and  speed  delivery 
send  cashier's  check  or  money  order, 
adding  25f/  fo/  mailing  and  handling. 


"I'm  too 
busy  to 
bother 
with  men" 


KEEP  FRESH:  After  your  bath 
dust  Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc  over 
your  body.  It  sweetens  your  skin, 
leaves  you  excitingly  fresh. 

FEEL  SMOOTH:  Pat  some  extra 
Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc  over  chafable 
places  to  give  sensitive  skin  a  pearly 
smooth  sheath  of  protection. 

STAY  DAINTY:  Use  Cashmere 
Bouquet  Talc  often — for  coolness, 
comfort  and  because  it  imparts  to 
your  skin  the  fragrance  men  love. 


•ass 


In  10<t,  2«c 
and  35£  sizes 

For  the  luxury  size 
with  velour  puff  ask  for 
Cashmere  Bouquet 
Dusting  Powder  65^ 


Aumont  was  a  problem  child  while  he 
was  growing  up  near  Paris.  He  wasn't 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth, 
but  one  was  hanging  close  to  the  edge  of 
the  bassinet  when  he  first  began  to  take 
notice  of  life.  And  he  used  the  spoon  and 
a  lot  of  other  things  to  knock  the  stuff- 
ings out  of  whatever  got  in  his  way  for 
the  next  seventeen  years.  His  father  tried 
the  old  "manual  of  arms"  method  on  him; 
but  it  had  little  effect  on  calming  down 
the  well  springs  in  Jean  Pierre's  life. 

home  is  the  hunter  .  .  . 

He  was  a  hell-cat  from  the  start,  and 
he  devoted  a  good  deal  of  his  time  to 
sinking  his  claws  into  anything  within 
reach.  In  desperation  his  father  sent  him 
off  to  various  schools  where  the  birch 
rods  were  stacked  higher  than  the  books. 
As  a  result  Jean  Pierre  says  no  child  of 
his  is  ever  going  to  be  sent  away  to  a 
school  boasting  of  its  rigid  discipline.  "Any 
time  a  child  of  mine  needs  correction,  I'm 
the  one  who  is  going  to  lay  it  on.  I  won't 
hire  any  school  teacher  to  do  it  for  me." 

This  baby  business  in  the  Aumont  home 
has  drawn  out  the  best  in  him.  When  he 
came  home  one  evening  after  a  long  day 
on  the  set,  still  clad- in  the  Russian  sailor 
outfit  he  wears  in  "Fandango,"  and  still 
daubed  with  grease  paint,  Maria  seized  him 
excitedly  by  the  arm.  "Come  see  what 
I've  got  in  the  nursery." 

He  went  and  gazed  with  a  bit  of  per- 
plexity af  the  wood  and  steel  standing  in 
the  corner. 

"You've  located  a  baby  bed.  That's 
good."  He  turned  to  go. 

"But,  my  darling,  the  spring!  It's  steel. 
Do  you  know  I've  looked  for  months  for 
a  baby's  bed  with  a  steel  spring?  They 
aren't  making  that  kind  any  more." 

Aumont  patted  the  steel  spring  appre- 
ciatively, then  turned  away  for  it  was 
late  and  he  was  hungry.  Maria  stopped 
him  firmly. 

"You're  going  to  put  the  bed  up,  aren't 
you?" 

"You  mean,  right  now,  before  I  have 
dinner?" 

mechanical  genius  .  .  . 

She  nodded,  her  dark  hair  shaking.  And 
Jean  Pierre,  because  Maria  had  been  sen- 
sible about  her  long  months  of  pregnancy, 
not  demanding  strawberries  from  Nome, 
or  dill  pickles  at  two  a.m.,  hunted  up  some 
tools  and  started  wrestling  with  the  array 
of  wooden  slats  and  steel  springs.  He 
wasn't  quite  sure  how  it  happened,  but 
soon  Maria  was  at  one  end  of  the  bed, 
her  sister  Consuelo  at  the  other,  with 
Adita  and  Lucita  somewhere  in  between, 
all  of  them  talking  excitedly  in  Spanish. 
The  butler  dodged  in  and  out  of  the 
massed  array  fetching  pliers  and  wash- 
ers, while  once  in  a  while  the  maid  showed 
up  in  the  middle.  Jean  Pierre  climbed  on 
a  chair  to  get  a  look  at  the  excitement 
while  the  women  swarmed  about  with 
great  energy  and  the  baby's  bed  gradually 
began  to  take  shape.  When  it  was  all 
finished,  Maria  looked  around  for  her  hus- 
band, took  him  by  the  arm,  and  announced 
to  her  sisters,  "That's  what  I  like  about 
Jean  Pierre — he's  so  handy  with  tools." 

On  the  advice  of  the  doctor,  and  with 
Jean  Pierre  keeping  a  critical  eye  on  her, 
Maria  continued  working  until  late  in 
November  when  she  finished  "Tangier," 
and  went  home  to  devote  a  full  twenty- 
four  hours  a  day  to  preparing  for  the 
baby.  Besides,  someone  had  to  be  at 
home  to  entertain  all  the  members  of 
the  American  Third  Army  who  were 
continually  calling  for  the  "Lieutenant" 
and  reminding  him  of  the  invitation  he'd 
extended  in  odd  corners  of  Europe  to 
"drop  around  sometime  to  our  place  in 
Beverly  Hills  and  meet  the  wife."  Now- 
adays a  steady  stream  of  GIs  do  their 


sightseeing  around  Hollywood  and  Los 
Angeles  via  the  Aumont  home.  There's 
a  telephone  call,  a  screeching  of  taxi 
wheels,  a  cup  of  tea  or  a  cocktail  and  a 
half  hour  of  hostessing  by  the  lovely 
Maria  Montez.  "There  is  one  General  and 
five  privates  of  the  Third  Army  I  have 
not  met,"  Maria  says,  "but  then  the  war 
is  not  over  a  year.  They'll  be  here 
eventually." 

It  was  a  happy  home,  the  Aumont  house, 
all  during  the  time  they  waited  for  the 
coming  of  the  baby.  Maria,  after  a  bad 
start,  was  in  splendid  health.  She  had  no 
whims,  no  cravings,  and  her  temper  was 
calmer  than  before.  Jean  Pierre  showed 
his  appreciation  in  the  tenderness  of  the 
kiss  with  which  he  greeted  Maria  each 
night  on  his  return  from  the  studio.  Once 
Maria  thought  the  Frenchman  was  being 
too  calm.  She  made  a  motion  with  her 
hands  and  said,  "I  feel  funny  here,  and 
here." 

Jean  Pierre  stood  above  her,  his  hands 
extended,  his  lips  parted  in  a  broad  grin. 

"Don't  baby  yourself,  my  darling. 
You're  strong  and  healthy." 

Afterwards  he  walked  with  her  to  the 
foot  of  the  long  flight  of  steps  leading  up- 
ward and  watched  while  she  went  out  of 
sight.  He  turned  into  the  den  and  stood 
in  thoughtful  silence  before  the  crackling 
logs  in  the  fireplace.  He  spun  about  and 
asked  a  question  of  Lucita  Montez  who 
was  watching  him.  There  was  a  catch  in 
his  voice. 

"Do  you  think  Maria  is  frightened?" 

Lucita  shook  her  head  emphatically. 
"No." 

There  is  always  an  end  to  waiting,  and 
it  came  that  February  morning  when  Jean 
Pierre  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  saw 
cradled  in  Maria's  arms  his  daughter,  Maria 
Christina.  It  was  another  turn  in  the 
cards  for  the  "Fighting  Frenchman,"  an- 
other step  upward  on  the  ladder  of  good 
fortune  he's  been  climbing. 

He's  a  lucky  guy! 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

I  was  jortunate 
enough  to  be  given 
a  furlough  and 
happened  to  be  on 
the  same  train  as 
Duke  Ellington.  Al- 
\  though  I  had  quite 
a  collection  of  his 
recordings,  I  had 
never  actually  seen 
the  Duke. 
As  we  pulled  into 
the  station  at  Dayton,  Ohio,  the  in- 
evitable scramble  began.  Feeling  ex- 
tremely tired  and  wondering  if  I 
would  be  able  to  get  a  cab,  I  glanced 
about  the  platform.  I  noticed  a  man 
standing  near  me.  A  cab  pulled  up  in 
front  of  him  and  his  friends.  I  still 
didn't  realize  who  he  was.  As  the  cab 
driver  started  to  pick  up  some  of  the 
monogrammed  luggage,  the  Duke 
spoke  to  me:  "Won't  you  and  your 
wife  take  this  taxi?  I  always  think 
servicemen  come  first."  His  lips  parted 
in  a  flashing  smile. 

"Well!  What  do  -you  think  of  that?" 
I  said  wonderingly  to  the  pretty  girl 
beside  me. 

"I  think  he  must  be  a  pretty  regular 
guy,"  she  replied. 

Before  my  furlough  was  over,  I  had 
accepted  the  Duke's  idea  as  my  own. 
I  now  cannot  only  thank  him  for  the 
taxi  he  proffered  me,  but  the  wife  isn't 
bad,  either.  I  wonder  what  he  would 
think  if  he  knew  how  he  played  cupid 
to  a  lonely  serviceman? 

Sgt.  W.  E.  Keim 
Oklahoma  City,  Okla. 


l^jOR  almost  everyone  of  us 
I    there  is  someone  somewhere 

whose  heartbeat  is  our  own  heartbeat  .  . 

someone  who  is  forever  all  that  is  best 

and  growing  and  great  in  life. 

For  almost  everyone  of  us 

there  is  someone  somewhere 

who  enfolds  us  .  . .  who  holds  us  safe 

and  sure  .  .  .  who  never  turns  .  .  . 

is  never  gone  from  us. 


Our  mothers  have  given  of  themselves, 
and  in  return  have  asked  no  due  .  .  . 
have  made  no  imperative  demand. 
But  there  is  that  we  in  tarn  can  give  .  .  . 
To  the  daily  ways  of  life 
in  a  world  once  more  at  peace 
we  can  restore  the  kindliness,  consideration 
and  compassion  for  each  other  s  needs, 
which  we,  in  such  great  measure, 
have  had  from  Mothers  everywhere. 


re?9  etec.  polish 


ers 


CHICAGO    •    NEW  YORK 


REETING  CARDS  BEARING  THE  GOLDEN  BELL  TRADE  MARK  ^/PflV; 
RE   FOUND   WHEREVER    VARIETY   STORES    SERVE   THE    PUBLIC  djjiljg 


Copyright  1046  Gartner  &  Bender  Ino, 


83 


-tart  ITS  SO!" 


"I  went  from  size  44  to 
size  16,"  says  Mrs.  Juanita 
Bowman,  Stillwater,  Okla. 

"I  had  tried  many  diets 
without  any  real  results. 
Frankly,  the  DuBarry  Suc- 
cess Course  was  a  last  re- 
sort, but  I  found  it  a  plan 
that  really  works.  To  my 
surprise,  I  had  all  the  food 
I  could  eat,  and  the  exer- 
cises were  easy. 

"In  three  weeks  I  lost  18 
pounds  ...  in  four  months, 
75... in  six  months,  90  !  Yes, 
I  went  from  225  pounds  to 
135  — yet  my  flesh  is  firm 
and  my  skin  clear. 

"My  husband  is  proud  of 
me  now  and  my  little  girl 
says,  'Look,  I  have  a  beau- 
tiful new  mother !'  " 


Before  A, 

"I  doubted  those  'before' 
and  'after'  pictures  my- 
self," says  Mrs.  Bowman, 
"but  my  own  experience  is 
proof  that  they're  real." 

HOW  ABOUT  YOU!  Are  you  satisfied 
with  the  way  you  look  and  feel?  Have  you  the 
vitality  to  live  a  full  life?  The  DuBarry  Suc- 
cess Course  analyzes  your  needs,  shows  you 
how  to  achieve  your  ideal  weight,  care  for  your 
skin  and  hair,  use  make-up  for  glamour.  You 
follow  the  same  methods  taught  by  Ann  Dela- 
field  at  the  Richard  Hudnut  Salon,  New  York. 
Why  not  use  the  coupon  now  to  find 
out  what  this  course  can  do  for  you? 

DuBarry  Beauty  Chest 
Included ! 
With  your  Course  you 
receive  this  Chest  con- 
taining  a  generous  sup- 
ply of  DuBarry  Beauty 
and  Make-up  Prepara- 
tions for  your  type. 


Ann  Delafield,  Directing 


Richard  Hudnut  Salon 

Dept.  SE-59,  693  Fifth  Ave., 
New  York  22,  N.  Y. 


Guaranteed  by  ™ 
l  Good  Housekeeping  , 

Please  send  the  booklet  telling 
all  about  the  DuBarry  Home  Success  Course. 

Miss 

Mrs  


City  if  a„„   State  

Accepted  for  advertising  in  publications  of  the  American  Medical  Assiciaticn 


HUSBANDS  ARE  WONDERFUL 

{Continued  from  page  39) 


crazy?  I  am." 

Things  were  going  to  be  perfect  from 
now  on.  There  wouldn't  be  that  knowl- 
edge all  the  while  they  were  together  that 
in  a  week  or  a  day  or  an  hour  he  would 
be  gone.  There  wouldn't  be  the  long 
periods  of  waiting  for  a  furlough,  or  those 
moments  when  it  seemed  she  just  had  to 
talk  to  him  and  couldn't  because  he  was 
at  camp,  and  if  you  called  camp  it  had  to 
go  through  about  six  generals. 

Jack  slid  a  strong  hand  around  her  arm. 
"Don't  look  so  serious,  baby.  I'm  here, 
even  if  I'm  an  invalid.  Give  me  a  big 
smile,  the  way  you  did  when  I  walked  in 
the  door  the  other  day." 

we  belong  .  .  . 

"You  and  your  surprises!"  Shirley  said 
indignantly.  "Don't  you  know  that's  an 
awful  thing  to  do  to  a  girl?  You  should 
have  wired  me  you  were  coming  and  I'd 
have  been  all  dressed  up  in  something 
fancy,  not  wearing  that  tired  old  sweater." 

"I  like  that  tired  old  sweater.  I  like  you 
in  anything,  Mrs.  Agar,  but  don't  let  it 
go  to  your  head." 

They  laughed,  the  way  they  did  at  things 
that  maybe  wouldn't  seem  funny  to  anyone 
else.  There  was  a  closeness  between  them 
now,  a  feeling  of  permanence,  of  plans  for 
the  future.  They  weren't  just  honeymoon- 
ers  now,  they  were  a  young  married  couple 
with  the  usual  problems.  Problem  number 
one  was  to  find  a  place  to  live.  Shirley  had 
been  on  the  phone  all  day  to  see  if  any- 
one knew  of  an  apartment. 

"That  line  gets  a  terrific  laugh,"  she  said, 
after  hanging  up  on  the  nineteenth  friend. 
"I  should  be  in  vaudeville." 

"Relax,"  Jack  advised.  "We'll  work  out 
something." 

Shirley  leaned  back  against  his  shoulder 
with  a  comfortable  little  sigh.  Husbands 
were  a  great  institution.  .  .  . 

She  had  felt  that  way  ever  since  the 
wedding.  The  wedding  had  been  terribly 
exciting,  so  much  so  that  neither  she  nor 
Jack  could  remember  anything  but  bits 
and  pieces  of  it.  They  had  gone  over  it 
the  next  day,  fitting  it  together  like  a 
jig-saw  puzzle,  from  their  separate  re- 
membrances. 

"So  I  walked  up  the  aisle  toward  you 
and  you  looked  as  if  you  wanted  to  run 
away,"  Shirley  had  said  teasingly. 

"Untrue.  Or  maybe  I  would  have  liked 
to  run  away  if  I  could  have  taken  you 
along." 

"You  did  that  eventually.  Remember  our 
wild  ride  to  the  hotel,  with  me  holding  that 
broken  door  shut  on  the  car?  I  almost  fell 
out  every  time  we  turned  a  corner." 

They  had  given  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
they  finally  got  to  the  hotel  where  they 
had  reservations.  They  walked  into  the 
lobby  in  what  they  hoped  was  a  very  non- 
chalant manner,  as  if  they  were  quite  used 
to  walking  into  hotels  together.  Jack  asked 
for  their  suite  which  had  been  reserved  in 
the  name  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harry  Barnet,  to 
avoid  publicity.  The  clerk  stared,  surprise 
and  dismay  neatly  blended. 

"Why,  I  gave  that  suite  to  a  major  and 
his  wife  an  hour  ago.  I  thought  they 
were  the  ones  ..."  his  voice  trailed  off. 

Shirley  reached  instinctively  for  Jack's 
arm.  It  was  midnight,  and  she  knew  what 
the  hotel  situation  was  these  days.  She 
felt  a  tiny  wave  of  panic  begin  at  her 
heels  and  start  upwards. 

However,  Jack  was  talking  easily  to  the 
clerk,  straightening  things  out,  finding 
another  suite,  which  was,  the  clerk  said, 
the  real  "bridal  suite."  Shirley  looked  at 
Jack  admiringly.  Husbands  were  wonderful! 


Next  day  the  calm  and  capable  husband 
had  to  spend  two  hours  in  a  garage  get 
ting  the  car  door  fixed.  Then  they  started 
off  for  Santa  Barbara.  It  was  a  heavenly 
ride  up  the  coast.  They  didn't  stop  at 
restaurant  for  lunch  because  they  found 
magnificent  package  of  food  which  the 
Temple's  housekeeper  had  packed  amon 
their  luggage.  They  ate  sliced  chicken  and 
wedding    cake,    all    flavored    with  am 
brosia  and  served  on  a  pink  cloud.  Whe 
they  got  to  Santa  Barbara  they  decided  to 
go  to  a  night  club  for  dinner — one  where 
there  was  romantic  Spanish  music.  Al 
though,  as  it  turned  out,  they  didn't  do 
a  lot  of  dancing.  It  was  much  more  fun  to 
sit  and  talk,  or  just  look  at  each  other 
It  wasn't  long,  of  course,  before  peopl 
started  coming  up  to  ask  for  autographs— 
a  "steady  stream  of  them.    That's  when 
Shirley  began  to  worry  about  the  man  a 
the  next  table.  She  had  noticed  him  when 
they  first  came  in.   He  was  gray-haired 
and   sort   of   distinguished   looking,  ana 
obviously  foreign.    When  the  first  auto 
graph  seeker  came  up  to  Shirley,  the  man 
stared  for  a  moment,  then  looked  politel 
away.   As  the  crowd  of  fans  multiplied 
his  amazement  increased. 

"What  is  wrong  with  him,  Jack?"  Shir 
ley  whispered. 

"He's  just  admiring  you  because  you're 
so  pretty." 

"He  is  not!"  Shirley  was  emphatic.  "He 
has  something  on  his  mind." 

Sure  enough,  at  that  moment,  the  mar 
came  over,  bowed  formally,  and  said  tc 
Jack  in  English  but  with  a  definite  accent 
"I  beg  your  pardon.  But  your  wife  she  ee 
the  head  of  this  establishment,  yes?" 

Jack  gaped  in  surprise.   "Why  no,  sir 

"But  she  has  to  sign  all  the  checks, 
seems.  Is  she  tken  the  cashier?" 

Shirley  burst  into  delighted  laughter 
while  Jack  explained  "They  want  her  tc 
sign  her  name  on  those  things  because 
she's  Shirley  Temple.  Only  now,"  he  adde 
proudly,  "she's  Mrs.  Agar." 

The  man  bowed  again,  a  gleam  of  en 
lightenment  in  his  eyes.  "Ah,  the  cinema 
That  explains  everything."  He  thankee 
them  and  left  the  club,  while  Shirley  anc 
Jack  laughed  hysterically. 

call  me  pal  .  .  . 

The  first  morning  they  were  in  Sant 
Barbara,  Shirley  went  out  for  a  walk 
When  she  came  back  she  found  the  mak 
in  the  room.  She  gave  the  woman  a  brigh 
smile  because  the  world  was  a  wonderfu 
place  and  she  wanted  everyone  to  be  a 
happy  as  she  was. 

The  maid  stared  at  her  curiously.  "Ar 
you  Shirley  Temple's  sister?" 

"No,  I'm  Shirley  Temple.  I  don't  hav 
a  sister." 

"I  heard  you  were  here.  Are  you  wit! 
your  mother?"  Just  then  there  came  fron 
the  bathroom  the  sound  of  a  lusty  mal 
voice  raised  in  song.  The  maid's  moutl 
dropped  open.  It  was  too  much  for  Shu- 
ley,  who  giggled  irrepressibly. 

"No,  I'm  not  here  with  my  mother.  I'r 
here  with  a  friend."  Then,  hastily,  as  th 
maid's  mouth  threatened  to  become  com 
pletely  unhinged,  "My  husband." 

Those  six  days  at  Santa  Barbara  fle\ 
by  so  fast.  It  caught  at  her  heart,  tha 
knowledge  of  how  soon  it  would  be  ovei 
Strange  how  easily  you  got  used  to  havin 
a  husband  around.  How,  quite  suddenh 
you  couldn't  imagine  going  back  to  you 
family  and  being  a  daughter  instead  of 
wife.  You  did  go  back,  of  course,  and  di 
it  cheerfully,  as  all  the  other  girls  did. 

In  those  days  Shirley  and  Jack  thougr 


POST  W  M,  R      /m  R 


stops  perspiration  and  odor 
so  effectively ,  yet  so  safely  J 

It's  the  improved  deodorant  you've  been  waiting 

for!  The  new,  soft,  smooth,  creamy  deodorant 
that  gives  you  the  maximum  protection  possible 
against  perspiration  and  odor  with  safety  to  your 
skin  and  clothes !  No  other  deodorant  of  any 

sort .  .  .  liquid  or  cream  .  .  .  meets  the  standard 
set  by  this  wonderful  new  Postwar  Arrid 
for  stopping  perspiration  and  odor  with  safety! 


so  Soft!  so  Smooth!  so  Creamy! 

I  .,      .  ■  .  for  graceful 

maWe  ,„„  look  »  AJ„  4rrU 

S  '.J  odor  »  «fr«.iv«lv,  >■■""■'»> 

j    -.v.  a  Btat  above  the  price 
TT^LT^iiar  packaee  . . .  marked  wuh  a  star 


gives  you  this  thorough  protection 

1.  No  other  deodorant  stops  perspiration  and  odor  so 
effectively,  yet  so  safely.1 

2.  Nearly  twice  as  effective  in  stopping  perspiration  as 
any  other  leading  deodorant  cream. 

3.  Does  not  rot  clothes.  Greaseless  and  stainless,  too. 

4.  Safe  for  skin.  Non -irritating.  Antiseptic. 

5.  Soft,  smooth,  creamy  .  .  .  easy  to  apply.  Just  rub  in 
well,  no  waiting  to  dry! 

390  plus  tax  Also  10£  and  59^ 


Three  Important  Fashion  Notes!  The  bare-shoulder  look  of  the 
new  drawstring  neckline.  The  perky  look  of  the  new  puffed  sleeves. 
The  immaculate  look  of  clothes  protected  by  daily  use  of  the  new, 
improved  Arrid.  Arrid  is  nearly  twice  as  effective  in  stopping 
perspiration  as  any  other  leading  deodorant  cream! 


/VAX 


Some  of  tbe  many  Stars  who  use  Arrid: 

Grace  Moore   •   Beatrice  Lillie  •   Carol  Bruce 
Jane  Froman   •  Diana  Barrymore  •  Jessica  Dragonette 


(')  Based  on  tests  of  leading  and  other  deodorants 


85 


Romance  in  the  spring.  Of  course  you've 
dreamed  of  it.  Now  here'*  a  way  to  help  your 
dreams  come  true! 


t  very  day  use 

Nestle  Colorinse. 
You'll  be  thrilled 
with  the  softer, 
silkier  sheen ...  the 
glowing  highlights 
. .  .the  radiant  color 
it  rinses  into  your 
hair. 


He'll  love  it,  too, 

for  nothing  attracts 
a  man  so  much  as 
bright,  sparkling 
hair.  Don't  let  an- 
other day  go  by 
without  discover- 
ing how  much 
lovelier  Nestle 
Colorinse  wilt 
raakeyouiown  hair. 


Ask  your  beautician  for  an  Opalescent  Creme  Wave 
by  Nestle  — -  originators  ol  permanent  waving. 

COLORINSE 

In  10 f  and  3Sf  lizci. 
beauty  count er« 
everywhere. 


eajgfflBlv»«ii_,.. 

KEEP  HAIR  IN  PLACE  ALL  DAY  LONG 
Delicately  perfumed  Nestle 
Hairlac  keeps  all  styles  of 
hairdos  looking  well-groomed 
throughout  the  day.  Also  adds 
sheen  and  lustre  to  your  hair.. 
2V2  oz>  bottle  25£. 

TfatCc  HAIRLAC 


it  would  be  ages  before  he  got  out  of  the 
Army.  There  would  be  lots  of  time  to  fix 
up  a  place  to  live. 

"There's  that  little  house  of  mine  next 
door  to  mother  and  dad,  Jack,"  Shirley 
said  thoughtfully,  the  day  before  he  left. 
"It's  tiny  and  it  would  have  to  be  all 
changed  around,  but  I  think  it  would  be 
swell  for  the  two  of  us." 

"I  don't  want  to  live  in  a  house  that 
belongs  to  you,  honey.  I'm  going  to  sup- 
port the  Agar  family  and  that  includes 
getting  a  house." 

"Why  don't  you  buy  that  house  from 
me?"  Shirley  suggested.  "Then  it  will  be 
yours,  and  you  can  boss  me  around  in  it 
all  you  want  to!"  Those  dimples! 

soup  to  nuts  .  .  . 

That  was,  finally,  the  way  they  settled  it. 
There  was  a  certain  amount  of  work  to  be 
done  on  the  place.  Shirley  had  built  it  six 
years  before,  as  a  place  to  have  parties  for 
the  kids,  and  well,  just  because  she  had 
wanted  a  little  place  of  her  own  even  if 
she  didn't  really  live  in  it.  There  was  a 
bathroom  and  a  kitchen,  but  the  rest  was 
all  ballroom.  Oh  yes,  and  soda  fountain. 
So  Shirley  got  together  with  contractors 
and  decorators  and  people  like  that,  and 
found  out  it  wouldn't  cost  so  awfully  much 
to  turn  the  ballroom  into  a  sort  of  studio, 
which  could  be  a  living  room  by  day  and  a 
bedroom  at  night.  The  furniture  would  be 
French  Provincial,  and  it  was  enormous 
fun  to  pick  it  out  and  think  about  draper- 
ies and  chintzes  in  terms  of  what  Jack 
would  like. 

"Chairs  you  can  sit  in,  not  just  look  at," 
he  had  insisted.  "One  big  one  we  can  sit 
in  together,  honey.  You  on  my  lap,  and  the 
budget  book  on  your  lap." 

Because  they're  going  to  have  a  budget 
and  stick  to  it.  That's  one  thing  Jack  is 
very  definite  about.  He  comes  from  a 
wealthy  family — his  father  was  head  of  the 
Agar  meat  packing  firm  in  Chicago,  and  it 
was  after  his  death  that  the  family  moved 
to  Los  Angeles.  But  he  knows  the  value 
of  money,  and  he  wants  the  house  run 
systematically.  Shirley  agrees.  She's  a 
sensible  gal,  and  she  knows  it's  easier  in 
the  long  run  to  do  things  the  right  way. 

That's  one  reason  she  decided  to  learn 
to  cook,  while  Jack  was  away.  It  started 
with  an  old  joke  between  them.  When  she 
and  Jack  were  first  in  love,  he  said  solemn- 
ly, but  with  a  glint  of  mischief  in  his  eyes, 
"I'll  never  marry  you,  Shirley,  till  you 
have  cooked  me  one  complete  dinner,  soup 
to  nuts.    And  good!" 

Well,  what  with  one  thing  and  another, 
he  changed  his  mind,  and  Shirley  still 
couldn't  boil  an  egg  when  they  got  mar- 
ried. When  they  walked  into  their  bridal 
suite  at  the  hotel  that  first  night,  Jack 
suddenly  began  to  laugh. 

"Look  in  there,"  he  yelled. 

"In  there"  was  a  beautiful,  shiny  kitchen, 
complete  with  pots  and  pans  and  gas  stove. 
Shirley  surveyed  it  with  a  lifted  eye- 
brow. "Interesting,"  she  said.  "What  is  it?" 

"That,  my  dear,  is  a  kitchen,  and  to- 
morrow morning  you're  going  to  cook  my 
breakfast  in  it." 

Next  morning  he  said,  "Time  for  you  to 
get  my  breakfast,  like  a  good  bride." 

Shirley  made  a  face  at  him.  "What  do 
you  want  to  eat?" 

"Orange  juice,  ham  and  eggs,  English 
muffins  dripping  with  butter,  coffee.  .  .  ." 

"I'll  get  your  breakfast,  my  sweet." 
She  smiled  angelically,  and  lifted  the  phone. 
"Room  service?  Please  send  up  two  orange 
juice,  two  ham  and  eggs.  .  .  ." 

But  after  Jack  went  away,  learning  to 
cook  became  a  very  solid  idea.  She  went 
to  cooking  school  three  times  a  week.  In 
between,  she  practiced  on  the  only  mildly 
protesting  Temple  family.  Shirley  began 
strictly  from  scratch,  not  knowing  a 
basting  spoon  from  an  egg  beater.  The 


first  lesson  at  school  was  on  baking  powder 
biscuits.  Shirley  did  all  right  on  those. 
She  was  pretty  pleased  with  herself.  She 
was,  she  decided,  probably  one  of  those 
natural  born  cooks  you  hear  about.  She 
strutted  slightly,  and  wrote  Jack  a  long 
letter  about  how  simple  cooking  was. 
Nothing  to  it,  really.  The  next  lesson  was 
on  cake.  Shirley,  the  expert,  sifted  the 
flour,  mixed  the  sugar  and  butter,  and 
then  reached  for  an  egg.  She  knew  the 
teacher  was  watching  her,  and  she  was 
very  nonchalant.  She  tapped  the  egg 
lightly  on  the  side  of  the  bowl,  the  way 
she  had  seen  the  cook  do  at  home.  Noth- 
ing happened.  She  tapped  again.  The  egg 
remained  intact. 

"Oh,  a  tough  egg,  huh?"  said  Shirley  to 
herself,  and  gave  it  a  darn  good  crack.  She 
spent  the  next  ten  minutes  wiping  egg  off 
everything  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  The 
cake  when  done,  although  it  looked  beau- 
tiful, tasted  as  though  it  had  been  made 
by  a  brick  layer.  Shirley  wrote  Jack  that 
maybe  there  was  more  to  this  cooking 
business  than  met  the  eye.  But  by  the 
time  he  got  out  of  the  Army,  she  was  a 
champion.  He  had  a  birthday  a  few  days 
after  he  got  home.  He  and  Shirley  were 
staying  at  a  hotel,  but  Shirley  went  over 
to  cooking  school  and  whipped  up  the 
fanciest  birthday  cake  ever  seen  by  mortal 
man.   She  brought  it  home  proudly. 

"Hey,  that  looks  mighty  pretty,  but  what 
does  it  taste  like?"  inquired  her  husband. 

"Try  it." 

Jack  took  a  large  slice  and  started  on 
it  gravely.  After  the  first  bite  he  didn't 
say  a  word.  Shirley  sat  on  the  edge  of  her 
chair  and  fumed.  Maybe  he  didn't  like  it. 

Then  Jack  grinned  at  her,  and  it  was  as 
if  someone  had  lifted  a  weight  off  her 
heart.   She  had  so  wanted  it  to  be  right. 

"Honey,  I've  never  eaten  better  cake. 
Congratulations!" 

"Why  didn't  you  say  something  before, 
you  big  lug?  Scaring  me  half  to  death." 

"That  was  to  pay  you  back  for  not  cook- 
ing my  breakfast  the  day  after  we  were 
married." 

prophet  with  honor  .  .  . 

Jack  loves  to  tease  her,  and  she  doesn't 
mind.  She  doesn't  mind  anything  he  does, 
and  he  feels  the  same  way  about  her.  He's 
so  proud  of  her,  he  swells  up  like  an  in- 
flated frog  every  time  he  introduces  her 
to  someone.  Not  because  she's  a  picture 
star,  but  because  she's  so  sweet  and  pretty 
and  charming  to  everyone.  When  he  was 
at  camp  in  Utah,  he  brought  three  of  his 
best  buddies  up  to  the  room  to  see  Shirley 
and  they  talked  till  two  in  the  morning. 
The  boys  were  a  little  shy  for  the  first  few 
minutes.  After  that,  they  felt  as  if  they  had 
known  Shirley  forever  and  it  couldn't  have 
been  more  fun.  One  boy  was  from  the 
Bronx,  one  from  Kansas,  and  one  from 
Oklahoma.  The  lad  from  the  Bronx,  Joe, 
was  in  pretty  much  of  a  dither.  His  wife 
was  going  to  have  a  baby  soon  and  he  was 
determined  it  should  be  a  boy. 

Shirley  laughed  at  him.  "Your  wife's 
going  to  have  a  girl,  Joe.  I  can  see  it  in  my 
crystal  ball.  You  might  just  as  well  make 
up  your  mind  to  it." 

Joe  was  outraged.  "Don't  say  those 
things.  I  know  she's  going  to  have  a  boy." 

A  few  weeks  later,  Shirley  in  Holly- 
wood got  a  card.  "Now  see  what  you've 
done.  It's  a  girl.  Joe." 

About  three-quarters  of  Jack's  friends 
are  married.  Since  Shirley  is  so  young, 
only  a  few  of  the  girls  she  knows  best  are 
married  yet.  Shirley  is  all  for  getting  the 
rest  of  them  to  the  altar  as  soon  as  possible. 
Not  only  because  she's  divinely  happy 
herself,  but  because  she  wants  a  young 
married  set  around  her. 

"The  same  sort  of  people  Jack  and  I 
are,"  she  explains.  "Now  that  he's  home, 
we'll  want  to  go  dancing  sometimes,  and 


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have  a  crowd  in  for  Sunday  night  supper 
and  things  like  that.  We  won't  ever  play 
bridge.  We  just  aren't  the  type." 

One  thing  they  are  definitely  going  to 
have  as  soon  as  they  get  their  house,  and 
that's  a  collie  dog. 

Their  hotel  stay  came  to  an  end  sooner 
than  they  had  expected,  though  not  due 
to  the  dog.  Floating  in  the  rose-colored 
fog  of  happy  reunion,  they  had  completely 
forgotten  about  the  five  day  limit  on  tran- 
sient guests.  Jack  was  out  with  the  car 
when  Shirley  got  a  call  from  the  desk. 

"Will  you  please  have  your  luggage  out 
of  your  room  as  soon  as  possible,  Mrs. 
Agar?  Lieutenant  so-and-so  and  his  wife 
are  waiting  to  check  in." 

"Oh — uh — yes,  of  course,"  Shirley  said, 
and  hung  up.  Darn  the  lieutenant  and  his 
wife!  Darn  the  five  day  limit!  But  she 
started  packing  feverishly.  When  Jack 
whirled  into  the  hotel  driveway  he  found 
a  small,  lost-looking  figure  on  the  steps, 
completely  surrounded  by  luggage. 

"Poor  baby,"  he  said  when  he  heard  the 
explanation.  "And  you  had  to  pack  all  by 
yourself." 

"Packing  is  a  wife's  job  anyway,"  Shirley 
told  him.  "I  didn't  mind.  And  practically 
everyone  in  the  country  is  being  thrown 
out  of  hotels  these  days.  We're  just  like 
everyone  else." 

That,  of  course,  is  the  endearing  thing 
about  the  Agars.  They're  just  like  every- 
one else — only  nicer. 


"ADVENTURE" 

(STORY) 

{Continued  from  page  47) 


now,"  Harry  said.  "It  was  your  idea, 
wasn't  it?" 

"I'm  thinking  better  of  it,"  Mudgin  said. 

The  girl  with  the  horn  rim  glasses 
turned. 

She  was  really  prettier  than  the  glasses 
might  lead  you  to  expect;  there  was  some- 
thing— or  rather  the  hint  of  something — 
in  her  eyes  and  in  the  turn  of  her  mouth 
that  made  you  look  again  even  after  you 
saw  the  glasses. 

"Yes?"  she  said. 

"I  got  a  sailor  with  me  wants  a  little 
information,"  Harry  said. 

She  turned  to  Mudgin. 

"Go  ahead,  Mudgin,"  Harry  said. 

"I  hate  to  be  bothering  you,  Miss,"  Mud- 
gin said  apologetically. 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for." 

"It's — personal,"  Mudgin  said,  "and  I'm 
not  sure  a  library  is  the  place  to  find  what 
it  is  I'm  looking  for.  .  .  ." 

"What  is  it  you're  looking  for?" 

"My  soul,"  Mudgin  said. 

His  face  was  serious,  almost  grimly  seri- 
ous and  the  girl  didn't  laugh  after  her  first 
startled  look.  She  looked  quickly  at  Harry 
and  then  back  to  Mudgin  again. 

"He  says  he  lost  it  on  Powell  Street  in 
the  fog.  Just  popped  out  and  was  gone. 
Like  that.  Right,  Mudgin?"  nudged  Harry. 

"That's  how  it  was,  Harry,"  Mudgin  said: 
he  turned  to  the  girl  again.  "You  see, 
Miss,  I  made  some  promises.  We  was 
torpedoed  last  time  out — " 

The  girl  looked  swiftly  at  Harry. 

"It  happens,"  Harry  said  grimly,  "even 
in  the  Merchant  Marine.  You've  heard  of 
the  Merchant  Marine,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  said.  "I've  heard." 

"And  it  was  Harry  who  saved  us,"  Mud- 
gin said.  "Harry  and  Him — " 

"I'll  skip  any  billing  in  the  credit," 
Harry  said.  "I  just  went  for  the  ride." 

"So  I  promised  the  Lord  four  things  if 
we  was  saved.  And  we  was.  But  I  didn't 
keep  the  promises.  So  I  lost  my  soul. 
And  I  was  wondering,  Miss,  if  there's  any- 


thing  in  the  Library  could  help — " 

''We  can  try,"  the  girl  said  gently. 

So  they  did — looking  through  the  thick 
stacks  of  books  but  in  all  the  endless  lines 
of  volume  after  volume  there  seemed  to 
be  nothing  that  a  man  who  lost  his  soul 
on  Powell  Street  might  read  with  use. 

"It's  not  your  fault,  Miss,"  Mudgin  said. 
"It  being  a  special  case  and  these  being 
times  when  men  don't  seem  to  think  it 
worth  writing  anything  about  a  poor, 
wandering  thing  like  a  man's  soul.  But 
you  didn't  laugh  at  me.  And  for  that  you 
have  my  deepest  thanks.  I'll  not  forget 
that.  So  I'll  be  going  along  now,  Miss,  and 
I'll  be  remembering  you — " 

He  looked  inexpressibly  lonely,  patheti- 
cally small  against  the  high  proud  arch 
of  the  stone  columns  of  the  room.  And 
Harry  watched  him,  his  face  tight,  and 
then  he  turned  back  to  the  girl. 

''So  that's  the  best  you  can  do  for  a 
man,"  he  said,  "with  all  your  books." 

"It's  a  type  of  psycho-neurosis,"  she 
said. 

"Psycho-neurosis!"  Harry  cried.  "You 
have  names  for  everything,  don't  you?  It's 
a  great  racket,  isn't  it?  How  long  did  it 
take  you  to  learn  all  the  names?" 

"Are  you  interested  in  taking  a  few 
courses?" 

"You  couldn't  teach  me.  anything,  sister. 
I  know  everything  you  know  plus  a  couple 
of  things  you  never  even  dreamed  of. 
Don't  go  high  and  mighty  on  me,  sister!" 

He  was  very  close  to  her  and  his  hand 
touched  her  shoulder  and  pushed  her  back 
against  the  wall. 

"What  do  you  think  you're  doing?"  the 
girl  said. 

"Teaching  you  a  few  things,"  Harry  said. 
"Get  out  of  this  dump,  sister,  before  you 
go  as  dead  as  all  those  books  you  got  lined 
up,  like  stiffs  in  the  morgue." 

She  swung  away  from  him  suddenly, 
sharply,  and  in  a  quick  involuntary  ges- 
ture she  snapped  her  glasses  off  and  he 
could  see  the  flashing  glint  of  her  eyes. 

"You're  big  and  you're  wise  and  you 
know  all  the  tricks,  don't  you?"  she  said 
angrily.  "Only  you  don't  even  know 
enough  to  know  how  stupid  you  really 
are.  What  did  you  expect  to  find  here — 
the  answers  to  everything?  Go  on  back 
to  your  bars  and  beer,  that's  all  you're 
good  for.  You'll  find  a  bar  just  down  the 
block  a  bit—" 

"That's  where  I'm  heading,"  Harry  said. 

He  turned — and  almost  crashed  into  the 
girl  who  was  coming  at  a  clattering  walk 
straight  to  the  desk. 

"Hello,"  the  girl  said. 

"Hello,"  Harry  said. 

"I  was  talking  to  Emily,"  the  girl  said. 

"I  know  Emily,"  Harry  said.  "Emily's 
the  little  brain  dynamo.  Who're  you?" 

"Helen." 

"You're  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  Helen.  I 
didn't  think  there  was  anything  living  in 
the  joint  except  termites.  Ever  get  hun- 
gry, Helen?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Hungry  now?" 

"A  little." 

"Let's  go  see  what  we  can  do  about  it." 
"I  was  having  dinner  with  Emily." 
Harry  grinned. 

"Well,  well!"  he  said.  "Hiya,  Emily!" 
"No,"  Emily  said. 
"Aw,  Em,"  Helen  said.  "Why?" 
"I'm  a  sailor,"  Harry  said.  "Em  doesn't 
like  sailors." 
"That's  not  true,"  Emily  said  sharply. 
Harry  shrugged. 

"Aw,  let  him  eat  with  us,  Em,"  Helen 
said  again. 

Emily's  mouth  was  a  thin  line:  "All 
right,"  she  said,  "I  always  feed  starving 
cats,  dogs  and  sailors.  ..." 

It  was  because  of  a  chicken,  that  they 
found  themselves — Emily  and  Harry — 
driving  down  a  wild  road  that  led  through 


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Dusting  Powder,  1.00.  Talcum  Powder,  50? . 
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the  night  to  Reno.  Because  of  a  chicken, 
and  an  old  farmhouse  that  Emily  owned, 
and  a  night  in  San  Francisco  when  Emily 
crowned  him  with  a  plate. 

There  was  that  afternoon  when  he  and 
Emily  went  down  the  road  to  buy  some 
groceries  one  Sunday  out  at  the  farm  and 
there  wasn't  anything  but  cheese.  And  on 
the  way  back,  they  saw  this  chicken;  the 
sweetest,  juiciest  chicken  this  side  of  the 
Mississippi.  And  somehow  they  both  had 
the  same  idea  and  they  were  crouching 
in  the  tall  corn,  staring  very  fixedly  at 
Farmer  Ludlow's  prize  pullet.  They  made 
a  grab  for  it  and  they  heard  Ludlow  yell 
and  then  they  were  running,  the  two  of 
them  and  the  chicken,  running  and  laugh- 
ing, until  they  were  able  to  duck  down  a 
side  lane  and  Ludlow  didn't  see  them. 

And,  somehow,  then,  they  were  kiss- 
ing. .  .  . 

Everything  was  hazy  then,  right  through 
the  wild  ride  to  Reno  down  the  moon- 
swept  roads.  Emily  always  remembered 
how  he  looked  with  the  wind  whipping 
through  his  hair  and  the  way  he  turned 
to  her  and  laughed.  And  somewhere,  just 
above  Reno  she  told  him  a  poem  she  al- 
ways loved  and  he  didn't  laugh  and  she 
loved  him  for  that.  So  it  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  for  them  to 
stop  when  they  saw  the  sign,  with  Reno 
glittering  just  beyond  the  next  turn: 

JUSTICE  OF  THE  PEACE 

They  were  married  there  and  the  Justice 
was  a  funny  old  codger  just  like  the  ones 
you  always  see  in  the  movies,  only  he  was 
the  real  thing  and  not  an  actor  and  when 
he  tied  the  knot,  he  did  it  by  all  the  laws 
of  the  State  of  Nevada  and  maybe  by  the 
laws  of  the  United  States  of  America  and 
the  nine  Justices  of  The  Supreme  Court, 
too.  It  was  the  sweetest  wedding  you 
could  imagine  and  she  was  still  thinking 
about  it  later  in  the  hotel  room. 

"Darling,"  she  said. 

"Yeah.  .  .  ." 

"What  are  you  going  to  give  me  for  my 
wedding?" 

"IH  marry  you  for  a  present,"  he  said. 
"How's  that?" 

"Wonderful.   Harry.  .  .  ." 

"Yeah?" 

"Why  did  you  marry  me?" 
"Isn't  that  what  you  wanted?" 
"Sure,"    she    said.    "Is    it    what  you 
wanted?" 

He  turned  to  her  then  from  the  window 
and  looked  at  her  slowly  while  she  sat 
perched  on  the  rickety  bed  with  the  silly 
little  flower  hat  she  wore  falling  into  her 
eyes.  He  came  toward  her. 

"I  never  do  anything  I  don't  want  to  do," 
he  said. 

Back  in  Frisco  they  came  to  the  apart- 
ment and  Helen  was  there.  Helen  opened 
the  door  and  the  first  thing  she  did  was 
to  start  to  shut  it  until  Harry  put  his  foot 
in  the  door  and  shouldered  it  open. 

"You  ran  out  on  me,"  Helen  said.  "Pals!" 

"Wait  a  minute — "  Emily  said. 

"You  big  heel!"  Helen  said  to  Harry. 

"We're  married,"  Emily  said. 

"You  big  lug!"  Helen  said.  "What!" 

"We're  married,"  Emily  said. 

So  it  was  all  roses  again.  Helen  insisted 
on  a  party.  Harry  sent  down  for  some 
wine.  Helen  was  weeping  on  Emily's 
shoulder  like  a  long  lost  sister,  making 
her  tell  the  whole  story.  Laughing  in 
between,  and  crying  a  little. 

"That's  the  end  of  the  team  of  Emmy 
and  Helen,"  Helen  said.  "When  do  you 
want  me  to  move,  kids?" 

"But  it's  only  for  a  couple  of  days," 
Harry  said  apologetically. 

There  was  a  long  tight  pause.  Harry 
looked  from  Emily  to  Helen  and  then  back 
at  Emily  again. 

"What's  the  pitch?"  he  said  sharply. 

"A  couple  of  days,"  Emily  said  slowly. 


"I'm  shipping  out,"  Harry  said.  "You 
knew  that,  didn't  you?  I'm  a  sailor — " 
"I  thought — " 

"Wait  a  minute,"  Harry  said.  "Let's  get 
it  straight.  You  thought  I'd  quit  my  ship 
because  I'm  married?  Give  up  the  one 
thing  that  means  anything  to  me,  to  putter 
around  a  garden  on  shore?  Me?  Stuck 
on  land  for  the  rest  of  my  life — " 

"No,  Harry,"  Emily  almost  whispered,  "I 
wouldn't  want  you  to  do  anything  you 
didn't  want  to  do — " 

"That's  settled,"  Harry  said,  grinning. 
"What  do  you  say  we  go  out  and  celebrate?" 

So  the  ride  was  over.  She  realized  it 
dully  later  when  they  were  alone.  She 
could  hear  Harry  in  the  other  room,  hum- 
ming in  that  queer,  off-key  voice  of  his. 
She  couldn't  blame  Harry.  He  was  what 
he  was.  He  never  pretended  to  be  any- 
thing else.  Whose  fault  was  it  if  she 
thought  a  marriage  license  and  a  wedding 
band  would  suddenly  change  him  like 
the  pumpkin  after  it  was  struck  by  the 
magic  wand? 

She  walked  slowly  toward  the  door  of 
the  other  room.  Play  it  light,  she  kept 
telling  herself;  play  it  with  a  laugh.  So 
when  she  came  to  the  door  she  almost 
believed  it  herself.  He  looked  up  at  her, 
grinning,  and  she  grinned  right  back. 

"Sailor,"  she  said,  "the  big  shore  leave's 
over.  It's  been  nice  knowing  you  and 
you're  a  great  guy.  We  got  married  fast. 
Let's  do  the  rest  of  it  fast.  I  want  a 
divorce,  Harry.  .  .  ." 

The  Pacific  Belle  was  rolling  down  to 
Chile.  She  took  the  great  Pacific  swells, 
wallowing  and  rising  like  a  waddling  duck 
on  the  water. 

On  deck  Harry  Patterson  stood  at  the 
rail  looking  down  at  the  oily  swells  sweep- 
ing past  the  dark,  rust-covered  hull.  At 
his  side  Mudgin  shivered  a  little  and 
looked  up  at  the  sky. 

"They  never  know  what  they  want  .  ." 
Harry  said. 

"I  take  it  you're  talkin'  of  women," 
Mudgin  said. 

"Yeah." 

"She's  too  good  for  you,  Harry." 

Harry  swung  around  sharply:  "Too 
good  for  me?  On  again,  off  again.  What 
did  she  think  it  was?" 

"What  did  you  think  it  was,  Harry?" 

"I  married  her,"  Harry  said  harshly. 

"And  what  did  it  mean  to  you?  What 
were  you  willin'  to  give  up?  What  single 
thing  were  you  willin'  to  do  for  her?" 

"She  knew  what  I  was." 

"Sure,"  Mudgin  said.  "Which  is  why 
I'm  savin'  she  was  too  good  for  you.  She 
walked  out  on  ye,  and  that  was  the  smart- 
est thing  she  could've  done.  For  you'd 
have  broken  her  heart — " 

"Shut  up!"  Harry  said. 

"Why?  Are  ye  afraid  of  the  truth?" 

"I  said  shut  up!  You're  talking  to  the 
Bos'n." 

Mudgin  said  slowly:  "I'll  shut  up  for  the 
bos'n,  if  it's  an  order — "  He  started  to 
turn  slowly:  "But  there's  no  power  in  the 
world  can  keep  me  from  tellin'  my  friend 
what's  in  my  mind." 

"Get  off  the  deck!"  Harry  said. 

He  went.  Mudgin  went.  And  that  was 
the  last  time  they  spoke  together  until 
the  night  off  the  small  Chilean  port  when 
Mudgin  missed  his  footing  in  the  dark 
and  they  saw  his  body  teeter  across  the 
open  cargo  hold  and  hold  for  a  minute 
against  the  sky  and  then  fall  away  into 
blackness.  They  brought  him  back  up  on 
deck  but  even  then  they  knew  it  was  too 
late.  They  stretched  him  out  gently  under 
the  Chilean  sky  and  they  saw  a  strange 
thing  then.  Out  of  the  star-filled  sky,  a 
single  star  came  whipping  down  in  a 
shower  of  light.  And  on  deck,  Mudgin's 
eyes  widened  and  his  face  grew  suddenly 
eager  and  his  hand  reached  upward  al- 
most as  if  he  were  catching  the  star. 


Here's  the  way  to  take  this  thrilling  1-Cream  Beauty  Treatment 


Helps  Erase  Those 
"Worry  Lines" 


Devote  a  few  quick  minutes  every  day  to  smooth-skin 
treatments  with  new  Jergens  Face  Cream.  Simply  use 
this  versatile  cream  as  though  it  were  4  creams : 

1.  for  Make-up  Removal;  strict  Cleansing 

2.  for  Softening 

3.  for  a  charming  Foundation 

4.  as  a  Night  Cream— doesn't  tolerate  dry  skin ; 
helps  against  dry-skin  lines 


Nice  to  know:  Jergens  Face  Cream  is  made  by  the  skin  scientists  who 
make  Jergens  Lotion.  Be  delighted— like  girls  everywhere— with  the 
easy  skin  care  of  Jergens  Face  Cream.  10^  to  $1.25  (plus  tax).  Give 
this  new  1-Cream  Treatment  an  honest  10-day  trial. 


JERGENS 
FACE  CREAM 


Does  the  work  of  -4-  creams  for  Smooth,  Kissable  Skin 


April  Showers  ...  a  perfume  made  to 
match  your  on-top-of-the-world 
moods  ...  of  equal  parts  romance 
and  laughter,  with  just  a  whisper  of 
mystery.  Enchanting  fragrance 
for  enchanted  hours! 

Perfume,  6.50;  3.50;  1.10— Toilet  Water.  1.75 
(Plus  tax) 


Maybe  he  did  ...  for  out  on  the  deck 
they  heard  his  voice,  weak  but  very  clear 
"Harry  .  .  .  Harry  .  .  .  tell  Miss  Emilj 
...  He  gave  me  back  my  soul.  .  .  ." 

They  buried  him  at  sea  and  Harry  Pat 
terson  stood  over  the  small  canvas  covere( 
body  and  for  the  last  time  he  spoke 
Mudgin:  "His  name  was  William  T.  Mud 
gin  .  .  .  and  anything  wrong  he  mi 
have  done  in  his  life  he  was  truly  sorr 
for  ...  I  don't  know  where  he  is  nov 
but  wherever  it  is  he'll  be  a  -good  hanc 
at  whatever  job  he's  assigned  to  .  .  .  that 
all  I  got  to  say  .  .  .  Amen.  .  .  ." 

So   it   was   San   Francisco   again  ani 
even  before  the  Pacific  Belle  docked,  Ha 
knew  what  he  wanted  to  do.   The  stree 
was  still  the  same  and  he  went  up 
dark  familiar  stairs  until  he  got  to 
door  he  had  remembered  across  the  end 
less  miles  of  the  Pacific.  He  knocked 
the  door  and  then  shouldered  it  open  wit 
a  mighty  heave. 

Helen  squealed:  "Well,  for  the  lov 
of — " 

"Hiya,  pal,"  Harry  said;  his  eyes  swun 
to  the  other  room.   "Em — " 

"She's  not  there,"  Helen  said. 

"Where  is  she?  I  tried  the  library.  The 
said  she  was  home."  , 

"No,"  Helen  said. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"You  wouldn't  care." 

"Cut  it  out,  Helen." 

"Married   two   days  and  divorced 
next.  A  lot  you  cared!" 

"She  wanted  the  divorce." 

"She  wanted  it!"  Helen  said  bitterl 
"You  weren't  as  blind  as  all  that.  I 
was   crazy    about   you.    But  that's 
enough  for  Harry  Patterson,  is  it?  Han 
wants  all  the  fun  and  none  of  the  tie 
Well,  she  gave  it  to  you  that  way,  didn 
she?  Leave  her  alone  now.  Let  her  ha 
her  baby  and—" 

"What?"  Harry  said  slowly.  "Say  th 
again." 

She  swung  toward  him:  "What  did 
think  I  said?  You  heard  it.  She's  havir 
a  baby." 

He  grabbed  her  shoulder  and  whirl 
her  to  the  door  and  into  a  cab. 

The  doctor  said,  working  on  the  tin 
the  incredibly  tiny,  bit  of  humanity  th 
was  a  baby:   "Normal  .  .  .  normal 
normal.    Everything    normal.  And 
baby  won't  breathe.    You  tell  me  wh 
Oxygen." 

Harry  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  roc 
and  then  he  started  forward,  his  han 
hanging  awkwardly  by  his  side,  so  t 
ribly  useless  now. 

"Doc,"   he    muttered.    "What  are 
chances  .  .  .  ?" 

"Shut  up,"  the  doctor  said  savage 
"We  have  sixty  seconds.  Adrenalin — " 

"Doc,  is  there  anything  I  can  do?" 

"You  can  pray." 

"I  am  praying." 

He  couldn't  take  it,  standing  the 
watching  the  last  flicker  of  life  sput 
and  begin  to  die.  He  leaned  forwa 
terribly,  tensely,  and  he  forgot  the  doc 
and  the  hospital  room  and  all  he  reme 
bered  was  his  love  for  Emily  and  h 
desperately  he  wanted  the  child  to  li 

"Breathe!"  he  said.  "Breathe!" 

And  whatever  the  answer  was — adrt 
alin  or  his  own  deep  and  profound  des 
for  life  or  maybe  God  Himself — they 
heard  the  first  thin  gasp  of  life,  the  si 
of  breath  like  the  thin  crackle  of  str 
The  doctor  moved  swiftly  and  caught 
the  child  and  the  thin  gasp  turned  t 
cry  and  a  wail  and  a  loud  and  lo\ 
noise.    Harry  Patterson  stared  down 
the  small  bundle  of  squirming  life 
was  his  child.   He  stared  down  for  w 
seemed  an  eon  of  time.  And  then  slo 
he  rose  and  looked  up. 

And  he  turned  to  the  door  that  led 
Emily.  .  .  . 


"ADVENTURE" 

(PRODUCTION) 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


turtleneck  sweater.  "Isn't  this  where  I 
came  in,  Vic?"  he  asked  the  director  .  .  . 
Greer  Garson  was  handed  a  modern  ward- 
robe for  the  first  time  in  three  years.  One 
scene  required  her  to  wear  a  sweater,  and 
although  Greer  was  more  than  pleased 
with  the  idea,  Fleming  wasn't  quite  sure. 
The  director  finally  decided  to  change  her 
costume  to  a  dress.  "What's  the  matter, 
Vic?"  -she  said.  "Afraid  I'll  make  Gable 
look  flat-chested?"  So  Garson  wears  a 
sweater  in  "Adventure"  .  .  .  On  Gable's 
return,  the  studio  went  into  a  flurry  of 
plans  to  redecorate  his  dressing  room. 
"What  for?"  said  Clark.  "I'm  happy  with 
it  the  way  it  was"  .  .  .  Garson  disagreed 
with  Fleming  on  the  scene  where  she  was 
to  pelt  Gable  with  her  hat.  Fleming 
wanted  to  shoot  her  throwing  it,  break 
up  the  scene  and  show  Gable  getting  the 
bonnet  right  in  the  face.  "Let  me  try  it 
just  once,"  said  Greer,  and  proceeded  with 
a  bull's-eye  at  twenty  paces  .  .  .  While 
working  on  the  set,  Audrey  Totter  re- 
ceived an  addition  to  her  collection  of 
elephants — this  one  from  an  Army  Colonel 
who  had  lifted  it  from  Hitler's  desk  where 
it  was  used  as  a  paperweight.  Audrey 
named  the  new  Pachyderm  "Stinky"  .  .  . 
Another  hat-throwing  scene  lost  a  few 
of  the  famous  Garson  hairs.  The  scene 
was  to  show  Greer  at  the  docks,  waving 
goodbye  to  Gable,  and  director  Fleming 
suggested  that  Garson  really  let  go  with 
her  emotions,  tear  off  her  hat  and  toss  it 
in  the  air.  The  star  complied,  but  forgot 
that  the  hat  was  securely  pinned  to  her 
hair.  She  let  go  with  her  emotions  to  the 
extent  that  a  handful  of  the  red-gold  locks 
was  torn  from  her  head.  Fleming  saved 
the  hair,  had  it  put  into  a  small  gold  locket, 
and  gave  it  to  Richard  Ney  as  a  remem- 
brance of  his  wife's  ability  to  take  direc- 
tion .  .  .  During  the  shooting,  Fleming 
celebrated  35  years  in  pictures.  He  started 
as  a  cameraman  and  has  been  away  from 
the  industry  only  once,  when  he  accom- 
panied President  Wilson  to  photograph  the 
Peace  Conference  of  World  War  I.  The  set 
was  one  of  the  most  crowded  in  Metro's 
history — everybody  wanted  to  welcome 
Clark  Gable  back  to  the  fold.  The  producer 
finally  had  to  post  a  guard  at  the  door  with 
strict  orders  to  keep  out  strangers.  All 
went  well  until  Sgt.  Ted  Lansing  insisted 
that  he  had  to  see  Gable.  The  GI  broke 
through,  ran  up  to  Gable  and  handed  him 
an  envelope.  Inside  was  a  check  for 
$144.50 — Gable's  mustering-out  pay.  Sgt. 
Lansing,  still  a  little  breathless,  told  the 
star,  "I  just  wanted  to  be  the  guy  who 
made  Clark  Gable  a  civilian." 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Bing  Crosby  was 
on   a    bond  tour 
here  some  months 
ago,  and  I  went  to 
see  him.    As  Mr. 
Crosby    came  to 
the  mike  after  a 
pause  between 
songs,  he   held  a 
small   girl  in  his 
arms.  "This  child 
is   lost,"   he  said. 
"Whoever  owns  her  better  claim  her, 
or  I'll  take  her  home.  I  sure  could  use 
a  girl  in  my  family!" 

Shirley  Burton 
Seattle,  Washington 


High-spirited,  and  strikingly  attractive  with  heavy-fringed  gray  eyes 
and  jet  black  hair,  Mrs.  Lawrence  W.  Earle  is  very  popular  in  Phila- 
delphia's young  social  crowd.  To  help  keep  her  fair,  fine-textured 
skin  looking  its  loveliest,  Mrs.  Earle  has  a  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream  3  or  4  times  a  week.  "It's  my  favorite 
beauty  pick-me-up,"  she  says.  "I  can  see 
the  results  right  away!" 


e 


-my  favorite 

beauty 

pick-me-up" 


Mrs.  Lawrence  W.  Earle  loves  the  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream 

Glamorize  your  complexion  in  only  one  minute! 

Mask  your  face — all  but  your  eyes — in  a  luxurious  white  cloak 
of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream. 

The  Mask  works  by  what  skin  specialists  call  "keratolytic" 
action — it  loosens  and  dissolves  little  skin  roughnesses  and  cling- 
ing dirt  particles!  After  one  min- 
ute, tissue  off — clean. 

Your  complexion  looks 
smoother,  brighter — more  excit- 
ing! And  the  Mask  makes  it 
feel  beautifully  soft.  Now — 
make-up  goes  on  smoothly! 


"A  quick  powder  base,  too!" 

"For  a  quick,  non-greasy  powder  base,  1 
smoothPond'' sVanishingCream  on  lightly 
— and  leave  it  on!"  says  Mrs.  Earle. 


Get  a  BIG  jar  of  glamour-making  Masks! 


93 


CHEZ  LA  RUE 


LA  RUE,  FAMOUS 
FOR  ITS  GOURMET  DISHES, 
DESERVES  A  PLACE 
IN  OUR  SERIES  DESCRIBING 
FAVORITE  HOLLYWOOD 
FOOD-AND-FUN  HEADQUARTERS! 

By  Nancy  Wood 


■  We'll  bet  that  when  the  management 
of  La  Rue,  in  April,  1944,  had  to  go  over 
to  Ciro's  and  say,  "Please,  may  we  bor- 
row some  of  your  knives  and  forks — we're 
opening  a  restaurant.  Oh,  yes,  and  throw 
in  some  matches,  too,  while  you're  at  it" 
nobody  thought  it  would  become  the 
popular,  star-scattered  meeting-and-eat- 
ing  place  it  is  less  than  two  years  later! 
In  spite  of  the  war  shortages  which  made 
it  difficult  to  equip  a  new  restaurant,  it 
has  flourished  to  a  point  where  there  isn't 
a  Hollywood  Big  Name  who  hasn't  grazed 
here.  (By  "grazed"  we  mean,  people 
usually  eat  like  horses  because  the  food, 
mostly  French  and  continental-in-general, 
is  very,  very  good.) 

Cornel  Wilde,  John  Hodiak,  Bob  Walker, 


Van  Johnson,  Dick  Powell,  June  Allyson, 
Clark  Gable,  Jane  Wyman,  Ronnie  Reagan 
and  everybody  else  you  like  go  there  time 
and  again,  causing  considerable  wear  and 
tear  on  the  help  who  have  to  cope  with 
these  healthy  young  appetites.  Lana 
Turner,  no  matter  who  is  escorting  her, 
orders  Pompano  Almondine,  a  delectable 
fish  of  Florida  waters  served  with  a  garnish 
of  shredded  almonds.  The  Bogarts  favor 
pheasant  tricked  out  with  a  mysterious 
French  sauce.  Alfred  Hitchcock,  normally 
a  very  wide  man,  looks  more  and  more  like 
Alfred  Hitchcock  after  each  succeeding 
meal  of  Bitock  de  Volaille,  which  is  a 
glamorized  chickenburger.  Ninety  per  cent 
of  the  patrons  love  Baba  au  Rhum  Flambe. 
Chicken   Cacciatore,   Eggs   Benedict  and 


Deviled  Crab  Louisiana  are  among  the 
most  popular  specialties. 

The  La  Rue  is  on  Sunset  Boulevard  in 
the  heart  of  the  famous  "strip,"  has  the 
only  sidewalk  cafe  in  town  and  is  owned 
by  Billy  Wilkerson,  maen-about-town  and 
publisher  of  the  Hollywood  Reporter.  The 
bar  is  strikingly  decorated — black  wood- 
work, deep  red  leather  seats  and  stools 
and  black  wallpaper  flourishing  big  green 
and  white  flowers.  The  main  (lining  room 
is  done  in  cream  and  soft  green  and  has 
doors  opening  out  on  a  porch  flanked  by 
masses  of  flowers.  In  the  center  of  the 
dining  room  is  a  huge  buffet  spread  with 
a  confusion  of  rich  and  wonderful  foods. 
We  have  chosen  some  of  these  La  Rue 
specialties  and  adjusted  them  slightly  for 


94 


your  use.  Let's  see  you  try  them  and  pre- 
tend you're  fining  with  Van  Johnson! 

CHICKEN  SAUTE  A  LA 
CACCIATORE 

3  disjointed  1%  pound  broiling  chickens 

Salt  and  pepper 

y±  cup  oil  or  butter 

2  finely  chopped  onions 

3  cloves  garlic,  finely  minced 
^  cup  dry  white  wine 

1  No.  212  (S1-^  cups)  canned  tomatoes 
i-2  pound  fresh  mushrooms,  sliced 

2  or  3  bay  leaves 
*4  teaspoon  sage 

1  No.  2  (2Vz  cups)  canned  peas 
Cut  chicken  into  serving  size  pieces. 
Sprinkle  with  salt  and  pepper.  Heat  fat 
in  heavy  frying  pan  and  saute  chicken 
until  brown.  Add  onion  and  garlic,  finely 
minced,  and  fry  to  golden  brown.  Add 
all  remaining  ingredients  except  peas.  If 
there  isn't  enough  liquid  to  cover  chicken, 
add  chicken  broth  (dissolve  1  bouillon 
cube  in  1  cup  hot  water) .  Cover  pan 
closely  and  turn  heat  down  to  simmering. 
Simmer  45  minutes  or  until  tender.  Add 
peas  during  last  15  minutes  of  cooking. 
If  sauce  seems  thin  during  last  15  minutes, 
remove  cover  from  pan  to  permit  evap- 
oration.   Good  with  spaghetti.    Serves  6. 

POMPANO  SAUTE  ALMONDINE 

€  fillets  of  pompano* 

Salt,  pepper,  flour 

OHre  oil  to  cover  bottom  of  pan 

Lemon  juice 

x2  teaspoon  Worcestershire  sauce 
x4  cup  almonds 

Wash  fillets  and  pat  dry  gently  with  a 
:owel.  Sprinkle  salt,  pepper  and  flour  on 
ooth  sides  of  fillets.  Fry  in  olive  oil  over 
noderate  heat  about  5  minutes  to  a  side, 
until  golden  brown.  Place  on  hot  platter 
and  sprinkle  with  a  few  drops  of  lemon 
uice  and  Worcestershire  sauce.  Garnish 
«rith  blanched  almonds  which  have  been 
■.liced  and  browned  in  butter.  To  blanch 
ilmonds,  pour  boiling  water  over  shelled 
ilmonds  and  let  stand  5  minutes.  Drain, 
lover  with  cold  water:  slip  off  skins. 

*Pompano  is  the  champagne  of  fish  and 
iard  to  find  in  the  average  market.  Use 
diets  of  sole  or  flounder. 

CHOCOLATE  SOUFFLE 

squares  unsweetened  chocolate 
34  cups  cream  or  evaporated  milk 

eggs,  separated 

cup  sugar 
.  teaspoon  vanilla 

-dd  chocolate  to  1  cup  cream  or  evapo- 
.  a:ed  milk  in  top  of  double  boiler  and  heat, 
j  ."hen  chocolate  is  melted,  beat  with  rotary 
;  gg  beater  until  blended.  Cool.  Beat  egg 
:  ;oiks  until  thick  and  lemon  colored.  Add 
t  igar  gradually  and  beat  in.  Add  remain- 
ig  34  cup  cream  or  evaporated  milk  and 
I  ;ini11a  and  blend.    Combine  with  cooled 
r  iiocolate  mixture.  Beat  egg  whites  until 
iff,  but  not  dry  and  fold  into  chocolate 
.ixture.   If  you're  doing  this  whole  job 
ith  one  egg  beater,  be  sure  you  wash  it 
i  oroughly  before  beating  egg  whites — 
l  e  slightest  bit  of  egg  yolk  will  prevent 
fcites  from  fluffing  up  properly.  Turn  into 
-  eased  casserole.  Place  in  larger  pan  of 
3T»t  water  and  bake  in  moderate  oven  (350: 
)  50  to  60  minutes  or  until  firm.  Serve 
.th  cream  or  a  sauce.    Serves  6  to  8. 


Ah,  Spring!  When  birds  are  a-twitter  .  .  .  when 
the  sap  begins  to  run  again  (jio  offense,  Junior)  .  .  . 
and  a  fellow  pops  out  of  his  cold  weather  covering 
like  a  butterfly  from  a  cocoon! 

Now's  the  time  when  harried  mothers  are 
more  than  ever  grateful  for  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 
With  clean  shirts  in  constant  demand,  it's  a 
real  relief  to  use  this  faster,  gentler  soap.  .  . 

There's  relief  from  endless  hours  in  the  laundry. 
Relief  from  ordinary  washing  wear  on  collars 
and  cuffs.  Not  to  mention  relief  from  wear 
and  tear  on  Mother's  disposition. 

Ah,  Spring!  Ah,  Youth! 
(and  fro?n  the  ladies,  in  chorus) 
A-h-h-h,  Fels-Naptha! 


Fels-Naptha  Soap 

bah/shes'tattle-tale  gray 


Connie  could  cycle  with 
effortless  wheeling 


...for  GAYLft  HOLD-BOBS  kept 
her  coiffure  appealing ! 


•  Invisible  heads,  rounded-for-safety  ends, 
long-lasting,  springy  action  make  Gayla 
Hold-Bob  pins  America's  favorite  brand. 


COPYRIGHT  1946 
GAVLORD  PRODUCTS,   INCORPORATED  .  CHICAGO  16,  ILL. 


CUVjftJEiOL 

HOLD-BOB 

BOBBY   PINS   THAT  HOLD 


THE  ANDREWS  GANG 

(Continued  from  page  53) 


to  break  the  news  gently.  He  decided  that 
this  was  one  of  those  juvenile  tragedies  for 
which  there  is  no  soft  pedal.  "Sorry, 
David,  but  I  don't  think  we  should  keep 
that  suit,"  he  said.  "It  isn't  quite  right 
in  the  shoulders,  and  those  pleated  trousers 
don't  do  a  thing  for  you." 

David  looked  stricken.  "But  the  material 
is  so  good,"  he  pointed  out.  "You  don't  get 
material  like  this  nowadays.  Don't  you 
think  that  a  few  alterations.  .  .  ." 

Dana  wanted  to  say  yes.  He  wanted  to 
indulge  David,  but  he  knew  it  would  be 
foolish — the  suit  was  wrong.  It  was  ex- 
pensive, too,  and  Dana  is  sensible  about 
cash — he  always  wants  to  buy  the  best, 
and  is  willing  to  pay  a  reasonable  price, 
but  he  can't  see  the  sense  in  extravagance. 
"You'll  outgrow  that  suit  in  two  months," 
he  pointed  out.  "The  sleeves  are  just  right 
now;  but  they'll  be  too  short  before  you 
can  get  the  value  from  the  suit." 

David  bit  his  lower  lip  and  tried  to  be 
nonchalant  about  it,  but  his  disappoint- 
ment was  overwhelming.  Sadly,  he  re- 
moved the  beloved  suit,  restored  it  to  its 
tissue  paper,  and  closed  the  box.  "But  it's 
so  much  like  that  suit  of  yours — the  one 
I  like  best,"  he  said,  rubbing  away  a  furtive 
tear  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

chip  off  the  old  block  .  .  . 

At  which  point  Dana  had  an  inspiration. 
"I'll  make  a  deal  with  you,"  he  announced. 
"If  you'll  cut  down  on  sweets  and  lose  ten 
pounds  around  your  middle,  I'll  have  a  suit 
tailored  for  you.  Probably  my  tailor  still 
has  some  of  this  same  material,  and  we'll 
duplicate  my  grey  pinstripe.  Okay?" 

"Gosh,"  gasped  David.  "Oh,  swell.  That 
would  really  be  super."  Studying  his  dad's 
physique,  he  added,  "Guess  I  could  stand 
to  lose  a  little.  I'd  sure  like  to  have 
shoulders  like  yours." 

Dana,  one  of  the  best-dressed  men  in 
town  in  a  well-bred  and  entirely  unobtru- 
sive way,  has  a  build  that  any  man  might 
envy.  His  shoulders  attest  to  his  years  of 
good  hard  work;  something  about  his  easy, 
swinging  walk  and  his  big  hands  assure 
you  that  his  coat  hangs  as  it  should,  not 
because  of  over-much  padding,  but  be- 
cause the  tough  muscles  are  there. 

So  David  is  on  a  diet.  It  isn't  easy.  His 
grandmother,  knowing  a  small  boy's  love 
of  sweets,  occasionally  slips  him  a  dime  or 
so  for  candy  bars  to  be  purchased  at  school; 
lately,  David  has  been  saving  the  cash 
and  depositing  it  in  a  small  iron  bank.  He 
also  gets  an  allowance  from  his  father,  but 
that  weekly  sum  is  deposited  in  a  bank 
account  in  David's  name,  and  whenever 
the  total  reaches  $18.75,  it  is  invested  in  a 
bond.  In  this  way,  David's  university 
career  is  assured. 

What  that  career  will  be,  no  one  can 
guess.  One  week,  Dana  thought  he  had  a 
radio  specialist  on  his  hands;  the  next 
week,  all  indications  pointed  to  the 
presence  of  another  actor  in  the  family. 

The  radio  suggestion  happened  this  way: 
Dana  was  set  for  a  radio  guest  spot,  so  he 
took  David  along  to  the  station  with  him 
He  parked  David  in  the  sponsor's  booth, 
then  went  downstairs  for  rehearsal.  After 
rehearsal,  he  stopped  in  the  control  room 
to  say,  looking  at  the  knobs,  panels,  and 
lights  on  the  instrument  board,  "My  older 
boy,  David,  is  upstairs.  He'd  really  get  a 
kick  out  of  seeing  you  men  operate  those 
dials." 

"Bi>ing  him  down.  Glad  to  have  him," 
said  the  technicians. 

So  Dana,  grinning,  went  up  the  steps 
two  at  a  time,  stuck  his  head  in  the  spon- 
sor's booth  to  ask  David,  "Have  any  in- 


srest  in  seeing  how  this  business  operates? 
,ike  to  see  the  control  booth?" 

Is  a  cat  happy  in  a  fish  market? 

David  looked  as  if  he  had  just  been 
lected  King  For  A  Day. 

Because  David  is  a  well-behaved  lad, 
ie  technicians  liked  him  at  once.  He 
ranted  to  know  whether  that  board  con- 
rolled  other  broadcasting  rooms,  or  just 
aat  one.  He  wanted  to  know  whether 
:  was  remixed  at  a  main  board,  or  sent 
ver  the  air  direct  from  their  instruments. 

In  short,  he  was  sincere  and  intelligent, 
e  listened  and  learned,  and  made  a  fine 
npression.  When  Dana  finished  his  broad- 
ast  and  stopped  to  collect  David,  one  of 
ie  technicians  said  to  Andrews  pere,  "Nice 
oy  you  have  there.  Smart  and  well-man- 
ered.   He's  a  credit  to  you." 

This  will  explain  what  happened  to  those 
jp  four  buttons  on  Dana's  vest. 

When  Dana  was  in  New  London,  Con- 
ecticut,  making  "Crash  Dive"  several 
ears  ago,  he  made  friends  with  several 
lembers  of  the  Naval  personnel.  When 
a*o  of  these  men  passed  through  Los 
mgeles  recently,  they  telephoned  Dana, 
aen  came  out  to  the  house  for  dinner, 
•ana  had  told  David  something  about  them 
efore  they  arrived,  explaining  that  one 
'as  a  radar  expert. 


During  the  course  of  the  evening,  David 
-as  summoned  to  the  telephone  by  a  call 
■om  one  of  his  boy  friends.  His  voice 
irefully  modulated,  he  told  his  friend 
1  about  condensers,  and  circuits,  about 
nperes  and  volts  and  what  to  do  about 
leh  and  such  a  generator. 

The  radar  man,  tuning  in  on  this  con- 
arsation,  turned  wide  eyes  and  lifted 
/ebrows  toward  Dana.  "The  kid's  right," 

i  murmured  in  a  guarded  voice.  "By 
t>lly,  the  kid  knows  his  stuff." 

There  was  about  ten  minutes  of  this 
:  alogue.  Dana,  trying  to  keep  a  straight 

ce,  was  positive  that  the  bewildered 
:ium  on  the  other  end  of  the  wire  was 

ying,  "What's  bitten  you,  bud?  What 
o  you  mean  'condensers'?  I'm  having 
.ouble  with  my  arithmetic  and  you  give 

e  all  this  double  talk!" 
■  When  David  had  completed  his  conver- 

tion,  he  hung  up  with  dignity  and  with- 

ew  from  the  room. 

Said  the  radar  man,  "There's  a  kid  who's 
ally  a  technician.  Looks  to  me  like 
u've  got  a  fine  junior  radar  man  there." 
'Or  a  fine  actor,"  said  Dana.  "I'll  let 
u  know  later." 

It's  astonishing  how  many  people  are 
table  to  distinguish  the  roles  an  actor 
ays  from  his  actual  personality.  Even 
uia's  mother  teased  him  after  a  radio 
ow  in  which  he  portrayed  a  professor, 
/hen  you  were  in  school  you  didn't  care 
jch  for  your  school  teachers,"  she 
inted  out,  "yet  you  played  a  school 
icher!" 

'Sure.  It  was  a  good  part  and  I  en- 
ed  it,"  said  Dana. 

'Ha-ha,  you've  been  a  school  teacher," 
d  Mrs.  Andrews. 

Dana  let  it  go,  but  he  wasn't  much  sur- 
ged when  he  received  a  fan  letter  from 
harassed  high  school  student  asking  him 
there  were  some  easy  way  in  which  to 
nember  historical  dates. 
David  suffers  from  no  such  misappre- 
ision.  His  father  is  one  person;  Dana 
drews,  the  actor,  is  another.  David  sees 
■st  of  his  dad's  pictures  and  discusses 
•m  with  Dana  afterward.  He  liked 
ate  Fair"  and  "Laura"  very  much;  he 
n't  care  for  "Fallen  Angel"  because  he 
:  that  it  was  too  somber  and  didn't  show 
na  to  advantage. 

)avid  was  just  past  eight  when  Kathy, 
younger  sister,  was  born,  and  his  en- 
.siasm  was  immediate.  She  was  a  little 
.  bright-eyed,  curly-topped,  and  her 


3e  hvify^  lwt> 


Make  the  famous  Fresh  test.    See  why- 
more  women  are  switching  to  Fresh 
than  to  any  other  deodorant. 

Fresh  stops  perspiration  worries 
completely.    Fresh  contains  the  most 
effective  perspiration-stopping 
ingredient  known  to  science. 

Fresh  stays  smooth. . .never  sticky  or 
gritty. . .doe sn' t  dry  out  in  the  jar. 


97 


J 


*  Utterly  feminine  in  its  appeal  yet  so  practical  too! 
Here  is  an  outfit  designed  for  studio  rehearsal  wear 
but  so  smart  and  attractive  it's  being  worn  for  leisure, 
shopping  and  even  afternoon  dates  as  well.  The  jacket, 
houndstooth  check,  is  of  the  new  soft  tulla  fabric -col- 
lar, cuffs  and  trim  in  a  contrasting  color  that  matches 
the  slacks -of  crease  resistant  rayon:  they  keep  their 
shape  and  hold  a  press.  Sizes  12-18.  $8.98  plus  postage. 

A  short  sleeved  blouse  of  true  Anita  quality,  white 
rayon,  to  wear  under  the  jacket  -  beautifully  finished 
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WE  SHIP  C.  O.  D.    PROMPT  DELIVERY 

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L  CUvAa 


OF  CALIFORNIA 

4380  Hollywood  Bl-d  ,  Hollywood  28-Oepl.  225 


ORDER  BY  MAIL  DIRECT  FROM  HOLLYWOOD 


ANITA  OF  CALIFORNIA,  dipt.  22s 

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minute  fist  always  clutched  David's  fore- 
finger. Whenever  David  neared  her  crib, 
Miss  Kathy  would  kick  the  blankets  and 
coo  while  David  chuckled  under  his  breath. 
Because  she  was  a  little  girl,  his  attitude 
was  loving  and  tolerant — in  no  way  did 
she  threaten  his  domain. 

However,  when  Stephen  was  born,  David 
had  to  rearrange  his  values.  Here  was 
another  boy  in  the  family,  and  an  excep- 
tionally cute  one.  By  that  time,  David  was 
almost  eleven,  devoted  to  his  parents. 

Dana,  sensing  his  older  son's  emotional 
confusion,  spent  as  much  time  as  possible 
with  David  while  Stephen  was  extremely 
small.  Then,  having  reassured  David  some- 
what, he  said  one  day,  "Let's  go  up  and 
take  a  look  at  that  brother  of  yours." 

pride  of  possession  .  .  . 

In  the  nursery,  Dana  picked  up  the 
infant  and  was  rewarded  by  a  toothless 
grin  that  David  found  rather  funny.  "Here, 
this  is  the  way  you  hold  him,"  Dana  ex- 
plained, giving  detailed  instructions,  then 
putting  the  youngster  in  David's  arms. 

The  baby,  sensing  David's  uncertainty, 
let  out  a  howl.  "You'd  better  take  him," 
said  David.   "I  don't  think  he  likes  me." 

"It  isn't  that,"  Dana  explained.  "You 
must  let  him  know  by  the  way  you  hold 
him  that  you're  going  to  take  good  care 
of  him — and  you  might  say  a  few  com- 
forting words." 

David  tried  it,  and  of  course  it  worked. 
"It's  going  to  be  up  to  you  to  keep  an 
eye  on  him,"  Dana  said.  "I'm  pretty  busy, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  be  around  the  house 
as  much  as  I'd  like,  so  I'll  appreciate  it  if 
you'll  take  a  hand.  Between  us  I  think 
we  might  be  able  to  make  a  football  player 
out  of  him.  What  do  you  think?" 

Thus  given  proprietary  rights,  David  be- 
gan to  take  a  new  interest  in  Stephen.  Cur- 
rently, they  are  buddies  even  if  Stephen 
isn't  very  steady  on  his  pins,  being  a 
spraddle  -  stepped  walker  of  fourteen 
months. 

Kathy,  who  will  soon  be  four,  is  one 
of  the  few  persons  in  the  world  who  can 
stop  her  pop  cold.  Along  in  January, 
1946,  when  California  had  an  inexplicable 
burst  of  summer,  Kathy  was  sitting  on  the 
back  steps,  watching  Dana  tinkering  with 
one  of  the  cars. 

Because  she  had  been  quiet  for  an  un- 
natural length  of  time,  Dana  straightened 
from  the  engine  and  peered  over  the  raised 
hood  at  his  daughter.  Her  chin  was  sunken 
in  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  her  elbows 
were  propped  up  by  her  knees. 

Becoming  aware  of  her  father's  querying 
glance,  Miss  Andrews  said,  "Before  Christ- 
mas you  told  me  that  if  I  was  a  bad  little 
girl  and  didn't  obey  all  the  rules,  Santa 
Claus  wouldn't  come  to  our  house." 

"Yes?"  said  Dana,  his  guard  up. 

Kathy  shot  him  a  level  glance.  "Well, 
I  was  and  he  did,"  she  said. 

Dana  lowered  his  head  and  concentrated 
on  the  motor.  Later,  when  he  discussed 
the  remark  with  Mary  she  said,  "That 
Kathy  has  inherited  a  lot  of  your  analytical 
power.  We're  never  going  to  be  able  to 
bribe  her — she  sees  through  flim-flam." 

Kathy  early  developed  a  habit  of  answer- 
ing in  a  series  of  grunts.  "For  "yes"  she 
likes  to  say  "uh-huh"  and  for  "no"  she 
says  "mmmm-mmmm."  She  has  been  cor- 
rected repeatedly.  When  asked  if  she 
would  like  sugar  on  her  cereal,  she  will 
say,  "mmmm-mmmm,  I  mean  no,  thank 
you." 

When  she  forgets  the  explanatory  clause, 
Dana  or  Mary  will  say  indulgently,  "We 
don't  say  'mmmm-mmmm,'  darling.  We 
say  'No,  thank  you.' " 

However,  a  persistent  habit  is  conta- 
gious; both  Dana  and  Mary — when  they 
were  away  from  the  children — developed 
a  kidding  habit  of  repeating  Kathy's  sound 
effects.   One  day  at  table,  Dana  absently 


said  'Mmmmm-mmmm'  to  Mary  when  sr 
asked  how  things  had  gone  on  the  "Car. 
yon  Passage"  set  that  day. 

Kathy  rested  a  tender  but  admonito 
hand  on  her  father's  sleeve.  With  patie 
sweetness,  she  said,  "We  don't  s; 
'mmmm-mmmm,'  darling.  We  say,  'K 
thank  you.' " 

Sometimes  Kathy's  parallel  regard  f 
the  truth  and  her  eagerness  to  avo 
offending  get  her  into  trouble. 

She  was  dallying  with  her  plate  or 
night,  so  Dana,  thinking  that  a  little  sug 
gestion  might  prove  valuable,  said,  "Isr. 
this  wonderful  stew?  Look  at  all  the  d 
licious  fresh  vegetables.  I  like  carrots.  Ar 
celery.  And  turnips.  And  little  cookt 
onions.  Not  very  many  little  girls  can  e 
such  good  beef  stew." 

Kathy  gave  every  evidence  of  beir 
stone  deaf.  She  made  no  answer,  nor  d 
she  turn  her  head.  Nor  did  she  cast  i 
interested  glance  at  her  stew. 

Reprimanded    Dana,    "When  you 
spoken  to,  Kathy,  you  are  supposed 
answer  pleasantly  and  promptly." 

Miss  Kathy  continued  to  regard  h 
plate  with  the  remote  air  of  a  profess 
contemplating  the  spheres. 

"If  you  can't  be  a  nice  little  girl,  ar 
speak  when  you're  spoken  to,"  ruled  Dan 
completely  baffled  by  his  daughter,  "yc 
must  leave  the  table." 

Kathy  slid  out  of  her  chair  and  starts 
toward  the  door,  her  step  laggard,  her  he 
bowed.  Just  before  she  reached  the  do 
she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder 
say,  "I'm  sorry  I'm  bad.  The  stew  isi 
good,  but  I  didn't  want  to  say  so." 

She  was  invited  back  to  the  table  f 
fruit,  milk,  and  other  foods. 

When  Dana  and  Mary  were  leaving  f 
New  York,  they  asked  the  two  older  ch 
dren  what  gifts  they  preferred.  Dav 
asked  for  a  sweater  and  fleece-lin 
gloves.  "But  you  don't  need  fleece-lin 
gloves  in  California!"  laughed  Dana. 

David  shrugged.  "I  know  that.  But  you 
buying  them  in  New  York,  and  boys  we 
fleece-lined  gloves  in  the  snow  ...  so 
want  a  pair." 

"I  want  red  clothes,"  announced  Katr 
"Lots  of  red  clothes." 

the  old  familiar  .  .  . 

Dana  was  able  to  bring  back  sevei 
nice  sweaters  for  David,  but  he  could 
find  the  fleece-lined  gloves  although 
devoted  two  precious  days  to  the  task 
hunting  them  down.   For  Kathy,  he  a 
Mary  bought  a  pair  of  red  slacks,  gill-si: 
a  red  skirt,  a  red  sweater,  and  a  red  jack 
It  is  currently  a  major  undertaking 
persuade  her  to  wear  anything  else. 

Not  one  of  the  children  gives  any  e^ 
dence  of  having  inherited  Dana's  u 
usually  beautiful  singing  voice.  He  h 
tried  to  teach  each  of  the  children  to  car 
a  tune,  but  the  two  older  children  do: 
appear  to  have  the  conception  of  melo 
necessary.  Kathy,  who  loves  to  have  r 
father  read  stories  at  bedtime,  frequen 
crosses  everyone  up  by  saying,  "Sing 
me."   What  she  means  is,  "Read  to  m 

"Which  story?"  Dana  usually  asks,  sir, 
Kathy  knows  most  of  her  books  by  hes 
At  present,  even  though  the  holidays  £ 
well  past,  her  favorite  is  still  "The  Nk 
Before  Christmas." 

"But  you  know  that  one.  Why  do 
we  have  one  you  don't  know?"  queri 
Dana.  Kathy  insisted  that  she  didn't  km 
it,  so  Dana  said,  "  'Twas  the  night  befc 
Christmas,  and  all  through  the  house,  i 
a  beastie  was  stirring,  not  ..." 

Kathy  interrupted  in  horror.  "Not 
creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mous 
she  said.  Then,  patting  her  father's  chei 
she  summed  up  the  attitude  of  Dana  A 
drews'  children  toward  the  head  of  1 
household;  "Even  when  you  don't  get 
right,"  beamed  Kathy,  "you're  cute!" 


THE  LONG  AND  SHORT  OF  IT 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


time;  occasionally  it  brings  him  to  the  floor 
in  a  prone  position  .  .  .  and  simply  furious 
over  the  fact. 

His  favorite  toy  is  the  dismantled  handle 
and  crossbar  of  what  was  once  a  minia- 
ture wooden  carpet  sweeper.  In  its  cur- 
rent stripped-down  condition,  it  is  a  far 
superior  plaything;  now  it  can  be  a  horse, 
a  floor-scraper,  a  window  washer,  a  gun, 
or  a  dog-sighter.  This  last  use  is  accom- 
plished by  pointing  the  shaft  toward  the 
dog.  peering  through  the  dining-room 
French  doors,  then  squinting  down  the  bar- 
rel. Jonny  hasn't  learned  to  say  "Bang" 
after  this  process,  since  he  knows  nothing 
of  guns  yet,  but  his  actions  have  convinced 
Gregory  that  Jonny  was,  in  some  previ- 
ous reincarnation,  a  twenty-four  notch 
Dan'l  Boone. 

Simply  because  Jonny  doesn't  yet  imitate 
fireworks,  don't  get  the  impression  that  he 
isn't  a  glib  character.  He  says  "Mommy" 
(usually  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  when  some- 
thing has  gone  wrong),  "Dada,"  "Wauf- 
Wauf"  (a  synonym  for  "dog"'),  and  '"No." 

playful  kidlet  .  .  . 

He  plays  "Peek,"  usually  when  his  moth- 
er has  shielded  the  young  man  with  a  bib, 
placed  him  in  his  highchair.  and  suggested 
that  dinner  has  been  served.  Having 
reached  the  clear  conclusion  that  most  din- 
ner parties  for  members  of  the  young,  un- 
married set  have  flirtation  as  their  prime 
ingredient,  he  gets  into  the  swing  of  things 
by  coquetting  with  his  mother. 

When  she  fails  to  respond.  Jonny  is 
likely  to  thrust  both  hands  deep  into  his 
cereal  and  knead  it  like  bread.    He  is 


learning  manners  gradually,  despite  his 
natural  conviction  that  anything  edible 
should  make  a  fine  hand  lotion  or  skin 
tonic. 

Having  been  excessively  active  all  day, 
Jonny  really  hits  his  stride  at  about  the 
time  Gregory  comes  home  from  the  studio. 
He  calls  "Hi"  through  the  lattice  of  his 
crib  whenever  he  hears  someone  walking 
along  the  hallway  outside  his  nursery; 
into  that  single  syllable  the  non-sleepy 
gentleman  manages  to  inject  a  note  of  wel- 
come, reassurance  that  he  isn't  asleep,  and 
invitation  for  a  cribside  visit.  If  Gregory, 
admonished  by  Mother,  tacitly  refuses  the 
invitation,  Jonny  settles  down  to  a  session 
of  conversation  with  himself,  interspersed 
with  snatches  of  song.  And  so,  eventually, 
to  meet  the  sandman. 

Greta,  smiling  over  her  son's  sound 
effects,  said  to  Greg,  "He  certainly  inher- 
ited that  characteristic  from  his  daddy." 

Gregory  talks  to  himself,  always  in 
moments  of  stress  or  contemplation  or  in- 
decision. When  riding  to  and  from  the 
studio,  he  may  be  seen  to  be  carrying  on 
protracted  monologues.  After  the  "Valley 
of  Decision"  broadcast,  done  on  the  Lux 
Radio  Theater,  he  hopped  into  his  car  and 
started  home  in  solemn  discourse.  "That 
one  scene."  he  told  himself  acidly,  "really 
threw  me.  Why  didn't  I  do  it  some  other 
way.  And  that  line  .  .  .  what  a  way  to 
read  a  line!  I  didn't  fluff  it  in  rehearsal.  .  .  ." 

After  several  minutes  and/or  blocks  of 
this  sort  of  thing,  Gregory  became  aware 
of  muffled  sounds  from  the  back  seat. 
Drawing  to  the  curb  and  peering  into  the 
depths,  he  found  three  bobby  soxers. 


He  signed  their  autograph  books,  ushered 
them  out  of  the  car,  then  drove  on,  say- 
ing to  himself,  "Now  they  know  how  an 
actor  acts  when  he  thinks  he's  alone." 

And  now  to  accentuate  Item  2  of  the 
Coming  Events  on  Jonny  Peck's  calendar. 
He  is  about  to  annex  a  boy  friend,  a  play- 
mate of  the  advanced  age  of  three.  Johnny 
Baker  by  name.  The  Pecks  and  the  Kenny 
Bakers  are  neighbors. 

checks  and  balances  .  .  . 

Gregory  had  looked  over  the  Baker  chil- 
dren and  had  been  taken  particularly  by 
Johnny,  a  tall,  roly-poly  three -year- old 
with  the  round  blue  eyes  and  curly  yellow 
hair  of  a  Christmas  card  cherub.  His  man- 
ners were  perfect,  his  charm  irresistible. 

Said  Gregory  to  Greta,  "I've  found  a  nice 
playmate  for  Jon.  That  young  Johnny 
Baker  is  a  sweet,  well-behaved  little  boy. 
He's  about  a  year  older  than  Jon,  but 
that  won't  make  much  difference."  He 
added,  chuckling,  "Jonny  will  probably 
drive  him  crazy." 

"They'll  be  good  for  one  another,"  said 
Greta.  "A  lively  high-strung  person  al- 
ways needs  a  placid,  steady  partner." 
Whereupon  Gregory  and  Greta  smiled  into 
each  other's  eyes,. knowing  that  their  mar- 
riage is  kept  in  balance  by  the  personality 
contribution  made  by  each.  Their  mutual 
admiration  is  a  fine  thing  to  see,  and  it  has 
gi\'en  rise  to  some  charming  episodes. 

Just  before  Valentine's  Day,  Greta  took 
a  heavy  cold  and  was  unable  to  leave  the 
house.  Some  weeks  before  she  had  made 
a  sentimental  purchase,  but  now  she  found 
herself  unable  to  make  proper  arrange- 


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merits.  As  Gregory  was  leaving  the  house 
on  February  13th,  Greta  asked,  "Will  you 
be  passing  a  mailbox?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Greg. 

"I've  put  an  envelope  in  your  coat  pocket, 
so  don't  forget  to  mail  it,"  his  wife  said. 

When  Gregory  passed  the  Hollywood 
Post  Office  on  his  way  to  an  appointment, 
he  remembered  the  letter  to  be  mailed. 
Parking,  he  scooted  across  the  street,  and 
was  just  about  to  drop  the  letter  without 
paying  any  attention  to  it  when  husbandly 
curiosity  overcame  his  preoccupation. 
Turning  the  letter  over,  he  read  the  ad- 
dress: "Mr.  Gregory  Peck  .  .  .  Hollywood 
46,  California." 

He  knew  then.  He  was  mailing  his  own 
valentine. 

teenster  worship  .  .  . 

Promptly,  thus  reminded  of  the  senti- 
mental holiday,  he  hurried  to  the  stationery 
store,  made  a  purchase,  and  mailed  a  sec- 
ond envelope,  this  one  addressed  to  "Mrs. 
Gregory  Peck." 

Incidentally,  Greta  hasn't  yet  recovered 
from  the  intense  delight  of  her  Christmas 
and  birthday  (January  25th)  gifts.  The 
first  was  a  flexible  gold  bracelet,  made 
woven  chain  style,  and  closed  with  a  dia- 
mond buckle-clasp.  And  the  second  was 
a  ring,  exactly  matching  it. 

There  are  dozens  of  stories  about  the  de- 
votion of  Gregory  and  Greta,  but  the  most 
delightful  story  about  the  tenderness  lav- 
ished on  Mr.  Peck  involves  one  of  his  fans. 

This  girl,  aged  thirteen,  is  the  daughter 
of  friends  of  Greg  and  Greta.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  she  has  been  allowed  to 
attend  movies  in  the  evening  on  non- 
school  nights  if  accompanied  by  girl  friends 
and  a  proper  chaperone  to  do  the  driving 
to  and  from  the  theater.  We'll  say  that  her 
name  is  Pat,  and  that  Pat  is  simply  bowled 
over  by  the  pictures  she  has  been  seeing. 
From  Saturday  afternoon  westerns  to 
"Spellbound"  is  a  breathless  change. 

After  having  seen  Greg's  latest  picture, 
Pat  wandered,  starry-eyed,  into  her  home 
one  evening.  There  were  guests  in  the 
living  room  with  her  parents,  so  she  wafted 
in  to  speak  to  them.  "I'm  not  quite  myself," 
she  sighed.  "I  just  saw  Gregory  Peck  in 
pictures  for  the  first  time.  He's  wonder- 
ful. I  don't  see  how  I'm  ever  to  endure 
waiting  until  'The  Yearling'  and  'Duel  In 
The  Sun'  are  released!" 

Her  father,  keeping  a  straight  face,  said, 
"Don't  believe  I've  seen  Mr.  Peck  in  pic- 
tures.   Describe  him,  darling." 

Pat  did.  She  mentioned  his  large  frame, 
his  great  shoulders  and  swinging  stride. 
She  praised  his  deep,  dark  eyes,  and  his 
prominent  cheek  bones.  She  described 
his  strong  jaw  line,  and  his  shock  of  dark 
hair,  one  lock  always  trying  to  fall  for- 
ward over  his  forehead. 

Pat's  father  dug  down  into  his  repertoire 
for  the  finest  compliment  he  could  pay 
Pat's  idol.  "He  sounds  a  little  like  Lincoln 
to  me,"  he  admitted. 

Pat  thought  it  over.  "Well,  yes,  a  little," 
she  admitted.  "But  Gregory  Peck  has 
MUCH  more  character!" 

That  broke  Greg  up  when  he  heard  it. 
Modestly  he  said,  "About  the  only  likeness 
between  a  man  as  great  as  Lincoln  and  a 
man  like  me  is  that,  since  I  finished  my 
last  picture,  I've  been  out  splitting  lumber." 

Having  felled  some  dead  timber  on  his 
property,  Greg  made  his  own  cordwood. 
That  was  one  way  in  which  he  could  spend 
his  vacation  and  develop  some  muscles. 
Another  was  to  go  riding.  Every  day  he 
has  managed  to  get  in  an  hour  or  two  on 
the  brisk  back  of  a  horse. 

He  has  done  a  little  carpentering,  too.  He 
and  Greta  decided  that  the  loft  above  the 
garage  would  make  a  good  combination 
guest  room  and  hobby  lobby.  He  secured 
a  plumber  to  install  a  small  bath,  then 
he  and  Greta  papered  the  walls,  painted 


the  woodwork  and  set  linoleum  on  the 
floors. 

That  done,  Greg  and  Greta  set  up  easels 
on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  on  the  other 
they  placed  a  table.  On  the  table  they 
placed  two  books,  a  luscious  red  apple, 
and  a  carelessly  draped  kerchief. 

It  had  seemed  to  the  Pecks  that,  wher- 
ever they  went,  someone  was  talking  about 
how  much  fun  it  was  to  paint.  A  director 
friend,  swearing  that  he  had  no  talent, 
exhibited  canvases  so  good  that  Greg  ac- 
cused him  of  having  a  ghost  painter. 

The  director  laughed.  "A  guy  may  never 
be  Van  Gogh,"  he  said,  "but  for  personal 
satisfaction,  for  pure  relaxation,  there 
isn't  anything  in  the  world  to  beat  daubing 
a  canvas  with  color.    You  should  try  it." 

After  the  third  or  fourth  evening  of  this 
kind  of  propaganda,  Greg  and  Greta  were 
driving  home  when  he  said,  "I  guess  it 
would  be  crazy,  but  .  .  ." 

"That's  what  I've  been  thinking,"  agreed 
Greta,  finding  it  unnecessary  to  listen  to  the 
vocal  end  of  the  statement  since  she  and 
Greg  constantly  read  one  another's  minds. 

The  next  afternoon  they  had  a  field  day 
in  an  art  supply  store.  They  bought  every 
possible  color  of  oil  paint,  a  fistful  of 
brushes,  and  several  canvases  of  different 
sizes.  They  even  considered  buying  Jon 
a  beret,  since  Greg  wouldn't  be  caught  un- 
conscious under  one,  but  some  gesture  to- 
ward artishness  seemed  to  be  indicated. 

The  next  morning  the  two  amateur  Rem- 
brandts  set  to  work.  Filling  in  the  back- 
ground was  fun  and  easy.  "Are  you  re- 
laxing?" Greg  usked  Greta. 

"I'm  too  excited,"  answered  Mrs.  Peck. 

"Me,  too,"  admitted  her  husband.  After 
that  there  was  a  long  silence  while  each 
concentrated  on  sketching  the  books,  the 
scarf,  and  the  apple. 

Finally  Greta  said  with  exasperation, 
"My  books  are  warped." 

By  that  time,  Greg  was  standing  with 
arms  akimbo,  and  eyebrows  ferocious.  A 
baleful  eye  on  the  forbidden  fruit,  he 
growled,  "I  just  can't  figure  out  what  it  is 
that  makes  an  apple  look  like  an  apple." 

things  to  come  .  .  . 

In  addition  to  yearning  to  paint,  Greg 
has  another  ambition:  He  would  like  to 
return  to  New  York  to  do  a  play.  When- 
ever a  motion  picture  person  comes  back 
from  New  York  after  having  worked  in 
the  theater,  Greg  buttonholes  the  actor 
and  asks  for  details. 

He  has  a  theory  that  the  presence  of  a 
living  audience  revitalizes  and  re-energizes 
an  actor.  After  all,  the  camera  can  be 
very  kind.  If  an  actor  isn't  on  his  toes, 
a  scene  can  be  retaken  until  it  is  perfect. 
But,  on  the  stage,  the  thing  has  to  click 
from  the  beginning,  straight  through  to 
final  curtain. 

But  to  get  back  to  Stephanie  .  .  .  The 
other  day  Gregory  came  home  with  a 
miniature  stuffed  elephant  for  Jon  and  a 
beruffled,  beribboned  doll  .  .  .  for  Stephanie. 

Grinned  Father  Peck,  "If  she  turns  out 
to  be  Stephen,  he'll  never  forgive  me." 

Stephanie  or  Stephen,  the  newcomer  is 
a  lucky  baby  to  be  dropped  by  the  stork 
on  the  doorstep  of  the  Gregory  Pecks. 


OKAY,   SO    WERE  NUTS! 

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BORDERLINE  ANEMIA3 


can  keep  you  listless  and  rob  you  of  fun! 


Medical  science  warns  that  people  with  pale  faces  —  people 
who  lack  energy  and  "go" — may  have  a  blood  deficiency 


WE  ALL  KNOW  people  who  seem 
perpetually  "down  in  the  dumps'' 
—  who  look  pale  and  unattractive  — 
whose  enthusiasm  appears  at  low  ebb. 

Yes,  and  very  often  their  listless,  let- 
down condition  results  from  a  ferro- 
nutritional  blood  deficiency.  Medical 
studies  have  indicated  that  thousands 
of  men— as  many  as  68%  of  women- 
have  this  deficiency  .  .  .  have  a  Border- 
line Anemia! 

It's  your  blood  that  releases  energy 
to  every  organ,  muscle,  fibre.  A  defi- 
ciency in  your  blood— in  which  the  red 
cells  are  too  small  or  not  rich  and  red 


enough— can  sap  your  stamina  and  pep. 
Borderline  Anemia  means  a  lower  effi- 
ciency of  the  red  cells,  the  cells  so  es- 
sential to  looking  well  and  feeling  fit. 
Borderline  Anemia  can  cause  lack  of 
color,  reduced  energy. 

Build  up  your  vigor 
by  building  up  your  blood 

Continuing  tiredness,  listlessness  and 
pallor  may,  of  course,  be  brought  about 
by  other  conditions,  so  you  should  con- 
sult  your   physician  regularly. 
But  when  you  have  a  Borderline 
Anemia,  when  you  envy  others 


their  vitality  and  glowing  good  looks, 
take  Ironized  Yeast.  Just  remember 
this  —  when  all  you  need  is  stronger, 
healthier  red  blood  cells  —  Ironized 
Yeast  will  help  you  build  up  your 
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"BORDERLINE  ANEMIA 

—a  ferro-nutritional  deficiency 
of  the  blood — can  cause 
TIREDNESS  •  LISTLESSNESS  •  PALLOR 


Energy-Building  Blood.  This 
is  a  microscopic  view  of 
blood  rich  in  energy  ele- 
ments. Here  are  big, 
plentiful  red  cells  that 
release  energy  to  every 
muscle,  limb,  tissue. 

Borderline  Anemia.  Thou- 
sands have  blood  like 
this:  never  know  it. 
Cells  are  puny,  irregu- 
lar. Blood  like  this  can't 
generate  the  energy  you 
need  to  feel  and  look 
your  best. 


101 


SWEET  AND  HOT 

(Continued  from  page  22) 


Eastern  theater  tour,  and  several  other 
mouth-watering  prospects.  Odd  character 
that  she  is,  she'd  rather  stay  in  her  Holly- 
wood home  and  be  happy  with  her  hus- 
band and  two-and-a-half-year-old  daugh- 
ter. Her  manager,  Carlos  Gastel,  is  still 
trying  to  find  ways  to  persuade  her  that 
she's  throwing  away  her  career.  Much 
of  Peggy's  singing  success  has  come  since 
she  went  West.  In  New  York  she  was 
just  the  lonesome  little  singer  in  Benny 
Goodman's  band,  sharing  a  small  apart- 
ment with  another  girl  singer,  Jane  Leslie 
(who  later  became  Mrs.  L.  Feather)  and 
ignored  or  scorned  by  many  music  critics. 
Well,  I'd  certainly  like  to  see  her  in 
movies.  She'd  be  great. 

ONE-ZY,  TWO-ZY— Hildegarde  (Dec- 
ca),  Eileen  Barton  (Mercury),  Eddie  Can- 
tor (Pan-American) — Here's  an  example 
of  how  a  song  can  be  pushed  into  the 
freak-hit  class  overnight.  Jack  Benny 
and  Rochester  hammed  around  with  the 
old  nursery  rhyme  lyrics  on  the  Benny 
broadcast  one  night,  and  the  next  day  the 
whole  country  was  humming  it.  Eileen 
Barton  makes  her  debut  with  it  as  a  Mer- 
cury recording  artist — that's  another  of  the 
563,497  new  recording  companies  formed 
in  the  past  few  months.  But  bigger  than 
most. 

SHOO-FLY  PIE  AND  APPLE  PAN 
DOWDY— Dinah  Shore  (Columbia),  Stan 
Kenton  (Capitol) — These  are  recommended 
in  spite  of  the  song,  rather  than  because  of 
it.  The  lyrics  and  music  both  remind  me  of 
seventeen  other  things  of  this  kind.  Dinah, 
who'd  been  with  Victor  records  ever  since 
her  early  pre-movie  days  on  the  Basin 


Street  broadcasts  in  1940,  caused  a  big 
flurry  in  the  music  business  when  she 
switched  to  Columbia  recently.  On  this 
record  she  has  the  musical  assistance  of 
Sonny  Burke,  whom  you  may  remember 
as  leader  of  a  fine  band  of  his  own  a  few 
years  back.  For  this  session  Sonny  gath- 
ered together  some  of  the  best  men  avail- 
able in  Hollywood;  as  a  result  you  hear 
some  alto  sax  work  by  Willie  Smith  (from 
Harry  James'  band)  and  trumpet  by 
Mannie  Klein  on  the  other  side,  which  is 
"Here  I  Go  Again."  The  Kenton  portion  of 
"Pie"  has  a  June  Christy  vocal,  and  she  does 
everything  possible  in  the  circumstances. 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

BLUE  AT  DAWN— Timmie  Rosenkrantz 
(Continental) — Timmie  is  an  old  friend  of 
mine  and  a  unique  personality.  He's  a 
Danish  baron,  a  member  of  one  of  Copen- 
hagen's oldest  families,  and  son  of  a  fam- 
ous novelist.  Timmie  came  over  here  first 
in  1935  and  from  then  on  could  be  found 
in  or  around  the  Savoy  Ballroom,  digging 
the  best  in  jazz.  Since  then  he's  edited  a 
jazz  magazine,  worked  as  assistant  to 
WNEW's  All  Night  Record  Man,  worked 
behind  the  counter  in  a  record  store  and 
done  a  few  dozen  other  jobs,  all  the  way 
to  professional  partnering  in  a  Broadway 
dance  hall.  Last  fall,  preparing  to  return 
to  Copenhagen,  he  gathered  this  bunch  of 
his  favorite  musicians  together  for  a  late 
night  farewell  session.  The  results  are 
superb;  credit  to  pianist  Jimmy  Jones, 
who  wrote  the  music;  to  Red  Norvo,  Harry 
Carney,  Charlie  Venturo  and  several  other 


fine  soloists. 

EVENSONG  —  Artie  Shaw  (Victor)  — 
This  12-inch  opus  and  the  coupling,  "Suite 
No.  8,"  are  both  curiosities,  dating  from  the 
time  when  Artie  had  a  big  band  with  a 
full  string  section  plus  Hot  Lips  Page  on 
trumpet.  They  were  recorded  in  1942,  when 
Paul  Jordan  of  Chicago  was  writing  orig- 
inal music  and  arrangements  for  Artie. 
When  Victor  finally  released  these  two 
sides  a  few  weeks  ago,  they  came  out  just 
a  week  after  it  was  announced  that  Artie 
had  signed  to  record  for  Musicraft. 

EDDIE  LANG— JOE  VENUTI  (Bruns- 
wick)— This  collector's  collection  features 
the  late  Eddie  Lang,  a  great  guitarist  who 
was  a  partner  of  Bing  Crosby  in  the  old 
Paul  Whiteman  band.  Eddie  was  also  seen 
and  heard  in  Bing's  earlv  movies,  such  as 
"The  Big  Broadcast  of  1932,"  in  which  he 
accompanied  the  Crosby  vocal  of  "Please." 
Eddie's  other  lifetime  musical  associate 
was  hot  fiddler  Joe  Venuti,  and  the  four 
sides  in  this  album — "Farewell  Blues," 
"After  You've  Gone,"  "Beale  Street  Blues" 
and  "Someday  Sweetheart" — have  stood 
the  test  of  time  pretty  well.  Jack  Tea- 
garden  sings  on  two  sides,  and  there's  some 
clarinet  work  by  a  22-year-old  kid  named 
Benny  Goodman. 

ALWAYS  —  Kai  Winding  (Savoy)  — 
There's  an  odd  story  about  this  record. 
Kai  Winding  is  a  young  trombonist,  for- 
merly with  Benny  Goodman's  band,  now 
with  Stan  Kenton.  He  got  five  of  his1  pals 
together  and  made  some  records.  the 
end  of  the  session,  after  the  trumpet  mar 
had  had  to  leave,  the  rest  of  the  -boy: 
threw  another  item  together  in  a  hurry — 


^aa^p£^\\m  free 


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after  a  gentle,  quick  E-Z  Glove  Massage!  Not  a  hair  left!  And,  with 
the  hair,  goes  dead  surface  skin — leaves  your  legs  soft  as 
velvet,  smooth  as  a  petal!  Just  a  few  minutes  with  E-Z 
every  two  weeks  is  all  you  need.  So  safe,  so  quick  — 
millions  sold  yearly.  No  stubble-trouble  with  E-Z,  no 
razor  burn,  and  it's  odorless.  For  lovelier  legs  E-Z 
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102       A  HELEN   NEUSHAEFER  PRODUCT 


Also  E-Z  Fingertip  Glove  for 
removing  hair  from  underarms, 
face  and  back  of  neck. 


REMOVING  GLOV& 

DRY  •  ODORLESS  •  LEAVES  SKIN  SMOOTH 


a  simple  arrangement  of  Irving  Berlin's 
"Always" — and  recorded  it.  Instead  of  be- 
ing too  ragged  for  release,  as  Kai  expected, 
the  opposite  happened;  this  was  the  hit  of 
the  session  and  a  delightful  little  record. 
Other  side's  an  original  entitled  "Grab 
Your  Axe,  Max."  Meaning?  Don't  ask  me. 

BEST  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

DO  YOU  LOVE  ME? — Johnny  Desmond 
(Victor) — Another  potential  hit,  the  movie 
title  song  as  sung  by  ex-Sgt.  Desmond, 
who,  they  tell  me,  is  the  first  singing  star 
to  have  fan  clubs  overseas.  The  European 
youngsters,  remembering  Johnny's  ap- 
pearances with  the  Glenn  Miller  band  and 
his  BBC  broadcasts,  have  been  forming 
clubs  in  several  countries.  Hope  they  can 
catch  his  Teen  Timers  and  Philip  Morris 
broadcasts  on  short  wave. 

WITHOUT  YOU  (Tres  Palabras)  from 
"Make  Mine  Music" — Andy  Russell  (Capi- 
tol)— This  is  the  song  Andy  does  in  his 
heard-but-not-seen  stint  for  the  Disney 
picture.  He  is  seen,  however,  in  the  movie 
from  which  the  other  side  comes — "If  I 
Had  A  Wishing  Ring"  from  "Breakfast  in 
Hollywood."  I  was  up  to  the  Disney  offices 
in  Radio  City  recently  to  hear  some  of  the 
sound  tracks  from  "Make  Mine  Music,"  and 
if  the  Benny  Goodman  sequence  is  any 
criterion,  you  can  make  mine  music  too — 
the  same  kind  of  music. 

DO  YOU  LOVE  ME?— I  Didn't  Mean  A 
Word  I  Said— Jo  Stafford  (Capitol)  Do 
You  Love  Me? — Johnny  Desmond  (Victor) 
Dinning  Sisters  (Capitol) 

ROAD  TO  UTOPIA— Personality— Pearl 
Bailey  (Columbia) 

WAKE  UP  AND  DREAM— I  Wish  I 
Could  Tell  You— Benny  Goodman— (Co- 
lumbia) 


RECORDS  OF  THE  MONTH 

Selected  by  Leonard  Feather 

BEST  POPULAR 

COAX  ME  A  LITTLE  BIT— Dinah  Shore 
(Columbia) 

HERE  I  GO  AGAIN— Dinah  Shore  (Co- 
lumbia) 

I  DON'T  KNOW  ENOUGH  ABOUT  YOU— 

Peggy  Lee  (Capitol) 

ONE-ZY,  TWO-ZY— Hildegarde  (Decca), 
Eileen  Barton  (Mercury),  Eddie  Can- 
tor (Pan-American) 

PATIENCE  AND  FORTITUDE— Benny  Carter 
(De  Luxe),  Count  Basie  (Columbia), 
Ray  McKinley  (Majestic),  Hal  Mc- 
Intyre  (Cosmo),  Andrews  Sisters 
(Decca) 

SHOO-FLY  PIE  AND  APPLE  PAN  DOWDY— 

Stan  Kenton  (Capitol),  Dinah  Shore 
(Columbia) 
SHOWBOAT  ALBUM  — Tommy  Dorsey 
(Victor) 

SINATRA  ALBUM— Frank  Sinatra  (Co- 
lumbia) 

WE'LL  GATHER  LILACS  — Bing  Crosby 
(Decca),  Tommy  Dorsey  (Victor) 

YOU  ARE  TOO  BEAUTIFUL— Dick  Haymes 
(Decca) 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

DON  BYAS— Candy  (Savoy) 

ELLA  FITZGERALD— LOUIS  ARMSTRONG— 

Frim  Fram  Sauce  (Decca) 
ERROL  GARNER  — Bouncing  With  Me 
(Mercury) 

WOODY  HERMAN— Wildroot  (Columbia) 
EDDIE  LANG— JOE  VENUTI— All-Star  Al- 
bum (Brunswick) 
HOT  LIPS  PAGE— Sunset  Blues  (Conti- 
nental) 

TIMMIE    ROSENKRANTZ— Blue   At  Dawn 

(Continental) 
ARTIE  SHAW— Evensong  (Victor) 
SLAM  STEWART— On  the  Upside  Looking 

Down  (Continental) 
KAI  WINDING— Always  (Savoy) 

BEST  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

BREAKFAST  IN  HOLLYWOOD— It  Is  Better 
To  Be  By  Yourself — King  Cole  Trio — 
(Capitol) 

CENTENNIAL  SUMMER— If  I  Had  A  Wish- 
ing Ring — Andy  Russell  (Capitol)  — 
All  Through  The  Day— Margaret  Whit- 
ing (Capitol) — In  Love  in  Vain 

CINDERELLA  JONES— When  The  One  You 
Love  Simply  Won't  Love  Back  — 
Tommy  Tucker — (Columbia) 

DOLL  FACE — Here  Comes  Heaven  Again 
—  Georgie  Auld  (Musicraft),  Kate 
Smith  (Columbia) 


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ESTHER  WILLIAMS 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


Williams  has  carried  a  cheerful  courage 
through  every  test  and  she's  sailed  through 
with  flying  colors  even  when  the  false 
prophet  sold  her  short.  Barely  out  of  her 
teens,  she  starred  in  "Bathing  Beauty"  and 
the  verdict  was,  "a  one-picture  kid."  When 
M-G-M  placed  Esther  on  its  list  of  twenty 
future  stars,  even  smarties  at  her  own 
studio  shook  their  heads.  "The  only  bad 
guess  on  that  list  is  Esther  Williams,"  they 
said,  "take  her  out  of  the  water  and  what 
have  you  got?" 

Esther  stayed  in  the  water  for  a  second 
triumph,  staging  a  marine  ballet  in  "Zieg- 
feld  Follies"  such  as  Hollywood  had  never 
seen  before.  Then  she  stepped  out  and 
walked  right  into  the  face  of  predicted  dis- 
aster, learning  to  act  and  proving  it  in 
"Thrill  of  a  Romance,"  "Easy  to  Wed,"  and 
finally,  daring  fast  comedy  with  Bill  Powell 
in  "The  Hoodlum  Saint."  She  never  got  a 
bad  review,  yet  everything  she  tried  was 
brand  new  and  dangerous.  When  she  came 
up  for  "Fiesta,"  she  took  on  another  dare. 
How  could  a  girl  who'd  never  danced  or 
been  South  of  the  Rio  Grande  master  a 
matador's  intricate  rhythm  in  the  bull  ring 
which  the  tricky  part  demanded? 

i  can  do  it!  .  .  . 

"Do  you  think  you  can  do  it?"  they 
asked  Esther  at  M-G-M,  with  furrowed 
brows.   "Are  you  afraid?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  'afraid'?"  Esther 
laughed.  "Of  course  I  can  do  it!"  So  she 
took  up  the  dare  again  and  what  has  come 
back  from  Mexico  on  film  is  the  best  an- 
swer to  that  and  the  final  proof  that 
Esther  Jane  Williams  is  in  Hollywood  to 
stay. 

Esther's  formidable  faith  is  the  direct 
heritage  of  her  All-American  ancestors. 
On  both  sides  of  her  family  they  were  here 
before  the  Revolution,  her  father's  side 
stemming  from  Rhode  Island  Welsh  with 
Virginia  Scotch-Irish  infusions,  and  her 
mother's  from  the  Dutch  and  English  of 
Pennsylvania.  They  were  all  hardy,  pio- 
neering people. 

Bula  Williams  had  had  her  own  share 
of  pioneer  mothering  before  Esther  came 
along.  Her  four  children,  Maurine,  Stan- 
ton, June  and  David,  counted  birthplaces 
along  the  trail  west,  Dodge  City,  and  Salt 
Lake  City,  Utah,  where  they  moved  next, 
and  where  an  event  strangely  prophetic 
for  her  yet  unborn  daughter  was  to  start 
them  on  the  last  lap  to  California. 

It  was  in  Salt  Lake  that  Marjorie  Ram- 
beau  came  through  with  a  road  company 
of  the  play,  "The  Eyes  of  Youth."  Lou 
painted  the  lobby  displays  for  the  show 
and  his  seven-year-old  boy,.  Stanton, 
caught  Rambeau's  eye.  She  cast  him  in  a 
child's  part.  When  the  company  traveled 
on  to  San  Francisco,  she  had  discovered  a 
boy  born  to  act  and  no  kid  in  the  Bay 
City  could  fill  his  place.  Marjorie  Ram- 
beau  raised  "such  a  clamor,"  as  Bula  Wil- 
liams recalls,  with  telegrams  and  letters 
that  she  finally  got  on  the  Union  Pacific 
with  Stanton  and  her  seven-weeks  old 
baby,  David,  and  traveled  to  join  the 
show.  They  played  around  California  and 
then  came  a  contract  to  make  it  a  picture, 
starring  Clara  Kimball  Young.  That  meant 
moving  south  for  quite  a  spell.  So  Lou 
Williams  packed  up  and  brought  the 
rest  of  the  family  west  to  join  Bula  and 
the  boys.  He  bought  a  piece  of  land 
on  the  outskirts  of  Los  Angeles,  and 
set  about  building  a  house  with  his  own 
hands. 

Just  one  big  room  was  finished  when 
Bula  Williams  came  back  from  traveling 
all   over   California   with   Stanton,  then 


playing  young  Henry  Hudson  in  Frank 
Keenan's  "Rip  Van  Winkle."  That  was  in 
July,  and  on  a  scorching  August  eighth 
in  the  big  room  Lou  had  built,  Bula's  fifth 
baby,  and  their  first  "native  daughter,'" 
opened  her  bright  eyes  and  smiled.  The 
Williamses  still  live  in  the  house,  and  the 
big  room  where  the  baby  daughter  was 
born  is  their  living  room  today. 

From  the  start,  Baby  Esther  was  the  pet, 
the  happiness  child,  the  little  ray  of  sun- 
shine for  the  whole  Williams  family.  She 
signified  the  end  of  their  family  trek  west 
to  Mrs.  Williams.  This  child  she  would 
not  worry  about  but  would  enjoy.  Right 
before  Esther  was  born,  she  sighed.  "This 
one  is  for  laughs." 

bright-faced  moppet  .  .  . 

Even  her  dad  laughed  when  he  first 
peeked  at  his  infant  daughter.  "You  know. 
Bula,"  he  drawled,  "they  say  every  fourth 
child  born  in  California's  a  Japanese.  But 
you've  upset  the  count.  She's  our  fifth." 

He  was  joking  about  Baby  Esther's 
slightly  slanting  eyes,  which  opened  wider 
every  day  and  sparkled  brighter  above 
her  button  nose.  They  were  hazel  eyes, 
matching  her  brown  hair.  She  was  a  husky 
mite,  off  which  measles,  mumps  and 
whooping  cough  bounced.  She  got  bumped 
by  a  passing  automobile  once  and  even  that 
didn't  hurt.  She  seemed  to  catch  on  right 
away  to  the  good-natured,  happy  mood  of 
her  arrival.  She  never  cried.  Her  little 
square  face  beneath  the  bangs  and  bob 
that  soon  surmounted  it  was  always 
wreathed  in  smiles.  Her  first  day  in  kin- 
dergarten, the  teacher  met  Mrs.  Williams 
on  the  street.  "Esther  sits  right  in  front 
of  me,"  she  said,  "and  you  know,  when  I 
look  down  into  that  shining  little  face  I 
get  downright  ashamed  at  myself  for  being 
so  cranky!" 

In  a  way,  Esther  Williams  was  an  ex- 
periment for  her  mother.  A  practicing 
expert  in  parent  training  and  psychology 
today,  back  then  Bula  Williams  was  inter- 
ested in  modern  progressive  child  training 
and  education.  She  was  and  still  is  an 
active  PTA  worker.  She  had  her  ideas 
about  molding  youngsters'  characters  and 
minds.  With  the  child  of  her  maturity  she 
had  the  time  and  the  perspective — after 
four  others — to  stop  and  explain  and  reason 
things  out.  And  she  had  a  perfect  pupil. 
To  this  day.  Esther  Williams  will  say,  "As 
Mother  always  said  .  .  ."  or  "Mother  always 
believed  this  and  that  .  .  ."  or  "Mother 
taught  me  early  .  .  ." 

One  of  the  things  Bula  Williams  taught 
her  baby  first,  was  the  faith  the  Williams 
family  always  had  in  abundance.  From 
the  start  Esther  looked  upon  the  Divinity 
as  her  particular  Friend  and  Benevolent 
Watchguard.  They'd  explained  hesitantly 
about  God  to  Esther  when  she  was  barely 
able  to  talk.  One  day,  at  three,  she  sur- 
prised the  family  by  speaking  up  at  the 
table. 

"Is  God  everywhere?"  she  asked  right 
out  of  nowhere. 

"Yes,  Esther,"  said  her  mother.  Her 
father  nodded. 

"Who  takes  care  of  me?"  pressed  Esther, 
"God?" 

They  said  yes — that  was  right. 

She  gave  a  small  sigh  and  smiled  brightly. 
"Then,"  stated  Esther,  "I'm  not  going  to 
be  afraid  of  anything — big  dogs  or  any- 
thing!" And  she  went  back  to  her  mashed 
potatoes.  And  from  then  on  she  hasn't 
been,  either — big  dogs,  or  anything. 

Her  brother  David  was  Esther's  best 
pal,  sidekick,  running  mate  and  her  fa- 
vorite of  the  family.  Only  two  years  older, 
just  enough  to  be  copycatted  by  Esther, 
named  for  the  other  half  of  the  David- 
and-Esther  Bible  story,  even-dispositioned 
and  looking  like  Esther,  David  was  her 
ideal.  He  was  a  husky,  happy  kid,  like 
herself,  and  he  raced  with  his  neighbor- 


fere's  hoiu  toe  dick  cLi^  *  ^<k$&6. 

"I  gotta  admit  I  like  beeyootifiil,  healthy  skin  as  much  as  any  baby 
—an'  I  hate  rashes !  So  I  make  sure  Mom  uses  the  best  baby  powder 
on  me— that's  Mennen!  It's  smoothest.  It's  antiseptic— helps  pre- 
vent diaper  rash,  urine  irritation,  lotsa  other  troubles.  Get  this — 

More  baby  specialists  prefer  Mennen  Antiseptic  Baby  Powder  than  any  other; 
they  know  best  that  Mennen  Powder  keeps  baby's  skin  healthier,  livelier.* 

Mennen  is  smoothest— shown  in  microscopic  tests  of  leading  baby  powders. 
Mennen  powder  is  "cloud-spun''  for  extra  smoothness— means  extra  comfort. 

Makes  baby  smell  SO  sweet  .  .  .  new,  mild,  flower-fresh  scent ! 


"According  to  survega 


MORE  BABY 
SPECIALISTS?  PREFER 
MENNEN  ANTISEPTIC 
BABY  POWDER  THAN 
ANY  OTHER  * 


Also,  MENNEN  ANTISEPTIC  BABY  OIL  is  preferred  by  more  Doctors,  Hospitals, 
Nurses  than  any  other.  MENNEN  Baby  Oil  is  antiseptic,  has  helped  millions 
of  babies  to  have  smoother,  healthier  skin  ...  to  be  lovelier,  happier  babies ! 


106 


Read  how  thousands  have 
improved  their  skin  with 
nurses'  discovery! 

•  Don't  neglect  ugly  *  externally-caused 
pimples  and  blemishes!  "Covering  them 
up"  with  cosmetics  may  actually  make 
them  worse.  If  you're  unhappy  over  the 
appearance  of  your  skin,  start  using  Nox- 
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Nurses  were  among  the  first  to  discover 
how  effective  Noxzema  is.  Now  thousands 
of  women  use  it  regularly  to  keep  their 
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Noxzema  does  so  much  because  it's 
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cated formula,  with  special  medicinal 
ingredients  that  not  only  help  smooth 
and  soften  rough,  dry  skin,  but  also 


N 


help  heal  blemishes  and  similar  skin 
irritations. 

Try  using  Noxzema  as  an  overnight 
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10  days.  (It's  greaseless;  vanishes  almost 
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has  thousands  of  others ! 
At  all  drug  counters; 
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OXZEMA 


hood  chums  all  over  the  wide  spaces 
around  their  house  on  Orchard  Street, 
with  Esther  desperately  trying  and  usually 
managing  to  keep  up.  It  was  David's  in- 
fluence that  made  her  grow  into  adoles- 
cence a  confirmed  tomboy,  which  caused 
Esther  blushes  and  embarrassments  later 
on  when  she  began  to  see  boys  as  some- 
thing besides  sparring  mates. 

hero  worship  .  .  . 

When  she  was  only  a  moppet,  Esther's 
older  brother,  Stanton,  joined  the  Boy 
Scouts.  Stanton  was  never  as  close  to 
Esther  as  David.  He  was  the  brother  with  a 
more  remote  personality.  He  died  sud- 
denly at  sixteen,  but  at  this  time  Stanton 
had  achieved  boydom's  first  knighthood 
and  Esther  was  impressed.  That  night  at 
the  dinner  table,  when  her  plate  was  passed 
for  meat  (always  scarce  and  carefully  di- 
vided at  the  Williams  table)  she  piped, 
"Give  me  a  little  piece  and  give  Stanton 
a  great  big  piece.  He's  a  Boy  Scout — he 
needs  a  big  piece." 

So  Esther's  major  respect  fastened  early 
to  the  male  side  of  the  house — although  her 
femininity  was  always  cropping  through 
to  make  life  confusing.  She  was  freckled- 
faced,  weed-scratched  and  stone  bruised, 
her  clothes  were  usually  a  muddy  disgrace 
an-1  her  fingernails  busted.  But  she  liked 
dolls,  too. 

Her  dad  built  her  a  doll  house  when  she 
was  five  years  old.  It  was  a  gorgeous 
affair,  complete  with  tiny  furniture  that 
he  carved  and  china  dishes.  She  put  her 
paper  dolls  in  it  and  treasured  it  devoutly. 
One  Fourth  of  July,  Davfd  and  the  boys 
decided  to  demolish  this  citadel  of  femi- 
ninity, put  firecrackers  under  it  and  blew 
it  galley  west,  singeing  the  paper  dolls  to 
cinders  and  smashing  the  toy  dishes.  Esther 
was  outraged,  smacked  David  over  the 
noggin  with  a  lamp  and  ran  into  the  house 
crying  to  her  mama.  She  sobbed  that  boys 
were  devils  and  she  hated  them  all. 

Her  mother  quieted  her.  "First  of  all," 
she  said,  "you  can't  be  a  tattletale,  no  mat- 
ter what  happens.  And  then,  Esther,  you 
know  these  boys  that  you  can't  stand  right 
now? — well — one  of  these  days  you'll  be 
wanting  them  to  take  you  to  dances  and 
be  nice  to  you.  So  don't  you  think  you'd 
better  learn  to  charm  them  instead  of 
making  them  mad?" 

Young  as  she  was,  that  made  sense  to 
Esther.  She  went  to  work,  on  it — and  in 
three  days,  the  doll  house  was  completely 
rebuilt  and  refurnished  —  courtesy  of 
charmed  brother  David  and  pals! 

Esther  still  treasures  the  relics  of  her 
childhood,  because  her  family  memories 
are  such  happy  ones  and  because  most  of 
her  playthings  were  family  creations.  She 
still  has  her  doll,  Margaret  Ann,  for  in- 
stance, which  was  Esther's  perennial 
Christmas  present  all  through  her  girlhood. 
A  visiting  aunt  gave  her  Margaret  Ann 
when  she  was  two  years  old  and  Esther 
took  the  doll  right  to  her  heart.  After  a 
couple  of  years  the  aunt  returned  on  an- 
other visit,  during  which  Margaret  Ann 
had  been  dragged  around  the  floor,  left  out 
in  the  rain  a  few  times  and  otherwise 
suffered  the  strenuous  life  as  a  little  girl's 
best  friend.  She  noted  the  sad  state  of  her 
gift  and  also  how  Esther  cherished  it.  "A 
girl  who  loves  dolls  as  much  as  that," 
stated  auntie,  "deserves  one  of  the  best." 
So  she  took  Esther  downtown  and  told  her 
to  pick  out  any  doll  she  wanted,  and 
never  mind  the  price.  Esther  picked  out 
one,  a  giant  one,  of  course,  with  a  pink, 
fluffy  dress,  roily  eyes  and  a  ma-ma  voice. 
Then  she  promptly  set  it  in  a  corner  of 
the  room  and  paid  it  no  further  attention. 
She  returned  to  Margaret  Ann. 

young  faithful  .  .  . 

For  years,  Margaret  Ann  was  her  Christ- 
mas present,  and  the  center  of  a  little  game 


Esther  and  her  folks  would  play.  Some- 
time around  Thanksgiving,  her  father 
would  pick  up  the  battered  treasure  and 
give  it  an  appraising  look.  "I  think  it's 
about  time,"  he'd  say,  "that  Margaret  Ann 
went  to  the  hospital.  She  doesn't  look  at 
all  well,  do  you  think?" 

"No,"  Esther  would  agree  gravely,  "she 
looks  real  sick." 

So  Margaret  Ann  would  vanish  from  the 
Williams  household  for  some  weeks,  while 
Lou  stayed  up  nights  after  work  out  in  the 
shed  repainting  her  from  top  to  bottom, 
while  Mrs.  Williams  or  elder  sister  Mau- 
rine  stitched  a  new  dress  and  fixings.  Then 
on  Christmas  Day  there  would  be  Margaret 
Ann,  bright  new  and  beautiful,  for  Esther's 
gift.  And  each  year — although  she  knew 
exactly  what  the  present  would  be — it 
would  always  thrill  and  delight  her  to  get 
her  beloved  Margaret  Ann  back. 

The  Williams  family  and  kids  got  a  far 
greater  kick  out  of  their  Christmases  and 
birthdays,  Hallowe'ens,  Easters  and  Valen- 
tine's Days  than  most — and  for  the  para- 
doxical reason  that  they  never  had  any 
money  to  celebrate  or  buy  fancy  presents 
with.  Because  every  gift  was  home  made, 
the  whole  household  shared  in  the  fun. 
Typical  was  the  kids'  twice-a-year  birth- 
day savings  plan.  The  object  was  to  collect 
money  to  buy  Mama  and  Dad  Williams 
birthday  gifts.  It  lasted  all  year  and  was  a 
real  labor  of  love.  A  chart  hung  in  the 
kitchen  with  every  Williams  kid's  name  on 
it.  Their  turns  at  household  chores  were 
checked  off  as  performed.  If  Esther  washed 
all  the  dishes  for  a  week,  for  instance,  she 
got  credit  on  the  chart  and  ten  cents  for  the 
week's  work.  That  went  into  the  birthday 
bank.  If  David  mowed  the  grass  a  month 
he  got  his  ten  cents  and  credit,  too,  and  so 
on.  The  dimes  were  supplied,  of  course, 
by  Lou  Williams,  but  nobody  could  say 
they  weren't  earned. 

Looking  back  today,  Esther  Williams  re- 
members, "We  never  had  much,  but  some- 
how it  always  seemed  like  enough."  Cer- 
tainly she  couldn't  have  had  a  happier 
childhood  if  her  parents  had  been  million- 
aires. But  there  were  some  things  Esther 
didn't  know;  problems  her  parents  didn't 
bother  little  girls'  heads  with.  There  was 
the  time  during  the  depression  when  they 
lived  off  of  almost  nothing  one  winter. 

math  tangles  .  .  . 

The  shows  were  going  broke  then  every 
week  and  even  though  Esther's  dad  painted 
his  lobby  displays — try  and  get  paid  for 
them.  Around  1931  that  was,  and  Esther 
was  seven.  To  her  it  was  a  treat  to  have 
beans  almost  every  meal.  She  liked  beans 
(and  still  does,  even  after  that  experience), 
but  the  reason  she  got  them  then  was  be- 
cause that's  all  there  was.  With  her  last 
grocery  money  that  lean  winter,  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams bought  a  100-pound  sack  of  beans 
and  that  was  the  basic  diet  of  the  Wil- 
liamses,  helped  out  with  milk  and  what 
cabbage,  turnips,  and  other  vegetables  were 
left  lying  around  on  the  truck  farms  near 
their  house.  They  had  the  milk  only  be- 
cause their  milkman  wouldn't  stop  it.  Mrs. 
Williams  told  him  one  day  that  they  were 
out  of  money.  "I  can't  pay  you,"  she  said,  "I 
think  we'd  better  stop  the  milk." 

"Nothing  doing,"  he  said,  "with  all  those 
kids!  You  pay  when  you  can."  It  was 
almost  a  year  when  she  could  and  then 
her  bill  was  $150. 

Esther  started  her  education  at  Man- 
chester, the  grammar  school  in  the  neigh- 
borhood which  was  already  being  dotted 
with  houses  on  all  sides  of  the  pioneer 
Williamses.  She  was  a  smart  little  apple 
from  the  start,  with  a  weakness  in  arith- 
metic, but  that  didn't  keep  Esther  out  of 
the  "opportunity  class,"  where  the  teachers 
put  bright  kids  to  skip  grades.  Esther 
skipped  several,  though  sometimes  she  had 
to  go  back  again  to  catch  up  on  a  knotty 


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math  problem,  like  fractions.  What  she 
really  enjoyed  most,  though,  were  the 
school  festivals,  plays  and  special  events. 

Her  first  was  an  "operetta"  that  Man- 
chester staged  when  she  was  in  first  grade. 
It  was  around  May  Day  and  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  flowers,  Esther  remembers, 
and  she  was  "a  rose."  A  little  schoolmate 
named  Edna  May  Durbin  sang  and  kept 
singing  from  that  time  on  to  become 
Deanna  Durbin  of  Hollywood.  Esther  drew 
a  dance  and  it  almost  threw  her.  In  fact, 
she  had  such  a  time  mastering  the  twinkle- 
toe  routine  that  the  teacher  finally  sighed 
and  said  she  guessed  she'd  have  to  put 
Esther  Williams  out  of  the  show. 

She  rushed  home  to  mother,  as  usual, 
in  tragic  moments.  "Mother,"  wailed  Es- 
ther, "can't  you  do  something?"  Mother 
could.  She  went  over  to  see  the  teacher, 
learned  Esther's  little  dance  herself,  came 
back  and  patiently  put  Esther  through  the 
motions.  At  that  Esther  just  made  it. 

After  that  milestone  in  her  artistic 
career  had  rolled  around,  something  hap- 
pened in  Esther's  neighborhood  which  was 
to  snatch  her  mind  clear  away  from  frilly 
dresses,  speeches,  and  about  everything 
else,  including  lessons.  Esther  was  nine 
years  old  when  the  Manchester  Playground 
and  Pool  opened.  She  always  regarded 
it  as  her  particular  pool.  Her  mother  had 
worked  and  promoted  to  bring  it  there  and 
Esther  officially  opened  it.  It  became,  in 
time,  her  home  away  from  home. 

Her  older  sister,  Maurine,  had  taught 
Esther  to  swim,  as  she'd  taught  all  the 
Williams  kids.  Maurine  loved  the .  ocean 
and  being  older  and  almost  like  a  second 
mother  in  the  Williams  house,  she  herded 
her  brothers  and  sisters  down  to  Santa 
Monica  or  Hermosa  Beach  every  time  she 
could  get  away  from  school.  She'd  hold 
Esther  out  on  one  arm  and  David  on  the 
other  in  the  lazy  surf  and  let  them  paddle 
away.  Before  she  was  three  years  old, 
Esther  could  churn  around  by  herself. 
She  had  no  fear  of  anything,  and  the  buffet- 
ing waves  only  made  her  shriek  with  glee. 
But  she  had  never  swum  in  fresh  water. 

free  time  fish  .  .  . 

So  there  was  some  suspense  among  the 
Williams  clan  when  the  Manchester  pool 
opened  and  Esther  was  picked  as  the  first 
kid  to  swim  across  it.  But  Esther  belly- 
flopped  in  without  a  quiver  and  splashed 
across  the  deep  end.  From  that  minute  on 
she  was  a  gone  goose,  or  duck  is  a  better 
word.  As  long  as  the  pool  stayed  open, 
Esther  Williams  seldom  missed  a  day.  It 
opened  in  May,  before  summer  vacation, 
and  Esther  could  hardly  wait  for  three 
o'clock.  She'd  dash  down  the  stairs  with  the 
bell  and  fly  over  to  the  pool.  She'd  run 
there  in  her  noon  hours  and  summers  she 
haunted  the  place,  counting  towels  to  earn 
her  way  in — a  hundred  towels  a  free  swim. 
Even  in  summer  the  time  she  liked  best  at 
the  pool  was  during  the  noon  hour.  That 
was  when  the  lifeguards  and  instructors 
went  into  the  water — and  to  Esther  Wil- 
liams, they  were  the  only  ones  worth 
swimming  with. 

Esther  went  over  to  stay  with  her 
grandmother  in  Alhambra  one  school  week- 
end. She  hauled  her  school  books  along. 
It  was  a  scorching  hot  fall  day.  Esther  un- 
dressed and  climbed  into  the  bathtub,  filled 
it  and  began  to  read  her  lessons.  She  was 
at  this  unique  home  study  period  when 
grandma  came  in  and  saw  her.  The  old 
lady  was  shocked. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed.  "You're  not  a 
little  girl — you're  a  fish!  That's  what — a 
fish!"  She  sent  Esther  home. 

And  in  some  ways,  grandma  was  right. 
Esther  got  into  the  habit  of  slinging  on 
anything  handy  to  go  to  school  in,  and 
then  dropping  it  on  the  floor  when  she 
took  it  off.  Her  sister,  June,  who  shared 
her  bedroom,  was  the  first  to  protest.  June 


See  Smoke  Smudge 
Erased 


by  longer  polishing  action 

•  Next  time  you  brush  your  teeth, 
notice  how  quickly  your  dentifrice 
foams  up  and  disperses.  Its  polishing 
action  gone. 

No  wonder  embarrassing  smoke 
smudge  and  other  surface  discolora- 
tions  cling  to  your  teeth. 

For  the  brilliant  smile  Nature  in- 
tended for  you,  change  to  Iodent  No. 
2,  amazing  modern-day  dentifrice 
made  by  a  Dentist.  It  contains  millions 
of  tiny  particles  scientifically  treated  to 
safely  polish  teeth.  They  do  not  dis- 
solve— but  get  finer,  tinier  as  you  brush. 
It's  the  way  a  jeweler  polishes  pre- 
cious jewelry. 

It's  America's  favorite  dentifrice 
"for  teeth  hard  to  bryten."  Let  your 
own  mirror  tell  you  why!  Tooth  Paste  or 
Powder. 


IODENT 

For  children  —  and  mil 
lions  with  teeth  easy  to 
bryten-IODENTNo.l 


MILLION 
DOLLAR 


.  .  .  redues  t  this  fi  ner  fur 
cleaning  when  you  store 
your  furs. 

Weather-proofing  includ- 
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Endorsed  and  sold  by  furriers,  de- 
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was  tidy  and  neat  and  Esther  kept  the 
room  messed  up  like  a  magpie's  nest.  So 
they  had  some  fights  and  June  called  her 
sister  "sloppy." 

"I'm  not  sloppy,"  fired  back  Esther.  "I 
take  a  shower  every  night  and  swim  all 
day.  I'm  cleaner  than  you  are!" 

That  was  true  enough:  Esther  was  well- 
washed,  always.  But  she  couldn't  be  both- 
ered about  her  hair  or  her  skin  or  how  a 
dress  looked.  Freckled  and  sunburned, 
bleach-streaked  and  nose  peeled — and  by 
now,  too,  Esther  was  all  arms  and  legs, 
shooting  up  like  a  skinny  weed.  She  grew 
six  inches  in  one  year  at  Junior  High.  Out 
of  the  water  she  looked  awkward  and 
though  her  face  was  pretty  enough,  the 
boys  didn't  look  her  way.  She  was  no 
dainty  doll  dish,  by  any  standards. 

About  the  only  concession  to  daintiness, 
in  fact,  that  Esther  made  during  that  tom- 
boy, water-baby  phase  was  at  her  gradua- 
tion from  Junior  High,  and  that  was  almost 
an  accident. 

All  the  girls  were  going  to  wear  white 
dresses  for  graduation  and  Esther,  being 
the  honor  speaker,  simply  had  to  have  one. 
But  she  knew  she  couldn't  afford  it.  She 
had  a  long  talk  with  her  mother.  As  usual, 
it  boiled  down  to  family  ethics. 

beauty  in  spirit  ... 

"If  you  get  the  dress,"  her  mother  told 
her,  "you'll  enjoy  it — just  you,  but  the 
money  it  costs  will  take  food  away  from 
seven  people.  Do  you  think  that's  right?" 

"No!"  said  Esther,  honestly.  She  re- 
solved to  give  up  the  dress.  But  at  the  last 
minute,  Mrs.  Williams  found  enough  white 
material  at  a  remnant  sale  to  buy  for  al- 
most nothing.  Esther  went  on  at  the 
graduation  in  a  dress  pieced  together  out 
of  scraps — eight  pieces  made  up  the  top 
alone — but  so  artfully  pieced  that  no  one 
noticed  it.  She  got  a  thrill  when  people 
told  her,  "Esther,  you  were  so  beautiful!" 
and  it  was  a  rare  thrill  but  soon  forgotten. 
After  the  ceremony  her  mother  gave  her  a 
quizzical  look.  "You  know,  Esther,"  she 
said,  "you  could  be  pretty,  if  you'd  half 
try."  And  Esther  just  grinned  dreamily 
again — her  mind  on  something  else. 

It  took  more  than  a  mother's  counsel — 
as  it  usually  does — to  snap  Esther  Wil- 
liams out  of  her  Sloppy  Joe  days.  In  fact, 
it  took  a  succession  of  pretty  rude  jolts. 
One  was  a  weekend  in  the  mountains  at 
Lake  Arrowhead.  A  gang  of  Junior  High 
guys  and  gals  went  for  an  outing.  They 
swam,  boated  on  the  lake,  hiked  among 
the  pines  and  danced  at  the  tavern.  Out- 
doors, Esther  Williams  had  a  swell  time. 
But  when  it  came  to  dancing  and  romanc- 
ing— well — not  a  boy  asked  Esther  to  dance. 
That  got  her  a  little  worried.  Then  one 
night  she  went  to  a  party  and  they  played 
kissing  games.  About  the  homeliest  boy  in 
school  took  her  and  she  grabbed  him,  be- 
cause she  knew  no  other  boy  would  ask 
her.  Well — they  played  "Wink,"  where  you 
sit  around  in  chairs  and  boys  wink  and 
unless  the  girls  scram  out  of  their  chairs 
pretty  fast  they  get  kissed.  Esther  played 
with  a  handicap,  because  she's  been  near- 
sighted all  her  life,  and  she  couldn't  see  the 
winks.  So  she  got  kissed  black  and  blue — 
and  always  by  the  same  homely  date — 
nobody  else  winked  at  her.  Finally,  Esther 
remembers,  even  the  drip  got  tired  and 
quit  kissing  her.  But  she  began  to  wonder 
vaguely  what  was  wrong. 

So,  as  usual,  she  went  right  to  Mrs. 
Williams.  "Mother,"  she  asked,  "what's 
the  matter  with  the  way  I  look?" 

Mrs.  Williams  suspected  what  was  up. 
"Well,  Esther,"  she  told  her.  "Nothing's 
wrong  with  your  looks.  You're  pretty  and 
you'll  be  prettier  when  you  fill  in.  But  you 
just  throw  your  clothes  on  and  you  don't 
fix  your  hair  or  keep  your  nails  nice. 
Your  skin's  always  burned  black.  You're 
just  not  neat  and  dainty  like  boys  think 


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109 


WHY  I'M  CHOOSING 


WllU.ii//, 


'cause  I'm  sure 
Sterling  Inl'aid  is  a 
better  kind  of  sil- 
verplate.  It  is  Inlaid 
with  two  blocks  of 
sterling  silver  at  the 
backs  of  bowls  and 
handles  of  the  most 
used  spoons  and 
forks 


HERE      J;Q  Qi..  HERE 
IT'S   STERLING  INLAID 


Copyright  1946.  International  Silver  Co..  Holmes  &  Edwards  Div.. 
Meriden,  Conn.  In  Canada:  TheT.  Eaton  Co. .  Ltd .°ReK. U.S. Pat. Off . 


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girls  ought  to  be." 

"I  see,"  said  Esther  pensively  and  as 
usual,  she  came  right  to  the  point.  "Well, 
can  we  do  anything  about  it?" 

change  of  heart  .  .  . 

"A  lot,"  promised  Mrs.  Williams. 

"Let's  go,"  said  Esther  grimly.  "I'm  go- 
ing to  show  'em."  The  transformation  was 
really  startling — and  her  mother  was  sur- 
prised. Almost  overnight,  Esther  mended 
her  ways.  She  perked  up  in  her  dressing, 
tidied  up  her  best  beauty  features,  fixed 
this  here  and  that  there.  She  stopped  being 
a  tomboy  pal  with  the  boys  and  let  her 
hard-to-get  feminine  side  develop.  She 
turned  on  the  charm,  let  her  smile  go  and — 
well,  there  really  wasn't  much  to  it! 

Esther  even  snagged  herself  a  boy  friend. 
It  was  Jimmy,  the  boy  who  lived  with  the 
Williamses  and  had  always  been  Esther's 
and  David's  pal.  Mrs.  Williams  had  taken 
Jimmy  in  years  ago  when  his  mother  died 
and  as  far  as  Jimmy  was  concerned  Esther 
was  his  girl.  And  now  with  all  the  other 
girls  having  beaus,  Esther  decided  Jimmy 
filled  the  bill.  He  turned  out  to  be  a 
pretty  tyrannical  boy  friend  and  drew  a 
circle  around  her  which  kept  the  others 
off,  so  that  later  on  Esther  had  to  read  him 
the  riot  act.  But  in  spite  of  jealous  Jimmy, 
she  managed  to  encounter  some  thrills  that 
made  her  teen  age  heart  pound  in  a  new, 
exciting  way.  She'll  never  forget  her  first 
formal  dance  and  the  big  blond  dreamboat, 
Frank  Reynolds. 

Jimmy  took  her  to  that  Junior  Prom  at 
Washington  High.  He  was  a  junior  then 
and  a  school  big  shot,  and  Esther  was  only 
a  miserable  freshman,  so  it  was  quite  an 
event  in  her  life.  She  didn't  have  a  new 
formal  dress,  of  course,  Esther  never  had 
a  new  one — little  Miss  Secondhand  Rose 
herself,  she  was — but  her  sister  June  had 
been  a  bridesmaid  not  long  before  and  the 
hand-me-down  was  a  peach  chiffon  party 
number  that  to  Esther  looked  like  the  most 
gorgeous  creation  ever  put  together. 
Jimmy  came  through  with  gardenias,  and 
off  they  tripped. 

She  had  seen  Frank,  of  course,  swimming 
around  the  pool  and  she  thought  he  was 
about  the  handsomest  thing  on  wheels.  He 
was  lolling  by  the  doorway,  just  inside  the 
hall,  where  all  the  cuties  could  get  a 
treat.  And  as  Esther  passed  by,  in  her 
new  peach  chiffon,  with  all  the  fixin's,  he 
gave  a  low  whistle  and  said,  he  actually 
did,  meaning  HER, 

"Pretty  neat  little  dish!" 

It  was  practically  the  same  thing  as 
Clark  Gable  saying  it,  only  more  so.  Frank 
was  Esther's  secret  dream  man  and  when 
she  heard  that,  she  colored  like  a  tomato 
and  her  heart  started  galloping  like  Man 
O'War.  She  did  her  best  to  cover  up  non- 
chalantly. In  fact,  she  even,  in  what  was 
supposed  to  be  icy  indifference,  murmured, 
"Who's  that?"  to  Jimmy. 

And  Jimmy  just  growled,  "You  keep 
your  eyes  offa  him,  you  hear?" 

But  Jimmy  was  a  school  politician  with 
big  interests,  so  he  circulated  around  at 
the  dance  campaigning  for  student  body 
president  (which  he  later  won,  all  right) 
and  Esther  found  herself  alone  and  right 
behind  her  THE  VOICE  actually  saying, 
"Hello,  Little  Girl— like  to  dance?" 

in  love  at  last  .  .  . 

It  was  unbelievable,  but  true.  There  was 
the  Great  Man  himself  when  she  whirled 
around.  She  was  too  excited  to  do  any- 
thing but  gasp.  But  that  didn't  upset 
Frank.  "I  guess  you  would,  all  right,"  he 
said,  taking  her  in  his  arms.  Esther's 
afraid  he  had  to  push  her  around  the  floor 
sort  of  like  a  dead  weight,  she  was  so 
weak  with  it  all.  But  that,  night  she  woke 
her  mother  up  when  she  came  home  and 
rhapsodized,  "Mother — I'm  in  love!" 

Esther  survived,  of  course,  but  the  boys 


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did  take  good,  long  looks  from  then  on  out. 
It  was  pretty  tough  to  get  past  Jimmy's 
proprietory  guard,  but  it  was  arranged  a 
good  many  times  and  the  main  thing  was 
that  Esther  Williams  became  what  every 
girl  at  that  age  craves  to  be — a  Popular 
Girl.  Before  she  graduated,  it  was,  in  fact, 
Esther  Williams  who  was  the  big  shot  at 
Washington  High — and  the  ex-girl  friend 
was  happy  to  be  her  friend  again. 

Besides  the  basketball,  Softball  and 
swimming  teams,  which  she  made  in  a 
breeze,  Esther  Williams  was  a  "Tri-Y"  a 
Lady  of  the  "Knights  and  Ladies,"  (both 
strictly  upper  crust)  president  of  the  Girls' 
Athletic  Association,  member  of  the  Girls' 
League,  Self-Government  president,  Vice- 
president  of  the  school  and  ten  or  twelve 
other  things. 

Besides  all  these  cut  ups  and  busy-bee 
activities,  Esther  also  had  a  study  or  two 
to  pass.  As  usual,  math  threw  her.  When 
she  felt  a  hard  test  coming  on,  Esther 
would  use  her  new  charm  on  the  profs. 

"You  know,"  Esther'd  suggest  the  day 
before  an  exam,  "school  work  isn't  every- 
thing. There's  such  things  as  personality 
development,  activities,  I  mean." 

"You  mean,"  they'd  smile,  "you  think  you 
might  flunk  the  course." 

The  algebra  teacher  told  Mrs.  Williams 
once,  "If  I  was  grading  Esther  on  per- 
sonality she'd  get  an  A-plus.  But  un- 
fortunately the  course  is  algebra." 

big  time  .  .  . 

What  Esther  Williams  had  in  mind, 
however,  when  she  made  those  hints, 
wasn't  her  school  activities.  She  took 
those  in  stride.  But  what  was  eating  into 
her  time  and  energies  seriously  was  her 
first  love  which  she  had  never  abandoned 
for  a  minute,  charm  girl  or  no.  That  was 
swimming.  And  by  the  time  she  was  15, 
Esther  Williams  was  no  longer  just  a 
punk  kid  swimming  around  the  Man- 
chester pool.  She  was  one  of  the  best  girl 
swimmers  in  town.  Bill  Fredrickson,  a 
professional  swimmer  friend,  had  told  her 
early,  "You're  good  enough  to  make  a  big 
athletic  club  team,  Esther,"  and  Esther  had 
scoffed,  "Don't  be  silly." 

"I  mean  it,"  insisted  Bill.  "Stick  to 
practice  and  you'll  make  it." 

Well,  there  was  nothing  to  sticking  to 
practice  for  Esther.  She  loved  the  water. 
But  she  didn't  think  Bill  knew  what  he 
was  talking  about.  After  the  Metropolitan 
meet,  it  happened. 

The  Met  was  the  big  city  meet,  where  all 
the  playground  kids  competed  at  the 
Olympic  Stadium  over  by  U.S.C.  Esther 
copped  the  girls'  50-meter.  While  she  dried 
herself,  a  woman  came  up  and  introduced 
herself.  She  was  Aileen  Allen,  a  former 
Olympic  champion,  now  women's  coach 
at  the  Los  Angeles  Athletic  Club. 

She  said  right  off,  "I  think  you  have 
excellent  possibilities  of  being  a  champion- 
ship swimmer.  Would  you  like  to  come  to 
the  LA  AC  pool  and  swim  sometime?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Esther,  "I  might." 

She  didn't  get  around  to  it  for  quite 
a  while,  what  with  all  her  social  and  school 
activities.  She  didn't  think  they  had  her  in 
mind  for  anything,  that  the  LAAC  lady 
was  just  being  nice.  That  wasn't  exactly 
it.  Big  athletic  clubs  are  always  on  the 
lookout  for  new  talent.  The  LAAC  has 
probably  "discovered"  more  young  swim 
and  dive  champions  than  any  other. 
Mickey  and  Johnny  Riley,  Buster  Crabbe, 
Ruth  Jump,  Marjorie  Gestring — Olympic 
champs — the  Hopkins  Twins — dozens  of 
them.  The  Club  has  more  cups  on  the  walls 
than  a  coffee  joint.  But  while  it's  great 
for  the  club  to  recruit  promising  kids,  it's 
also  swell  for  the  kids.  They  get  training, 
competition,  publicity,  fame.  One  day, 
after  some  weeks  had  passed,  Aileen  Allen 
called  Esther's  house.  "How'd  you  like  to 
try  for  the  LAAC  team?"  she  asked. 


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Esther  was  cautious;  the  Williams'  were 
still  running  close  to  the  budget.  "Does  it 
cost  anything?"  she  asked.  "Do  you  have 
to  buy  new  suits  or  anything?" 

Aileen  Allen  smiled.  "I  can  assure  you," 
she  said,  "the  chance  is  something  most 
young  girls  would  give  a  lot  to  have." 

So  Esther  went  up  to  the  club — and  she 
won,  among  all  the  other  girls  invited  to 
try.  That  started  Esther  Williams'  big 
time  swimming  career.  She  began  swim- 
ming with  the  team  in  1937.  Her  first  big 
meet  was  one  staged  by  a  Los  Angeles 
newspaper,  with  merchandise  prizes  for 
every  event.  All  the  best  swimmers  in 
southern  California  competed  and  Esther 
came  in  second  in  the  free  style  sprint. 
She  won  a  set  of  luggage,  which  she  still 
packs  around.  They  wanted  her  to  enter 
the  Nationals  that  year  but  Esther  didn't 
think  she  was  good  enough  and  her  coach 
agreed.  All  that  winter  and  the  next 
summer,  too,  she  trained. 

That  wasn't  as  simple  or  easy  to  do  as  it 
is  to  write.  But  to  Esther,  it  was  worth  it 
to  get  really  good — and  that  she  did.  A  year 
after  she  started  training  she  won  the  100- 
meter  sprint  at  the  Junior  Indoor  Nationals 
in  Los  Angeles.  About  every  Sunday  she 
swam  on  the  LAAC  team  against  other 
pool  teams  around  town — the  Ambassador 
Hotel  squad,  the  Beverly  Hills,  Santa  Bar- 
bara, Palm  Springs,  and  Coronado  outfits. 
She  usually  won.  But  she  could  lose,  too. 
And  when  she  did,  usually  by  an  eyelash, 
she  was  burnt  up  with  herself  for  not  put- 
ting out  the  extra  ounce  of  effort  that 
would  have  turned  the  trick.  That  hap- 
pened to  her  three  times  at  her  first  big 
time  meet — the  Senior  Nationals  at  the 
Coral  Casino  in  Santa  Barbara,  in  the 
summer  of  1938. 

There  she  was  "touched  out,"  beaten  by 
a  scant  stroke,  by  her  teammate,  Virginia 
Hopkins,  who  was  Esther's  racing  Nemesis 
whenever  they  tangled.  But  in  the  880 
breast  stroke  relay,  although  the  LAAC 
girls'  team  came  in  second,  Esther  busted 
the  world's  record  in  her  lap.  And  at  the 
Santa  Barbara  Meet  something  happened 
which  added  a  new  angle,  more  prophetic 
for  a  Hollywood  future  than  any  notes  in 
the  win  column. 

There  Esther  was  officially  voted  the 
"most  perfect  mermaid,"  judged  on  her 
style,  her  figure,  height,  and  her  beauty. 
After  that  sports  writers  began  to  call  her 
"the  Aquabelle"  "Venus  of  them  All"  and 
"Sweet  Williams"  and  whenever  she  put 
on  a  swim  suit  in  public  a  news  camera 
clicked.  Esther  Williams  was  what  sports 
picture  grabbers  prayed  for — a  beautiful 
girl  athlete. 

When  Esther  started  swimming  at  LAAC, 
Aileen  Allen  had  told  her,  "It  will  take 
you  four  years  at  least  to  be  a  national 
champion,  but  I  think  you  can  make  it." 
And  Esther  had  replied: 

"Oh,  I'll  have  to  do  it  quicker  than  that. 
The  Olympics  are  in  1940." 

Her  coach  had  laughed.  "You'd  better 
not  worry  about  the  Olympics.  You'll  never 
do  it  that  soon." 

"Well,  I  will,"  stated  Esther.  And  even 
her  coach  didn't  know  what  a  determined 
girl  of  stout  faith  this  Williams  could  be 
even  though  she  had  several  strikes  against 
her;  her  senior  year  and  the  hardest 
studies,  her  double  dozen  activities,  her 
budding  social  life,  her  weekend  races  and 
exhibitions,  her  minor  meets,  her  love 
troubles.  But  she  graduated,  and  with 
honors. 

Graduation  night  Esther  celebrated  by 
going  to  her  first  Hollywood  night  club. 
She  and  Bobbie  McConnell,  her  best  girl 
chum,  double  dated  at  Earl  Carroll's.  Es- 
ther's boy  friend  smoked  a  cigarette  right 
out  in  public  and  they  ordered  a  split  of 
champagne  for  four  people,  which  gave 
them  each  about  a  sip  and  a  swallow — 
all  very  wicked  and  gala! 


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Thrilling  gift  for  a  husband  or 
sweetheart  who  served  overseas 

He'll  adore  you  for  your  thoughtfulness  when 
you  give  him  this  ring!  It's-a  precious  souvenir 
of  his  Army  days  that  he'll  wear  always.  It 
shows  his  division  insignia  and  the  countries 
where  it  fought.  10K  gold,  designed  «qq.75 
and  produced  by  master  craftsmen 

(Inc.  Fed.  Tax) 

For  ring  size, send  string  loop  that  fits  your  finger 
For  her,  a  matching  SWEETHEART  PIN  $10 15 

No.  C.O.D.'s 

Custom, 


Including  Federal  tax 
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I 

I  Division  „   Ring  Size*.  

I 

I  NAME  (Print!    —   

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I  ADDRESS.    _  


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t  BETTER  BUILT! 


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Other  E-Z-DO  Wardrobes 
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But  that  was  the  only  slight  slip-up  in 
Esther  Williams'  two  year  plan,  now  on  the 
home  stretch.  The  Nationals  at  Des  Moines 
were  in  July.  She  had  trained  keenly  all 
year.  But  right  away  she  enrolled  at  Los 
Angeles  City  College  to  make  up  some 
credits  she'd  need  for  her  liberal  arts 
course  at  USC,  where  Esther  planned  to 
go  to  college  in  the  fall. 

But  some  other  things  had  happened, 
too.  Talent  scouts  from  two  Hollywood 
studios,  Warner  Brothers  and  Twentieth 
Century-Fox,  had  looked  up  Esther  Wil- 
liams at  the  little  house  on  Orchard  Street. 
They  talked  about  tests,  contracts  and  a 
career  in  the  movies,  feeling  her  out,  and 
Esther  was  vaguely  disturbed.  Her  life 
had  always  been  so  normal,  so  happy,  so 
simple  and  down  to  earth,  and  now  Glamor 
with  a  big  "G"  was  hot  on  her  trail. 

Before  she  packed  for  the  train  to  go  to 
the  Nationals  in  Des  Moines,  she  had  a 
talk  with  her  best  friend  and  advisor. 

"Mother,"  said  Esther,  frowning  anxious- 
ly, "I've  trained  for  this  meet.  I  know  I 
can  win.  But  I  know  that  if  I  do  it  will  be 
the  beginning  of  a  lot  of  new  things.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  want  that  to  happen. 
Maybe  it  would  be  best  to  skip  it  right 
now  and  let  my  life  go  on  like  it  is.  I  like 
it  the  way  it  is — and  I'm  afraid.  .  .  ." 

Her  mother  nodded.  "I  understand,"  she 
said.  "I  know  just  how  you  feel.  But 
Esther,  if  you  don't  swim  this  race  after 
all  your  work  you'll  never  forgive  yourself. 
Because  you'll  never  know  what  might 
have  happened  and  you'll  regret  your 
decision  all  your  life. 

"You  go  ahead  and  win  the  race,"  she 
counseled.  "And  fight  it  out  later." 

home  for  the  brave  .  .  . 

And  so,  that  sweltering  night  in  Des 
Moines  before  the  meet,  Esther  tossed 
and  turned  in  her  stuffy  hotel  room.  She 
couldn't  sleep  so  she  got  up  and  wrote  a 
letter  home.  She  was  still  very  mixed  up 
or  she  would  never  have  penned  such  a 
dismal  note.  She  wrote  that  she  had 
watched  and  timed  all  the  other  girls  and 
they  were  far  too  good  for  her.  She  said 
she  didn't  have  a  chance. 

But  before  Mrs.  Williams  ever  received 
that  letter,  she  got  two  wires. 

One  came  July  28  and  it  said,  "Dearest 
Mummy:  How  would  you  like  to  meet  the 
new  100-meter  free  style  champ — me! 
Pardon  the  collect  wire.  Your  loving 
daughter,  Esther." 

And  the  other  came  two  days  later. 
"Dear  Family:  We  have  cleaned  up  on 
everything  so  I'm  coming  home.  Won 
medley  relay  and  broke  world's  record  by 
nine  seconds.  Excuse  collect  wire  again. 
Very  happy.   Love,  Esther." 

Esther  was  telling  the  truth.  She  was 
very  happy — she'd  never  been  happier. 
But  she  told  the  truth  too,  before  she  left 
home  to  plunge  into  the  championship 
swim  and  big  league  fame.  That  win  was 
indeed  the  beginning  of  a  lot  of  new  things 
for  Esther  Jane  Williams. 

(Esther  Williams'  life  story  will  be 
concluded  in  the  June  issue  of  MODERN 
SCREEN.) 


DANCING  IN  THE  DARK? 

Even  if  you're  not  in  a  hurry, 
Arthur  Murray's  your  best  bet  when 
it  comes  to  smoothing  out  the  kinks 
in  your  dancing  feet.  Thai's  why  we 
bowed  low  and  said,  "Mr.  Murray, 
may  we  have  this  chart?"  We're 
talking  about  BE  A  BETTER 
DANCER,  of  course — free  on  re- 
quest.   See  Super  Coupon,  page  24. 


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DARLING  DAUGHTER 

{Continued  from  page  51) 


over  the  telephone  later,  and  you'll  enjoy 
your  dinner  infinitely  more  if  you  aren't 
exhausted." 

"I  don't  know  anyone — not  anyone — 
who  has  to  rest  for  ninety  minutes,"  Peggy 
has  announced  bitterly  on  occasion. 

"And  I  know  very  few  girls  who  are  as 
lucky  in  their  work  as  you  are,"  is  Mrs. 
Garner's  haymaker.  That  usually  settles 
the  discussion,  and  Peggy  lies  down. 
Sometimes  she  uses  this  time  to  write  in 
her  diary.  It  isn't  exactly  a  diary,  really, 
it  is  more  of  a  journal;  she  doesn't  write 
down  her  innermost  thoughts,  but  she 
does  like  to  keep  track  of  the  major  events 
in  her  life,  like  the  day  she  met  Tyrone 
Power,  and  the  noon  hour  when  she  and 
Barbara  Whiting  picketed  producer  George 
Seton  because  Betty  Grable  and  June 
Haver  were  glamor  girls,  yet  Whiting  and 
Garner  couldn't  be  slick  chicks. 

In  addition  to  the  family  difference  of 
opinion  about  afternoon  rest  periods,  there 
is  a  difficulty  over  clothes.  Mrs.  Garner 
simply  can't  endure  sloppy  joe  sweaters — 
but  she  has  allowed  Peggy  to  acquire  a 
wardrobe  of  twenty-eight.  Neither  does 
she  approve  of  blue  denims  and  plaid 
shirts  with  the  tails  hanging  out,  but  when 
Peggy  goes  up  to  the  home  of  her  best 
girl  friend,  on  Saturday,  she  manages  to 
take  along,  and  wear,  her  rough  clothes. 

There  is  also  some  dispute  over  the 
fact  that  Peggy  would,  if  her  mother 
would  allow  it,  dispense  with  bobby  sox 
and  slide  into  her  saddle  oxfords  bare- 
footed. She  loves  the  cool  feel  of  the 
leather  lining  on  her  feet;  she  likes  the 
swish  of  the  local  breeze  about  her  ankles. 
Most  of  the  time,  however,  Mrs.  Garner 
makes  her  daughter  stand  inspection  and 
refuses  to  give  an  okay  until  the  feet  are 
socked. 

sartorial  sulks  .  .  . 

There  are  always  under  consideration  in 
the  Garner  household  (1)  l'affaire  evening 
gown,  and  (2)  l'affaire  pea  jacket.  When 
Peggy  was  scheduled  to  attend  the  pre- 
miere of  "A  Tree  Grows  In  Brooklyn" 
she  said,  "Now,  Mother,  may  I  have  my 
first  formal?" 

Mrs.  Garner  shook  her  head.  "No,  dar- 
ling, not  until  you're  sixteen.  You  have 
many,  many  years  in  your  life  during 
which  you  will  be  obliged  to  wear  a  long 
evening  gown.  Take  these  last  opportu- 
nities to  wear  a  short  party  dress." 

"I  don't  see  it  that  way,"  said  her  daugh- 
ter. "Who  cares  about  a  short  party  dress, 
anyhow?"  But  there  the  matter  stood. 
Someone  in  the  studio,  thinking  that  this 
difference  of  opinion  was  news,  notified 
Louella  Parsons.  In  the  mixup  over  the 
telephone,  the  story  was  not  reported  with 
exactitude.  When,  on  the  Sunday  night 
before  the  premiere,  Miss  Parsons  went 
on  the  air,  she  gave  this  version:  "Peggy 
Ann  Garner  has  won  her  point.  Mrs. 
Garner  has  finally  consented  to  allow 
Peggy  to  wear  a  long  evening  gown  to 
the  premiere." 

Mrs.  Garner  and  Peggy,  listening  to  the 
broadcast,  exchanged  quick  glances.  Peggy 
threw  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck 
and  kissed  her  rapturously.  "Oh,  thank 
you!"  she  squealed.  "What  a  lovely  way 
to  break  the  news  to  me!" 

In  such  a  case,  what  could  a  mother  do? 
Particularly  when  the  studio,  in  a  burst 
of  benevolence,  presented  Peggy  with  the 
exquisite  white  dress  she  had  worn  in 
"Junior  Miss." 

Several  months  later,  when  Mrs.  Garner 
was  purchasing  some  clothing  for  Peggy 
to  wear  on  a  bond  tour,  our  "Junior  Miss" 


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spotted  a  formal  with  a  spreading  black 
taffeta  skirt  and  a  pale  pink  bodice. 
"That's  for  me,"  she  jubilated. 

"Black  is  too  old  for  you,"  ruled  Mrs. 
Garner.  "Only  a  woman  over  twenty-five 
can  do  justice  to  the  sophistication  of 
black."  Peggy  resorted  to  wiles;  she  said 
she  thought  the  style  of  the  dress — which, 
admittedly,  was  in  the  junior  section — 
cancelled  out  the  sophistication  of  the 
color.  The  salesgirl  sided  with  Peggy. 
Eventually  the  buyer  was  summoned.  The 
buyer  is  a  woman  with  exquisite  taste,  so 
Mrs.  Garner  agreed  to  abide  by  her  deci- 
sion. The  woman  glanced  from  the  dress 
to  Peggy's  eloquent  face,  then  she  said, 
"To  be  quite  candid,  Mrs.  Garner,  I  don't 
feel  that  the  dress  is  too  old  for  Peggy. 
The  style,  plus  Peggy's  ability  to  carry 
the  mode  becomingly,  makes  it  entirely 
suitable  to  her." 

Peggy  intends  to  remember  this  good 
Samaritan  in  her  will. 

peacock  in  a  pea  jacket  .  .  . 

Of  all  her  coats,  Peggy's  prime  favorite 
is  the  pea  jacket  sent  her  by  a  friend  of 
her  father.  Admitted,  it  is  too  big  for 
her;  admitted,  it  swirls  around  her  hips 
like  a  hoopskirt  around  a  flagpole;  ad- 
mitted, if  she  and  her  mother  get  in  the 
car  when  Peggy  is  wearing  her  jacket,  it 
is  impossible  to  crowd  a  third  person  into 
the  seat.  Still,  Peggy  loves  that  jacket. 
Whenever  she  emerges  from  her  room, 
wearing  it,  her  mother  shakes  her  head 
and  sighs. 

By  all  means,  don't  get  the  impression 
from  all  this  recounting  of  their  differ- 
ences of  opinion  that  Mrs.  Garner  and 
Peggy  aren't  devoted  to  one  another,  be- 
cause they  are.  Actually,  they  are  much 
more  like  sisters  than  like  mother  and 
daughter.  Peggy  shares  in  her  mother's 
goings  and  doings,  and  Mrs.  Garner  is 
always  a  conspirator  in  her  daughter's 
projects.  One  day  a  friend  of  Peggy's 
asked  her,  "Is  this  a  secret  from  your 
mother?"  in  reference  to  a  plan  under 
discussion. 

Peggy  looked  painfully  aghast.  "I  don't 
have  any  secrets  from  my  mother,"  she 
explained  in  much  the  same  tone  of  voice 
one  would  use  to  say,  "The  sun  arises  in 
the  east." 

Much  of  their  raillery  is  simply  good- 
natured  kidding.  Not  long  ago  Mrs.  Gar- 
ner, looking  over  Peggy's  vast  collection 
of  recordings,  announced,  "This  is  out- 
rageous. You  have  three  and  four  record- 
ings of  every  number.  I'm  going  to  put  my 
foot  down.  You  aren't  going  to  buy  an- 
other record  for  three  months,  and  you 
are  to  sort  your  albums  and  give  away 
every  duplicate  you  own." 

"I  don't  have  any  REAL  duplicates," 
asserted  Peggy.  "If  I  have  two  discs  of 
the  same  number,  it's  because  someone 
has  given  me  a  recording  made  by  an 
orchestra  other  than  the  one  I  have." 

"They're  still  duplicates  and  it's  foolish 
to  clutter  up  the  house  with  them,"  ruled 
Mrs.  Garner. 

"Okay,"  said  Peggy.  "Tell  you  what  I'll 
do.  I'll  give  away  my  extras  if  you'll  give 
away  all  but  one  of  your  recordings  of 
'Symphony.'  " 

"But  those  extras  were  given  to  me  by 
friends,  and  besides,  each  band  has  a  dif- 
ferent style  .  .  ."  Mrs.  Garner  started  to 
say,  then  she  caught  sight  of  the  slyly 
triumphant  twinkle  in  her  daughter's  eyes. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  capitulated,  "you  can 
keep  them  if  you'll  just  be  neat  about  it." 

When  Peggy  is  convinced  that  she  has 
annoyed  her  mother,  it  worries  her  deeply. 
Just  before  Christmas,  Peggy  went  away 
one  morning,  leaving  three  of  her  dresser 
drawers  gaping;  she  had  also  discarded 
her  bedroom  slippers  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  and  several  pairs  of  loafers  and 
saddle  oxfords  were  tossed  here  and  there 


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|      depending  upon  whether  you  wont  film  or  not. 

I  □  I'm  enclosing  $  in  full  payment.  Send  my  order 

J  POSTPAID. 

|    □  Send  my  order  CO.D.  I  am  enclosing  £1.00  deposit  because  I 

I wan.  my  Carrying  Case  Personalized  in  GOLD.  I'll  pay  post- 
man balance  of  $   ' 

|  O  Send  my  order  CO.D.  without 

pay  postman  $  plu 

I   

|  Address  


postage. 
ie  on  Carrying  Case.  I  i 
postage. 


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116 


Sold  by  leading  department  stores, 
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because  Peggy  had  changed  her  mind 
about  what  she  was  going  to  wear  that 
morning. 

Neatness  and  tidiness  are  two  of  Mrs. 
Garner's  maxims  of  living;  she  cannot 
endure  sloppiness  or  slipshod  carelessness. 
So,  when  Peggy  came  home  from  school 
that  afternoon,  Mrs.  Garner  marched  her 
daughter  into  the  bedroom  and  launched 
upon  a  lecture.  She  was  really  annoyed, 
and  she  meant  every  critical  word  she  said. 

"As  punishment,"  she  announced,  "you 
are  to  have  no  telephone  calls  for  three 
days.  If  you  aren't  responsible  enough  to 
keep  your  room  in  order,  you  must  be 
treated  like  a  young  child  and  forbidden 
the  telephone." 

Peggy  felt  shattered.  She  put  the  draw- 
ers in  order  and  closed  them.  She  picked 
up  the  draped  clothing  and  shoes  and  re- 
stored them  to  their  proper  places  in  the 
closet.  She  even  went  through  the  closet, 
rearranging  garments.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  be  forbidden  the  telephone,  but  the 
worst  sensation  of  all  was  the  feeling  that 
she  and  her  mother  were  estranged. 

Tucked  away  in  a  bottom  dresser  drawer 
was  the  prime  surprise  Peggy  had  planned 
for  her  mother's  Christmas:  A  pair  of  black 
satin  mules.  Peggy  had  saved  the  pur- 
chase price  from  her  allowance,  so  the 
gift  was  sure  to  be  a  great  event. 

mules  with  a  kick  .  .  . 

Deciding  that  now  was  the  time  to  make 
the  presentation,  Peggy  tip-toed  out  to 
her  mother  and  dropped  the  package  into 
her  lap.  "Something  for  you,"  she  said. 

Thinking  that  it  might  be  some  sort  of 
teasing  trick,  Mrs.  Garner  stripped  off  the 
wrappings  and  lifted  the  lid.  Then  she 
began  to  cry.  Peggy  cried,  too,  and  every- 
thing was  all  right. 

Since  that  day  Peggy  hasn't  left  her 
room  in  disorder  and  rushed  off  to  school. 

Mrs.  Garner  is  a  little  better  at  keeping 
secrets  or  saving  gifts  until  Christmas  than 
Peggy  is.  Just  before  Christmas,  1944, 
Peggy  and  her  mother  were  in  Chicago  on 
a  personal  appearance  tour.  Because  it 
was  colder  than  they  had  anticipated,  Mrs. 
Garner  and  Peggy  went  shopping  and 
found  a  terrific  white  lambskin  coat  at 
Lanz'.  Peggy  nearly  swooned  at  sight  of 
it.  "Buy  it  for  me,"  she  pleaded. 

"No,  honey,  I  don't  think  we  should 
invest  in  it  now;  later  on,  when  we  get 
back  to  Los  Angeles,  we'll  select  something 
for  you,"  Mrs.  Garner  placated. 

Peggy  never  questions  her  mother's 
judgment  when  Mrs.  Garner  makes  a 
decision,  but  she  was  monumentally  dis- 
appointed. She  thought,  "I'll  never  again 
like  a  coat  as  much  as  I  like  this  one." 

Christmas  morning  she  spotted  the  huge 
box  under  the  tree  and  turned  to  her 
mother,  "Why,  you  darling  conspirator," 
she  said.  And  she  added,  "You  can  wear 
it  any  time  you  want!"  That  made  both 
of  them  laugh,  which  was  a  good  way  to 
pinch  back  the  happy  tears. 

This  year,  Peggy  fell  in  love  with  a  ring 
she  and  her  father  and  mother  saw  in  a 
jeweler's  window.  "There,"  announced 
Peggy,  "there  is  exactly  the  kind  of  ring 
I've  always  wanted.  You  know  how  I've 
described  my  idea  of  a  whizzy  setting  to 
you,  Mother?  Well,  if  I  had  designed  that 
ring  myself,  it  couldn't  be  more  perfect, 
even  to  the  sapphire  setting." 

"They  are  probably  asking  some  fab- 
ulous price  for  it,"  Mrs.  Garner  said  ab- 
sently. At  that  time  the  Garners  were 
saving  every  penny  to  buy  a  home. 

Peggy  nodded  agreement;  she  wanted  a 
home  even  more  than  she  wanted  the 
ring.  Christmas  morning  she  looked 
around  suspiciously  for  a  small,  eloquent 
box,  but  there  was  none.  Instead  there 
was  a  parcel  about  the  size  of  a  shoebox. 
Peggy,  breathing  a  resigned  sigh,  opened 
the  box,  then  an  interior  box,  then  an- 


IwerfairjsL 

If  your  answer  is 
"NO",  chances 
are  you  know* 
about  and  use- 
Midol.  If  your; 
answer  is  "YES", ' 
and  you  haven't  tried  Midol,  you 
may  be  passing  up  comfort  which 
millions  of  women  enjoy! 

You  see,  Midol  is  offered  specifi- 
cally to  relieve  functional  periodic 
pain.  It  contains  no  opiates,  yet  acts 
in  three  ways  to  bring  relief:  Eases 
Cramps — Soothes  Headache — Stimulates 
mildly  when  you're  "Blue". 

Be  sure  to  ask  for  Midol  at  any 
drugstore.  Enjoy  needed  comfort  on 
"those  days". 

MIDOL 

PERSONAL  SAMPLE— In  plain  envelope. 
Write  Dept.  C-66,  Room  11,18, 
it  East  1,2nd  St.,  New  York  1 7,  N.  Y. 

CRAMPS— HEADACHE— "BLUES" 


.  /HEN  your  baby  suffers  from 
teething  pains,  just  rub  a  few  drops 
of  Dr.  Hand's  Teething  Lotion  on 
the  sore,  tender,  little  gums  and 
the  pain  will  be  relieved  promptly. 

Dr.  Hand's  Teething  Lotion  is 
the  prescription  of  a  famous  baby 
specialist  and  has  been  used  by 
mothers  for  over  fifty  years.  One 
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baby  for  the  entire  teething  period. 
Buy  it  from  your  druggist  today 


DR.  HAND'S 

TEETHING  LOTION 

Just  rub  it  on  the  gums 


other,  and  another  .  .  .  and  about  forty 
boxes  later  she  came  upon  the  blue  velvet 
nest  of  the  ring  she  had  seen  in  the 
window. 

Actually,  it  had  been  hers  even  at  that 
time.  Mrs.  Garner  had  made  notes  of 
Peggy's  description  of  her  idea  of  a  dream 
ring,  and  had  induced  a  jeweler  to  create 
the  design. 

In  addition  to  her  swoony  ring,  Peggy 
is  the  jingling  owner  of  four  charm  brace- 
lets, two  silver,  and  two  gold.  One  of  the 
gold  bracelets  is  now  complete;  it  was  sent 
to  Peggy  by  a  Naval  friend  of  the  family 
and  consists  of  a  helm,  a  tiny  compass 
that  really  works,  and  several  other  unique 
miniatures. 

Peggy's  allowance  of  two  dollars  a  week 
makes  it  impossible  for  her  to  accumulate 
charms  very  fast;  most  of  the  cash  she 
can  save  goes  out  in  gifts  to  her  friends. 

By  the  time  you  read  this,  Peggy  and 
her  mother  will  be  living  in  the  new  home 
they  have  rented.  Peggy  has  the  privilege 
of  planning  her  own  bedroom  and  the  den. 
The  den  is  to  be  the  spot  in  which  she 
can  entertain  her  friends,  whereas  Mrs. 
Garner  is  to  have  the  exclusive  use  of 
the  living  room  for  her  friends. 

junior  home  beautiful  .  .  . 

Peggy  hasn't  completed  plans  for  the 
den;  she  will  have  her  radio-phonograph 
in  there,  of  course;  she  wants  the  walls  to 
be  lined  with  bookcases — for  quiet  hours 
of  reading — and  the  floors  to  be  waxed  for 
dancing — for  hectic  moments  of  fun. 

About  her  bedroom  she  is  glib;  she 
knows  exactly  how  it  is  to  be.  On  the 
floor  there  is  to  be  a  wall-to-wall  white 
shag  rug.  The  curtains  are  to  be  white 
starched  French  organdie  with  six-inch 
ruffles  bound  in  red;  the  dressing  table  is 
to  have  a  flounced  white  organdie  petti- 
coat, also  bound  in  red.  The  wardrobe 
is  to  have  a  triple-wing,  full-length  mir- 
ror, and  the  dressing  room  is  to  have 
separate  compartments  for  suits,  coats, 
dresses,  and  long  formals. 

There  will  also  be  an  equestrienne  cor- 
ner in  which  Peggy  will  hang  her  riding 
breeches,  jackets,  sweaters,  and  set  her 
riding  boots.  At  present,  Peggy  is  riding 
almost  every  day;  her  horse  is  a  magnifi- 
cent five-gaited  animal.  She  would  like  to 
learn  to  take  the  jumps  next,  but  her 
studio  would  probably  froth  at  the  mouth. 
Mrs.  Garner  isn't  keen  about  the  ambition, 
either;  she  feels  that  riding  on  the  flat  is 
enough  accomplishment  for  a  girl  who  has 
practically  no  need  at  all  for  a  broken  arm. 

In  addition  to  her  riding,  Peggy  has 
another  trick  that  delights — among  dozens 
of  admirers — a  brisk  gentleman  named  Bill 
Burton.  Bill  is  Dick  Haymes'  and  Barbara 
Whiting's  agent,  and  he  is  one  of  the  most 
popular  ten  percenters  in  Hollywood. 
Every  time  he  sees  Peggy  he  says,  "Come 
on,  Baby,  give  me  that  down-under 
look,  j.g." 

Peggy>  who  has  spent  considerable  time 
practicing  it,  lowers  her  head,  allows  her 
shock  of  softly-curled  hair  to  fall  forward, 
then  raises  her  eyes  in  a  convulsing  imi- 
tation of  Lauren  Bacall  doing  a  "To  Have 
or  Have  Not."  It  is  strictly  a  gag,  of 
course;  Peggy  would  no  more  try  it,  dead- 
pan, on  her  friends  than  she  would  wear  a 
teething  ring  to  a  premiere. 

Planning  for  two  years  ahead  is  a  rugged 
assignment  these  days,  but  Peggy  is  doing 
a  jet-propelled  job  of  it.  For  one  thing, 
she  is  to  be  allowed  her  first  official  date. 
On  this  first  official  date  she  is  to  be  al- 
lowed to  go  with  a  boy  approved  by  her 
family,  but  she  must  go  to  a  private  party 
— if  it  is  an  evening  date — and  she  must 
go  along  with  another  couple. 

When  she  is  sixteen  she  will  also  be 
allowed  to  learn  to  drive  a  car,  and  when 
she  is  a  smooth  driver,  Peggy  will  be 
allowed  to  own  her  own  jaloppy.  She  has 


A  BARRIER  STOOD  BETWEEN  US 


Misunderstanding  and  coldness 
loomed  like  a  wall  between  us.  I 
should  have  realized  why,  because 
I  knew  about  feminine  hygiene  and 
the  difference  it  can  make.  But  I'd 
been  trusting  to  now-and-then  care. 


My  doctor  set  me  straight.  He  said 
never  to  risk  marriage  happiness  by 
being  careless  about  feminine  hy- 
giene, even  once.  And  he  advised 
me  to  use  "Lysol"  brand  disinfect- 
ant for  douching— always. 


BUT  I  BROKE  IT  DOWN 

Nothing  between  us  now,  but  love 
and  happiness.  I've  learned  my  les- 
son. No  more  carelessness  about 
feminine  hygiene.  I  always  use 
"Lysol"  for  douching  and  is  it  de- 


pendable! Far  more  so  than  salt, 
soda,  or  other  homemade  solutions. 
"Lysol"  is  a  proved  germ-killer  that 
cleanses  thoroughly,  yet  gently.  So 
easy  and  economical  to  use,  too ! 


Check  these  facts  with  your  Doctor 


Proper    feminine  hygiene 

care  is  important  to  the 
happiness  and  charm  of 
every  woman.  So,  douche 
thoroughly  with  correct 
"Lysol"  solution  ...  al- 
ways. Powerful  cleanser — 
"Lysol's"  great  spreading 
power  means  it  reaches 


deeply  into  folds  and 
crevices  to  search  out 
germs.  Proved  germ-killer 
— uniform  strength,  made 
under  continued  labora- 
tory control  .  .  .  far 
more  dependable  than 
homemade  solutions. 
Non  - caustic — "Lysol" 
douching  solution  is  non- 
irritating,  not  harmful  to 
vaginal  tissues.  Follow 


easy  directions.  Cleanly 
odor  —  disappears  after 
use;  deodorizes .  More 
women  use  "Lysol"  for 
feminine  hygiene  than 
any  other  method.  (For 
FREE  feminine  hygiene 
booklet ,  write 
Lehn  &>  Fink,  683 
Fifth  Ave.,  New 
York  22,  N.  Y.) 


Copyright,  1946.  by  Lehn  &  Fink  Products  Corp. 


For  Feminine  Hygiene  use 


always! 


"LYSOL"  is  the  registered  trade-mark  of  Lehn  &  Fink  Products  Corporation  and  any  use  thereof 
in  connection  with  products  not  made  by  it  constitutes  an  infringement  thereof. 


117 


mrnmm 


"  your  figure 

Quickly,  Safely,  at  Home 

Shy?  Embarrassed?  Self-conscious  due  to  shape- 
less, unappealing  body  lines?  Now,  learn  to 
develop  thrilling  curves,  an  alluring  bust  line... 
right  in  your  own  home!  Make  yourself  attrac- 
tive, vivacious— develop  yourself  into  a  glamor- 
ous, glorious  personality.  It's  amazingly  easy 
with  the  aid  of  the  Bonomo  Home  Course  on 
Bust  Culture.  What  a  joy  to  know  that  you're 
popular,  admired!  Let  this  self-improvement 
course  help  you  achieve  new  loveliness  right 
in  the  privacy  of  your  home, 

"I  was  so  Undeveloped, 

Unattractive,  honesome^ 

WRITES  ANN  YAGER  of  ELLWOOD  CITY,  PA. 


BEFORE 

Ann  Yager's  shapeless  body 
caused  great  unhappiness  and 
misery.  Then  Ann  tried  the 
Bonomo  Home  Course  on  Figure 
Development  Now,  she's  a  new, 
enticing  .  .  .  popular  girl. 

SEND  NO  MONEY 

You,  too,  may  gain  great  bene- 
fits from  this  unusual  course. 
It  was  prepared  by  Mr.  Joe 
Bonomo,  famed  beauty  authority 
and  guide  to  many  of  Holly- 
wood's loveliest  stars.  Fill  in 
and  mail  coupon  now.  If  you 
are  not  satisfied,  return  course  in 
10  days  for  full  purchase  price 
refund.  Course  sent  in  unmarked 
wrapper. 


JOE  BONOMO 

world  famous  beauty 
authority  and  pub- 
lisher of  "Beautify 
Tour  Figure."  your 
Guide  to  Grace, 
Beauty  and  Charm 
.  .  .  at  all  news- 
stands. 


—  MAIL  COUPON  TODAY  — 

Joe  Bonomo,  Personal 

BONOMO  CULTURE  INSTITUTE,  Dept.  BI75 
1841  Broadway,  New  York  23,  N.  Y. 

Please  rush  your  complete  Home  Course  on  Figure  De- 
velopment, in  unmarked  wrapper.  I'll  pay  postman  $1.97 
plus  postage  on  delivery.  If  not  satisfied.  I  may  return  it 
within  10  days  and  get  my  purchase  price  back. 


Name  

Address.. 
City  


Please  Print  Plainly 


Zone  State  . 


118 


n 


Check  here  if  you  enclose  $1.97  for  delivery  postpaid. 


(Canadian  &  Fore 


$2.50  cash  in  advance) 


all  the  mental  specifications  for  this  vehi- 
cle solidly  set  in  mind.  It  is  to  be  a 
convertible  coupe,  natch;  it  is  to  have  a 
radio  that  will  pick  up  everything  but 
gold  from  the  streets;  the  upholstery  is 
to  be  red  leather,  and  the  body  must  be 
azure  blue.  White  sidewall  tires,  double 
fog  lights  in  front,  a  spot  light  on  the  left, 
and  a  horn  strictly  from  Dixie  will  com- 
plete the  ensemble. 

So,  as  things  stand,  Peggy  has  only  one 
genuinely  serious  problem.  She  wants 
desperate  to  attend  public  high  school 
for  at  least  a  year,  then  she  wants  to  go 
to  a  co-educational  university.  She  talks 
the  idea  over — and  up — to  her  mother  on 
every  occasion.  Mrs.  Garner  thinks  that, 
if  studio  commitments  make  it  possible, 
Peggy  should  spend  one  high  school  year 
away  from  the  Fox  lot,  in  a  private  girls' 
school,  then  attend  an  eastern  woman's 
university  for  two  years,  THEN  transfer 
to  a  co-educational  institution. 

Mrs.  Garner  attended  Sweetbriar,  an 
exclusive  college  for  women,  situated  in 
Vermont.  She  has  already  spoken  to  the 
president  of  the  college  about  Peggy.  But 
Peggy  prefers  the  idea  of  joining  a  sorority 
and  of  being  in  classes  with  boys. 

What  do  you  think  about  it?  Peggy 
would  like  to  know. 


M.S.  THROWS  A  PARTY 

(Continued  jrom  page  31) 


afternoon,  Peggy  took  the  train  from  Sum- 
mit, N.  J.,  to  New  York,  to  share  the  gloom 
with  us;  and  she  came  into  the  Modern 
Screen  office  looking  like  something  out 
of  a  Russian  tragedy.  In  due  time  Al  and 
Henry  heard  the  news,  and  the  three  of 
them  sat  slumped  in  their  chairs  like  chief 
mourners  at  a  wake.  It  wasn't  until  Peggy 
had  left  (to  drown  her  sorrows  in  a 
Schrafft's  special)  that  the  solution  to  it 
all  hit  Al  and  Henry.  Why  not  still  have 
a  party?  They  could  hire  a  hall,  have  Joe 
Marsala's  orchestra  provide  the  music,  in- 
vite all  the  stars  in  town  and  Peggy  could 
be  the  guest  of  honor!  In  the  space  of  a 
few  seconds  the  idea  had  achieved  colossal 
proportions. 

One  of  the  gals  who  was  eavesdropping 
from  the  next  room  yelled  in,  "Whee — it's 
a  production!"  and  someone  else  said: 

"You'll  practically  need  a  master  of 
ceremonies." 

Henry  snapped  his  fingers  and  Al  picked 
up  the  phone,  and  that's  how  Ed  Sullivan 
got  involved.  Ed,  as  you  know,  is  the 
Broadway  and  Hollywood  reporter.  He 
calls  the  stars  by  their  first  names,  is  a 
buddy  of  Louis  Prima's  and  can  get  a 
beer  on  the  house  in  any  nightery  in  town. 
He's  really  a  fabulous  guy  with  a  finger 
in  every  pie,  from  the  Harvest  Moon  dance 
contest  to  the  Golden  Gloves  boxing  bouts. 
Modern  Screen  had  just  signed  him  on 
as  a  radio  columnist,  and  having  him  on 
the  staff  was  sort  of  like  having  Louis  B. 
Mayer  in  the  family. 

"Ed,"  Al  said,  when  he  got  him  on  the 
telephone,  "will  you  em-cee  a  party  for 
us?"  Ed  said  yes,  and  after  that  things 
really  began  rolling. 

The  guest  list  grew  until  it  included  not 
only  people  like  Gene  Kelly,  Hurd  Hat- 
field and  Danny  Kaye,  but  also  500  mem- 
bers of  fan  clubs  all  the  way  from  Balti- 
more to  Montreal!  The  "hall"  the  boys 
had  thought  of  hiring  became,  at  Ed's 
suggestion,  the  Zanzibar — jumpingest  joint 
in  town.  The  staff  at  Modern  Screen 
kept  strictly  non-union  hours,  working 
on  into  the  night  on  the  invitations,  ar- 
ranging the  seating,  planning  the  refresh- 
ments. And  all  the  time  there  was  that 
little  undercurrent:  "Wait  till  Peggy  hears 
about  it!" 


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"Gee,"  Mickey  said,  "don't  you  wish 
we  could  see  her  face  when  she  gets  the 
invitation?" 

"Yeah,"  said  Al,  and  Billy  Weinberger 
(that's  our  smoothie-puss  art  man)  said, 
"Why  not?  We  could  send  a  photographer 
out  to  Summit  the  day  after  you  mail  the 
invitation  and  have  him  snap  her  when 
she  opens  it." 

Which  is  exactly  what  we  did. 

The  boys  had  her  street  number,  of 
course,  but  as  it  turned  out  they  didn't 
really  need  it.  Because  smack  in  front 
of  "319"  was  this  nice  friendly  springer 
spaniel  with  a  huge  placard  around  his 
neck  saying,  "Member  of  the  Dane  Clark 
Fan  Club,"  and  he  was  a  dead  giveaway. 
Later  on — after  the  mail  man  had  come 
and  gone,  and  Peggy  had  been  photo- 
graphed holding  her  invitation  and  look- 
ing like  a  sweepstakes  winner — it  devel- 
oped that  the  dog,  name  of  Limey,  is  the 
only  canine  member  of  the  Dane  Clark 
Fan  Club.  For  that  matter,  as  far  as  we 
can  discover,  he's  the  only  one  belonging 
to  any  fan  club  whatever.  He  attends  lo- 
cal meetings,  pays  his  dues,  and  otherwise 
occupies  his  time  lording  it  over  his  non- 
member  friends  and  strolling  downtown  to 
see  if  the  latest  Dane  Clark  movie  has  hit 
town. 

The  boys  didn't  linger  very  long  because 
Peggy  had  to  get  on  the  phone  quick  like 
a  bunny  and  flash  the  good  news  all  over 
Summit,  and  anyway,  they  were  anxious 
to  get  back  to  the  office  to  see  how  the  pic- 
tures had  turned  out.  Those  were  the 
very  first  ones  in  our  picture  story,  and 
frankly,  we  kind  of  like  'em.  Turn  back 
to  page  30  again  and  take  another  look  for 
yourself.  Then  we'll  let  our  very  peachy 
photographer  take  the  story  from  there. 

JEAN  KINKEAD 

No  one  can  tell  a  story  like  you,  Jean. 
I  wouldn't  dare  change  a  word  of  it.  But, 
Jean,  darling,  let's  face  it  .  .  .  you're  the 
darndest  little  exaggerater  this  side  of 
Bob  Burns.  True  enough,  the  life  of  the 
Zanzibar  party  did  begin  with  pretty  Peggy 
Fields.  But  she  wasn't  guest  of  honor. 
That  proud  distinction  went  to  the  five 
hundred  fan  clubbers  who  crowded  the 
Zanzibar  right  to  the  eaves! 

The  moral  of  this  little  piece  I'm  tacking 
on  to  Jean's  story,  friends,  is  that  any  fan 
who  has  the  time  owes  it  to  herself  to  join 
a  fan  club.  This  Zanzibar  Ball  of  ours  is 
kid  stuff  alongside  of  Fan  Club  Party 
Number  2!  For  instance,  what  would  you 
think  of  our  tossing  next  year's  event  in 
New  York's  world-famous  Madison  Square 
Garden?  Nothing  definite  yet,  but  it  gives 
you  an  idea  of  the  kind  of  dreams  we 
dream.  Through  our  parties,  through  fan 
clubs,  our  readers  meet  stars!  Which  is 
just  one  of  many  fan  club  services  your 
friendly  magazine  offers  to  its  vast  family 
of  readers. 

So,  whether  you're  14  or  44,  why  don't 
you  mail  out  the  coupon  below  to  Fan 
Club  Director  Shirley  Frohlich  and  find 
out  more  about  fan  clubs  and  the  Modern 
Screen  Fan  Club  Association? 


Okay,  Shirley,  send  me  your  chart, 
"How  To  Join  A  Fan  Club!"  Here's 
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120 


BACKACHE, 
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WATCH  LIZABETH  SCOTT! 

{Continued  from  page  55) 


"What  have  you  got  against  women?  They 
turn  into  Hollywood  stars,  don't  they? 
Hopper's  unfair  to  females!" 

Ah  me — 'tis  ever  thus  when  you  put 
on  a  long  black  robe  and  set  up  shop  in 
the  judging  racket.  The  thing  to  do  is 
murder  the  ump,  as  any  Dodgers  fan 
knows.  Okay,  I  can  take  it,  but  the  true 
word  is  that  I  try  to  be  fair.  And  the  true 
word  this  month  is — Hubba-hubba! 

That's  what  Lizabeth  Scott  is — the 
Hubba-Hubba  Girl.  She's  a  lot  of  other 
things,  too,  if  you  believe  her  press  agents. 
Now,  don't  get  me  wrong;  some  of  my  best 
friends  are  press  agents.  But  when  they 
officially  plaster  up  a  pretty  lady — and  a 
very  swell  young  actress — with  torrid  titles 
like  "The  Threat"— "The  Voice  of  Allure" 
—"The  Tall,  Tawny  and  Terrific"— end 
"The  Hubba-Hubba  Girl!"— well!  But  at 
that,  I  guess  they  know  their  stuff.  Be- 
cause I'll  admit  those  words  got  me.  I 
simply  had  to  find  out  what  Lizabeth  Scott 
was  like  underneath  the  adjectives. 

ball  of  fire  .  .  . 

Of  course,  I'd  watched  Lizabeth  through 
"You  Came  Along,"  and  marvelled  how  a 
green  girl  in  her  first  picture  could  switch 
from  light  comedy  to  heavy  drama  and 
make  them  both  click.  It's  not  easy,  either, 
to  snitch  a  picture  right  away  from  a 
couple  of  smooth  actors  like  Bob  Cum- 
mings  and  Don  DeFore.  I  noted  that  Bob 
complained  afterwards  he  hoped  he'd  never 
have  to  make  another  movie  with  such  a 
larcenous  leading  lady  as  Lizabeth.  You 
don't  often  run  into  an  unknown  girl  be- 
ing starred  in  her  first  film,  either,  es- 
pecially by  a  top  producer  like  Hal  Wallis. 
And  when  Scotty  did  it  again  in  "The 
Strange  Love  of  Martha  Ivers,"  acting 
right  along  with  Barbara  Stanwyck  and 
Van  Henin,  she  proved  she  was  no  flash. 

So  I  knew  the  Lizabeth  Scott  Hollywood 
star  trail  was  hot  as  Harry  James'  trumpet, 
but  as  for  Lizabeth  herself — well  that 
Hubba-Hubba  Girl  stuff  fooled  me.  I 
slipped  into  my  brown  gown  with  the 
zop  top,  with  the  hip  flip,  with  the  lace 
waist.  In  short,  I  made  myself  up  to  vi- 
brate right  along  with  a  1946  trick  chick. 
Then  I  called  up  Lizabeth  and  invited 
myself  over  for  tea. 

"Hurry  on  over,  Miss  Hopper,"  urged 
Lizabeth  in  that  caramel  contralto,  "I'm 
getting  evicted  tomorrow!"  She  explained 
the  housing  shortage  was  snapping  at  her 
heels.  She'd  been  living  on  five-day  plans 
at  hotels,  in  friends'  spare  bedrooms  and 
practically  everything  else. 

Well,  I  beat  the  landlord  to  the  punch — 
and  I  got  the  surprise  of  my  life.  Hubba- 
hubba  or  no,  Lizabeth  Scott  in  the  flesh 
is  no  mere  sexy  siren,  pin-up  parrot  or 
frilly  filly  with  more  curves  than  brains. 
Truth  is,  Lizabeth  is  a  hard-working,  well- 
trained  career  girl..  But  along  with  her 
talent  and  brains,  Scotty's  got  something 
else — she's  got  a  face  and  figure  that 
dreams  are  made  of  and  a  personality  like 
a  ball  of  fire. 

The  face  is  about  picture  perfect,  I'd  say, 
chiseled  nicely  and  with  the  clean  cameo 
features  cameramen  crave.  Her  skin's  like 
honey  and  the  thick  taffy  hair  matches, 
tumbling  in  a  long  curving  do  that  just 
fits  the  gal.  Her  eyes  are  big  and  blue  and 
the  lashes  and  eyebrows  inky  black.  She's 
got  a  wide  mouth  just  made  for  a  smile 
and  she  knows  how  to  laugh  with  her  eyes, 
too.  Quite  a  dish,  Scotty.  Facts  and  fig- 
ures? Five-foot-five,  in  her  nylons,  fight- 
ing weight,  118,  stripped,  and  don't  think 
anything  is  here  when  it  ought  to  be  there. 

You  can  tell  she's  part  Russian — half,  in 


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iact,  because  her  mother  was  born  there — 
and  right  off  I  caught  a  hint  of  Olga 
Baclanova  in  her  face  and  beautiful  Vilma 
Banky,  too,  the  Hungarian  blond  dream 
of  the  Silents.  But  that's  digging  pretty  far 
back  in  my  Hollywood  Souvenirs.  The 
modern  critics  tab  Scotty  half  Dietrich  and 
half  Bacall.  I  think  maybe  she's  just  Liza- 
beth  Scott,  which  is  enough.  And  if  it 
isn't — well,  there's  the  voice. 

It's  low  and  deep  and  comes  from  way 
down  inside  somewhere  and  it's  abso- 
lutely hypnotic.  A  "whisky"  voice  without 
the  hangover,  because  there's  no  huskiness 
at  all.  Lizabeth  thinks  she  might  have  got 
it  trying  to  be  an  opera  singer  when  she 
was  nine  years  old  and  yodeling  at  the  top 
of  her  lungs.  Certainly  it's  not  fr-om  cock- 
tails, because  she  doesn't  drink. 

Other  day  she  tripped  past  the  cashier's 
booth  in  a  Beverly  Hills  restaurant  to  use 
the  pay  phone  (she  carries  tons  of 
nickels — naturally  there  are  no  phones  in 
her  fly-by-night  hangouts)  and  as  she 
tripped  back  to  her  booth  she  heard  the 
cashier  whispering  to  a  waitress,  "I  tell 
you — I'm  certain  I've  seen  that  voice  in 
the  movies!" 

battle  cry  .  .  . 

That's  about  what  you  do — you  see  Liza- 
beth's  voice.  It's  part  of  her  personality 
and  that  personality  is  something  that  does 
things  to  most  everyone  it  bangs  up 
against,  even  by  remote  control.  You 
aren't  neutral  about  Scott;  you  love  her 
ar  loathe  her — but  whatever  you  do,  it's 
a  cinch  your  blood  pressure  rises. 

When  Lizabeth  played  "You  Came 
Along"  over  the  air  at  the  Lux  Theater, 
she  got  mixed  up  in  the  melee  that 
swarmed  over  her  co-star  on  the  show, 
Van  Johnson.  If  you're  a  Van  fan,  you 
snow  the  war  cry  now  is,  "I  leve  you, 
Van!"  So  to  kid  America's  boy  friend, 
Lizabeth — who  has  a  wicked  sense  of 
iumor — breathed  ardently,  right  out  in 
public,  "Oh,  I  just  l-o-o-o-ve  you,  Van!" 
'Van  got  a  kick  out  of  that,  so  after  the 
show  he  sent  her  some  posies  with  a  card, 
"I  l-o-o-o-ve  you,  too!" 

Well,  it  was  all  a  gay  gag  but  it  landed 
•ight  in  print  in  a  column  and  pretty  soon 
liizabeth  got  a  sizzling  letter  like  this  from 
i  fighting-mad  maid  in  New  Jersey:  "Miss 
Scott — Say,  I  just  read  that  you  and  Van 
Johnson  are  sort  of  getting  together  and — 
isten  you — stay  away  from  my  Van,  do 
7ou  hear?  I've  had  enough  of  you  Holly- 
vood  wolverines  going  on  the  make  for 
/an.  I  suffered  through  Sonja  Henie  and 
larned  if  I'll  suffer  through  you.   If  this 
sn't  true,  then  I  apologize.  But  if  it  is — 
I  |'ou  lay  off  or  I'll  fix  you!" 
|  See  what  I  mean?  That's  what  Lizabeth 
I  Scott  does  to  people,  gets  them  all  hot  and 
>othered.   There's  no  set  of  toilers  more 
>ored  with  watching   movie   stars  than 
heater  projectionists.   They  have  to  dish 
i  ut  glamor  day  in  and  night  out  and  most 
lollywood  cuties  are  just  a  big  yawn  in 
heir  lives.   Well,  the  impact  of  Scott  in 
.er  first  picture  snapped  them  right  to 
ttention.    They  got  together,   20,000  of 
hem,  and  officially  named  Scotty  "Miss 
•it-Up-In-Your-Seat"  or  something. 
So  maybe  I'd  better  apologize  to  those 
ress   agents.    Maybe   the   gal   is  "The 
'hreat"  after  all.  If  so,  it's  something  she 
Jst  can't  help.    The  very  first  tag  she 
ollected,  as  a  mere  moppet,  was  a  predic- 
on  of  things  to  come.    Scotty 's  kiddie 
ickname  was — "The  Showoff." 
That's  what  the  kids   called  Lizabeth 
ack  in  Scranton,  Pennsylvania,  her  home 
awn,  where  she  started  making  her  pres- 
nce  felt  at  an  early   age.    Maybe  the 
lwarted  artistic  chromosomes  from  her 
lother  ganged  up  on  her,  because  Papa 
cott  was  a  nice,  normal  real  estate  man 
ith  four  offspring  to  worry  about,  Liza- 
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longed  to  be  an  opera  diva,  and  so,  as  I 
said,  did  Lizabeth,  when  she  was  still  in 
pigtails.  In  fact  she  had  a  Plan. 

It  was  very  romantic  and  rather  touch- 
ing. Deanna  Durbin  started  it  all.  Scotty 
saw  Deanna  in  her  early  singing  epics  and 
got  a  terrible  frustration  complex.  She 
was  thirteen  then— Scotty,  not  Deanna— 
and  she  decided  she  was  a  failure.  Nothing 
had  been  accomplished  whatever  and  she 
was  frittering  her  life  away.  The  plan 
was  to  immediately  become  a  super 
Deanna  Durbin,  achieve  fame  and  glory 
and  then  die  at  21,  preferably  via  a  lovely 
wasting-away-with-consumption,  a  la  Ca- 
mille.  Lizabeth  used  to  sit  in  her  room 
and  sigh  soulfully  at  the  bitter-sweet  pic- 
ture. It  was  so  sad,  so  beautiful. 

Of  course,  the  prospect  at  that  time  of 
Miss  Elizabeth  Scott's  contracting  t.b.  was 
about  as  rosy  as  starting  a  banana  farm 
at  the  North  Pole.  She  was  a  rugged  little 
tomboy,  ripping  up  the  block  playing  cops 
and  robbers,  churning  the  local  swimming 
pools  into  foam  and  cheerfully  batting 
baseballs  through  windows. 

But  she  did  become  artistic  and  refined 
all  of  a  sudden  and  ambitions  sprouted  like 
mushrooms.  First  came  voice  teachers, 
then  elocution  teachers,  dancing  teachers' 
piano  teachers,  on  top  of  all  her  scholastic 
chores  at  Marywood,  the  convent  that 
was  doing  its  best  to  make  an  educated 
young  lady  out  of  our  hoyden  friend. 
Looking  back,  Lizabeth  wonders  how  all 
the  teachers  stood  her.  In  the  voice  de- 
partment, she  insisted  on  being  a  coloratura 
soprano  and  giving  out  with  Galli-Curci 
trills  when  it  was  obvious  she  was  de- 
signed by  nature  to  handle  "Old  Black 
Joe"  or  "Asleep  in  the  Deep." 

ah,  art  .  .  . 

None  of  these  growing  girl  endeavors 
lasted  too  long,  because  Lizabeth  (she 
dropped  the  "E"  later  on  when  thirteen 
became  her  lucky  number,  so  Lizabeth 
Scott  would  add  up — thirteen  letters,  count 
'em— thirteen)  was  always  flying  off  on 
new  ambitious  tangents.  She  heard  Doro- 
thy Thompson  on  the  radio  and  decided 
to  be  a  dashing  lady  journalist.  She  started 
reading  Emerson  (still  her  favorite  author) 
and  plunged  into  the  literary  life,  scrib- 
bling essays  and  poems  like  mad. 

It  was  a  flop  that  exposed  her  to  the 
drama.  One  summer  vacation,  after 
high  school  graduation,  Lizabeth  plugged 
for  a  counselor's  job  at  a  girl's  camp, 
but  she  missed  at  the  last  minute  and 
faced  the  awful  prospect  of  an  idle 
three  months  before  college.  A  stock 
company  in  woodsy  Lake  Ariel,  Pennsyl- 
vania, not  far  from  Scranton,,  seemed  the 
best  outdoors  bet,  so  Daddy  Scott  coughed 
up  the  necessary  $50  tuition  and  Lizabeth 
got  out  of  town.  Even  though  about  all 
she  did  was  carry  trays  onstage  as  a 
maid,  shift  scenery  and  sell  tickets,  the 
whole  idea  intrigued  her  no  end.  It  was 
the  best  time  of  her  young  life  so  far 
and  she  trooped  back  to  Scranton  in  the 
fall  and  broke  the  news  to  Mama  and  Dad. 

"I've  got  to  go  to  New  York  and  study 
acting,"  she  said.  "Immediately." 

"You,"  they  came  back,  "are  going  on  to 
college." 

"No,"  said  Lizabeth,  meaning  it.  So  Liza- 
beth whisked  up  to  Manhattan,  all  of 
seventeen-years-old,  to  drama  school,  with 
a  cozy  check  from  home  to  bolster  her 
dreams. 

Her  choice  was  the  Alviene  School,  in- 
stead of  the  glamorous  American  Academy 
of  Dramatic  Arts,  because,  as  Lizabeth  will 
cheerfully  confess,  "I  simply  had  to  be  a 
big  piece  of  cake  in  a  small  dish." 

Scotty  checked  into  the  Ferguson  Resi- 
dential Hall,  full  of  dramatic  students 
like  herself,  and  if  you  saw  the  movie, 
"Stage  Door,"  years  ago,  you  have  a  fair 
picture  of  the  life  Scotty  led.  Young  stage- 


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struck  females  are  pretty  fierce,  as  a  class 
(I  know — I  was  one  once),  making  faces, 
striking  attitudes  and  generally  hamming 
up  the  joint,  but  Lizabeth  out-fierced  them. 
For  instance,  when  her  diction  teacher 
tried  to  pull  her  deep  voice  up  high,  she 
set  her  on  Shakespeare  and  said,  ''Bring 
your  tones  up  in  your  head,  your  head, 
my  deah" — and  Lizabeth  got  so  lah-de-dah 
and  high-toned  Shakespearian  in  her  daily 
diction  that  all  her  girl  friends  stopped 
speaking  to  her!  Another  time,  she  took  in 
Katharine  Hepburn's  Broadway  show,  "The 
Philadelphia  Story."  which  was  full  of 
pretty  frank  words  and  phrases.  What 
friends  she  had  left  around  the  Ferguson 
retreat  fled  in  horror,  as  Liza  started 
slinging  Katie's  earthy  cracks  around. 

It  was  all  acting,  of  course,  "I'm  a 
natural-born  ham  anyway,"  Lizabeth  will 
confess.  But  besides  that  she  did  a  year 
of  drama  school  study  plays — Maugham, 
Barrie,  the  Brontes,  etc. — and  then  traveled 
down  to  the  Barter  Theater  in  Abingdon, 
Virginia,  where  Greg  Peck  earlier  had 
learned  his  cues  and  exits.  Passing  back 
through  Scranton,  a  year  older  and  wiser, 
Lizabeth  tangled  once  more  with  that  fam- 
ily on-to-college  campaign  and  this  time 
she  couldn't  bluff  Mama.  "The  check  is 
ten  dollars  a  week,  and  that's  all,  if  you 
defy  our  wishes,"  said  the  Scotts.  But 
they  suspected  that's  exactly  what  Scotty 
would  do — and  she  did. 

cross  country  clotheshorse  .  .  . 

She  got  a  room  for  six  dollars  a  week 
and  ate  off  the  other  four,  and  I  won't 
go  into  the  gruesome  details  of  that  old 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp  up  and  down  Broad- 
way. The  wise-guy  agents  soothed  her 
with  "too  young,"  "too  Russian  looking," 
"too  tall,"  too  this  and  too  that.  But  they 
didn't  give  her  any  jobs.  The  first  time  she 
got  a  toe-hold  on  a  salary  check  was  in — 
of  all  things — "Hellzapoppin'." 

Lizabeth  chased  that  one  down  on  a 
Broadway  tip  and  found  sixty  other  girls 
there  ahead  of  her.  She  weathered  the 
weeding  out  until  it  was  a  standoff  be- 
tween her  and  a  dark-haired  lovely.  She 
came  back  every  day  for  five  days  reading 
lines  and  parading  around  and  the  sus- 
pense was  terrific.  Her  lines  weren't  any- 
thing very  arty.  Just,  '"Hello,  boys,  what's 
going  on  here?"  as  Liza  remembers,  but 
saying  them  over  and  over  and  being  on 
exhibition  daily  like  a  colt  at  auction  got 
her  goat  and  finally  she  exploded,  "I  don't 
give  a  darn  about  the  job  (which  was  a 
he) — but  who  gets  it — me  or  the  brunette 
girl?"  They  said,  "Okay,  you  do — go  get 
your  wardrobe  fitting." 

That  launched  Lizabeth  into  show  busi- 
ness, touring  the  country,  being  mostly 
a  pretty  stooge  for  an  Olsen  and  John- 
son blackout,  sliding  around  in  slinky 
gowns  and  working  gags  in  the  audiences 
of  that  crazy,  crackpot  show.  But  she  ate 
—and  she  got  acquainted  with  show  busi- 
ness minus  the  glamor  gilt,  which  I  main- 
tain is  a  healthy  experience  for  any  Holly- 
wood-bound lady.  She  rubbed  elbows 
with  rough  and  ready  vaudevillians,  played 
one-night  stands  in  a  row,  climbed  on 
eaky  trains  at  dawn,  slept  in  funny 
eatrical  hotels  and  rubbed  off  the  arty 
dges  and  learned  to  protect  herself  in 
:he  clinches — all  for  $50  a  week. 

But  at  that  she  had  just  $120  saved  up 
•vhen  her  contract  dumped  her  back  in 
^ew  York,  a  year  later,  which  guaranteed 
"ler  three  months  rent  in  a  converted 
naids'  room  at  the  Hotel  des  Artistes,  at 
535  a  month.  So  Lizabeth  hit  the  pave- 
ments again  and  found  herself  another 
ob,  this  time  in  a  stock  company  at  the 
Jalm  Garden  Theater,  not  such  a  much. 
<  So  instead  of  using  the  unelegant  Palm 
Jarden  Theater,  she  just  tossed  off  her 
ngagement  as  "I'm  playing  drama  a  block 
rom  the  Theater  Guild."   That  sounded 


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better.  She  got  $20  a  week  for  doing 
things  like  "Rain"  and  "Personal  Appear- 
ance," and  all  the  time  Lizabeth  kept  one 
eye  on  Broadway.  And  when  "Skin  of 
Our  Teeth"  started  cooking  she  was 
J ohnny  on  the  spot  in  the  producer's 
office,  hitting  him  for  a  job.  She  expected 
the  answer,  "No,  nothing  for  you,"  but 
she  pulled  that  "Theater  Guild"  address 
again  and  the  amused  producer  said 
"Well,  maybe  I'll  drop  in  some  night  and 
catch  your  play."  He  wasn't  fooling,  either, 
because  one  night  after  "Personal  Appear- 
ance" he  showed  up  and  almost  made 
Lizabeth  swoon  by  offering  her  the 
job  of  understudy  to  Tallulah  Bankhead! 

It  was  sort  of  a  stunt  at  the  start  to 
have  a  twenty-year-old  girl  understudying 
Tallu.  But  Bankhead  was  regarded  as 
practically  indestructible  and  needing  an 
understudy  like  a  hole  in  her  head,  which 
was  about  the  size  of  things  the  way  it 
turned  out.  Lizabeth  stewed  and  simmered 
and  heaved  and  sighed  for  seven  long 
months  until  she  was  a  case  for  a  psy- 
chiatrist. And  all  that  time  Tallulah  never 
even  worked  up  a  hangnail.  But  Liza 
waited  and  watched  and  studied  and  re- 
hearsed and  Tallu  noted  approvingly. 

the  show  goes  on  .  .  . 

It  was  three  weeks  later  that  Lizabeth 
Scott  got  a  chance  to  prove  herself.  She'd 
quit  the  show  with  Tallulah,  and  was  get- 
ting her  nerves  back  in  shape  from  the 
frustrations  and  disappointments.  So  she 
was  home  and  in  her  robe  at  a  quarter  to 
eight  when  the  telephone  rang. 

"Can  you  come  down  to  the  theater 
right  away?"  panted  a  wild  stage  man- 
ager. "Miriam  Hopkins  is  sick  and  can't 
go  on.  You  know  the  part  better  than 
anyone  in  town.  Hurry,  hurry,  hurry!" 

So  Lizabeth  hurried.  It  was  a  case  of 
Fate  daring  her  to  do  it.  But  in  forty-five 
minutes  she  was  making  up  and  the  cur- 
tain went  up  a  little  late,  but  it  went  up. 
The  manager  was  right;  nobody  in  town 
knew  the  Bankhead  part  better  than  Liza- 
beth Scott.  She  could  practically  spell  it 
backwards.  So  she  waltzed  right  through 
it  without  fluffing  a  line — and  one  of  the 
audience  who  applauded  her  loudest  was 
a  fellow,  Joe  Russell,  a  press  agent  who 
knew  Hal  Wallis,  the  Warner  Brothers' 
production  boss,  who  was  in  town.  That's 
how  he  became  Mister  Coincidence,  start- 
ing all  the  things  that  followed. 

Because  one  afternoon  this  press  agent 
met  Hal  Wallis  at  a  cocktail  party  and 
raved  about  Lizabeth  Scott  as  an  actress 
and  a  Hollywood  picture  prospect.  Sold, 
Hal  sent  a  wire  to  Scotty's  address  sug- 
gesting an  interview.  But  before  the 
Western  Union  boy  made  it,  Scotty  and 
her  date  had  made  some  plans.  It  was 
the  eve  of  her  twenty-first  birthday  and 
she  was  very  low.  Here  she  was,  twenty- 
one,  with  no  fame  or  fortune — and  not 
even  a  trace  of  consumption  to  start  her 
wasting  away  in  Camille  style.  She  was 
singing  the  blues  to  her  boy  friend.  He 
said,  "A  sure  cure  for  you  is  the  Stork 
Club.    Go  get  your  hat." 

Scotty's  blues  turned  to  anger  when  a 
man  smack  across  from  her  table  kept 
staring  at  her  as  if  he'd  seen  a  vision. 
"Who's  that?"  she  asked  her  date,  testily. 

"Hal  Wallis,"  he  said.    "A  big  shot." 

"Well,"  huffed  Scotty,  "what's  he  staring 
at  me  for?" 

She  didn't  know  a  wire  from  this  same 
Hal  Wallis  was  right  now  under  her  door. 
He  didn't  know  the  girl  who  captured  his 
eyes  was  this  Lizabeth  Scott  he'd  been 
hearing  about  and  had  wired  for  a  date. 
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after  her  birthday  evening.  The  wire  was 
an  interview — object,  Hollywood. 

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telegram  the  next  morning,  one  offering 
her  the  job  doing  "Skin  of  Our  Teeth"  in 
Boston,  and  right  away.  So  Scotty  sent 
Wallis  a  wire  herself,  saying  sorry  she 
couldn't  make  the  date — and  that  was  the 
end  of  Scott  versus  Hollywood,  so  far. 

Lizabeth  was  still  pretty  stagestruck  at 
that  point  and  Hollywood,  anyhow,  was  a 
horrible  drama  factory  and  stifling  to  the 
artiste,  as  everybody  knew.  Besides,  she 
thought  the  Boston  stage  engagement 
would  set  her  right  up  for  keeps  on  Broad- 
way. Was  she  wrong!  After  her  three 
weeks  in  Beantown,  Lizabeth  couldn't 
wedge  a  slipper  in  a  casting  office.  She 
had  to  have  a  job — so  she  modelled  for  a 
famous  fashion  magazine — and  how  did 
she  know  that  was  to  be  her  first  ticket 
to  Hollywood?  Like  Lauren  Bacall,  among 
others. 

Funny  part  was,  the  agent,  Charles 
Feldman,  who  saw  her  photogenic  face 
in  the  fashion  bible  and  wired  offering  to 
pay  her  way  to  Hollywood  for  screen  tests, 
had  no  idea  Lizabeth  had  ever  even  acted 
in  a  high  school  play,  let  alone  emoted 
on  Broadway!  A  crazy  business! 

wish  for  a  star  .  .  . 

Lizabeth  thought  it  was,  too,  after  six 
months  of  living  at  the  plush  Beverly  Hills 
Hotel,  with  the  agency  paying  the  bills, 
making  tests  all  over  town — Twentieth- 
Fox,  Universal,  International,  Warner 
Brothers — watching  them  curl  her  hair  in 
frizzy  frills  on  top  of  her  head  and  cover 
her  best  features  with  makeup — and  then 
telling  her,  as  they  did  at  Warners',  "Sorry 
— but  you'll  never,  never  be  a  star." 

But  her  good  fairy,  Hal  Wallis,  caught 
up  with  her  again,  although  Lizabeth  got 
sore  at  her  future  boss  for  the  second 
time,  before  they  finally  got  together  on 
things.  The  first  time  it  was  the  Stork 
Club  staring  that  did  it.  This  time  Liza- 
beth walked  into  Hal  Wallis'  office  after 
Warner  Brothers'  very  positive  negative 
report  on  her  picture  prospects.  When  he 
said,  "I'm  sorry.  But  if  it  was  up  to  me, 
I'd  give  you  a  contract  without  even  a 
test,"  Scotty  was  inclined  to  burn.  If  the 
production  boss  of  Warners  couldn't  give 
her  a  break — who  could?  She  discovered 
it  wasn't  double  talk,  though,  a  couple  of 
days  later  when  she  picked  up  a  Holly- 
wood paper  and  read  where  Hal  Wallis 
had  left  Warners  to  head  his  own  produc- 
tion company.  That  explained  the  cryptic 
remark.  And  when  Mr.  W.  finally  did  come 
through  for  our  Liza  he  did  it  in  a  big  way. 
Not  only  by  starring  her  in  her  first  pic- 
ture, but  by  backing  Scotty  all  the  way 
against  the  director  who  thought  she  was 
too  green  a  pea  for  the  job.  At  the  end,  I 
might  add,  this  skeptical  director,  Johnny 
Farrow,  turned  into  one  of  Lizabeth's  best 
boosters. 

beautiful  babe  with  brains  .  .  . 

That's  the  surprising  effect  Lizabeth 
Scott  has  on  people  who  get  to  know  her. 
At  first,  maybe  like  John  Farrow,  they're 
all  set  for  a  young,  frivolous,  decorative 
but  dumb  female.  Instead,  they  find,  a 
level-headed,  hard-working,  very  sharp 
young  miss  who  knows  her  acting  P's 
and  Q's.  There  were  forty-nine  shoot- 
ing days  in  "You  Came  Along"  and  Liza- 
beth worked  forty-seven  of  them.  Before 
that  started  she  kibitzed  on  all  the  sets 
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nstructions. 


NAME  . 


I  ADDRESS  

I 

I  CITY   STATE. 

J  - '6    r_  ___________________ 


deep-thinking  writers  like  Emerson  and 
Thomas  Mann.  She's  learning  to  speak 
Russian  in  her  spare  hours.  She's  a  6  a.m. 
riser  because  she  likes  to  walk  alone  in  the 
early  morning,  so  she's  usually  bedded 
down  by  ten.  Result,  Lizabeth  doesn't 
know  a  soul  in  the  Hollywood  social  swim, 
and  doesn't  care  to.  She  plays  the  piano 
and  falls  musically  for  Delius'  music.  She 
doesn't  own  a  car  and  isn't  thinking  of 
buying  one  soon.  She  swims  at  the  Santa 
Monica  public  beach  (and  wow,  what  a 
tan  she  takes!),  can't  stand  French  heels, 
and  although  she's  not  embarrassingly  tall 
at  all,  (five-foot-five)  Lizabeth  pads  along 
on  fla tears.  Her  closets  are  jammed  with 
cotton  blouses,  checked  gingham  skirts, 
straw  slippers,  bandana  scarves — gay,  un- 
glamorous  rags — but  even  they  can't  go 
wrong  on  Liza.  Her  entire  jewel  box  hoard 
adds  up  to  a  silver  gremlin  a  Polish  flyer 
earned  for  fifty-six  missions  and  sent  her, 
and  a  bangle  with  lucky  charms  for  her 
two  pictures  and  other  milestones  in  her 
career. 

chasing  after  handbags  .  .  . 

I'm  not  trying  to  deglamorize  Lizabeth 
a  whit.  Nobody  could  really  do  that — not 
even  Scotty,  who  states  frankly  that  she 
"likes  to  be  alone."  That  she's  "serious," 
"pedantic,"  "disciplined."  Well,  those  vir- 
tues never  hurt  a  new  Hollywood  star, 
especially  if  she  can  take  what  comes  next 
in  precarious  Hollywood  with  a  sense  of 
humor — and  that's  easy  for  her. 

It's  no  joke  being  booted  around  from 
pillar  to  post  and  living  out  of  your  suit- 
cases, which  has  been  Scotty 's  fate  for  a 
year  or  more  now.  But  to  hear  Lizabeth 
tell  it,  the  whole  thing  twinkles  like  a 
comedy  routine.  Last  fall,  hopping  off  the 
train  from  New  York,  the  porter  tossed 
her  bags  in  somebody  else's  car  and  off 
they  rolled  with  every  stitch  she  owned. 
That  night  the  Beverly  hotel  who'd  prom- 
ised reservations  backed  down  on  her.  No 
clothes  and  no  bed  is  not  a  normal  recipe 
for  laughs,  but  Scotty  turned  the  luggage 
chase  into  a  merry  treasure  hunt,  which 
took  two  whole  days,  and  kept  her  mind 
off  the  housing  situation. 

movie  lady  .  .  . 

Already,  she's  had  two  funny  samples 
of  what  it  means  to  be  a  Hollywood  per- 
sonality and  has  reacted  with  adult  humor 
to  both  of  them.  Her  cleaning  woman, 
Dilly,  told  Lizabeth,  "I  usually  charge 
seventy-five  cents  an  hour,  but  seeing 
you're  a  movie  lady,  I'll  make  it  a  dollar." 
Lizabeth  found,  too,  that  being  a  Holly- 
wood personality,  she  was  expected  to 
have  a  hobby.  Well,  she  didn't  have  one  to 
her  name,  but  she  fixed  that.  She  went 
downtown  to  a  glassware  store  and  bought 
a  wholesale  load  of  blown  glass  animals — a 
regular  glass  menagerie — which  she  now 
places  on  a  prominent  front  room  table 
wherever  she  stops.  The  first  thing  she 
says  now,  when  she  gets  herself  inter- 
viewed, is  "Have  you  seen  my  hobby? 
Look  them  over." 

The  other  night  Lizabeth  set  out  on  one 
of  her  solitary  evenings  at  a  movie.  She 
whipped  around  the  corner  from  her  tiny 
temporary  apartment  in  slacks,  a  wrap- 
around raincoat,  slippers,  and  a  bandana 
around  her  honey -hued  hair.  She  wasn't 
hiding  out,  but  the  effect  was  the  same. 
She  looked  about  as  much  like  a  movie 
star  as  Rosie  the  Riveter. 

She  bought  a  ticket  to  see  her  favorite 
actress,  Ingrid  Bergman,  in  "The  Bells  of 
St  Mary's"  and  handed  it  to  the  usher  guy. 
"This  way,  please,"  he  grinned.  And  then 
he  said — what  is  it? — oh,  yes. 

He  said,  "Hubba!  Hubba!" 

So  I  guess  I  give  up.  Long  live  Lizabeth 
Scott,  the  Hubba-Hubba  Girl!  Only  in  my 
days,  we  had  another  name  for  it.  We 
called  it,  "It." 


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DIVINE  SWEDE 

(Continued  from  page  59) 


played  in  "Rage  in  Heaven"  at  M-G-M 
while  Greta  made  "Ninotchka."  Ingrid 
was  lonely  then,  in  a  strange,  bewildering 
land,  away  from  her  husband  and  baby, 
yet  Garbo  never  once  called  to  welcome 
her  countrywo/nan,  and  though  she  passed 
Bergman  many  times  on  the  studio  lot, 
that  icy  lady  didn't  even  smile.  And  it's 
typical  Ingrid  that,  despite  this  snub,  she 
still  thinks  Garbo  is  wonderful! 

But  Greta  Garbo  is  no  longer  Holly- 
wood News  and  Ingrid  Bergman  is — 
very  definitely.  Nominated  for  Academy 
Awards  two  years  in  a  row,  it's  hard  to 
see  how  Hollywood  can  duck  making  that 
a  habit  from  now  on.  Ingrid  has  proved 
herself  already  a  greater  actress  than 
Greta  ever  was,  by  handling  a  variety 
of  roles  like  "For  Whom  the  Bell  Tolls," 
"Gaslight,"  "Saratoga  Trunk,"  "Spell- 
bound," and  "The  Bells  of  St.  Mary's" 
— and  making  them  all  shine  as  unfor- 
gettable Hollywood  gems. 

Yet,  because  she  is  Garbo's  successor  to 
Hollywood's  most  queenly  crown  and  a 
fellow  Swede,  even  born  in  the  same  city 
of  Stockholm,  the  mystical,  glacial  Garbo 
legend — by  force  of  Hollywood  habit — ■ 
sometimes  swirls  around  her  head.  Noth- 
ing could  be  nuttier.  Not  only  as  stars, 
but  as  persons,  Divine  Swede  Number  I 
and  II  are  as  different  as  night  and  day. 

Bergman  is  natural,  human  and  un- 
sophisticated— with  a  heart  which  doesn't 
beat  for  herself  alone. 

One  late  afternoon  during  the  war,  for 
instance,  Ingrid  stood  on  a  storm-swept 
airfield  in  Chicago  and  fretted  for  a  bunch 
of  people  she  had  never  met.  She  was  on 
a  bond  selling  tour  at  the  time,  and  as  the 
local  committee  had  got  itself  all  mixed 
up,  she  had  missed  the  train  that  was  to 
take  her  to  Indianapolis. 

The  only  way  to  make  it  was  to  fly, 
but  when  she  got  to  the  airport  to  board 
the  Army  plane,  the  skies  were  gray  and 
the  order  came  through:  "All  Army  planes 
are  grounded." 

Ingrid  waited  an  hour  at  the  field.  The 
storm  got  worse  instead  of  better.  The 
grounding  order  still  held.  She  was  stuck 
there,  but  her  thoughts  were  on  the  crowd 
at  Indianapolis  and  how  disappointed 
they'd  be.  She  pestered  the  dispatcher 
every  minute  or  so,  and  finally  a  man  in 
civilian  slacks  and  a  leather  jacket  came 
up  and  tipped  his  hat. 

"Understand  you  want  to  get  to  Indi- 
anapolis pretty  bad,  m'am,"  he  said. 
"Well,  I've  got  a  single-motor  private  job 
here  and  I'll  fly  you,  if  you  want  to  go." 

flying  high  .  .  . 

For  all  Ingrid  knew,  this  unidentified 
birdman  could  barely  fly  a  kite,  and  per- 
haps his  crate  was  a  box  of  paper  and 
bailing  wire.  But  she  said,  "I  certainly 
do,"  hopped  in  and  flew  off  through  the 
storm  that  the  U.  S.  Army  considered 
too  rough  for  its  rugged  planes  and  pilots! 

Last  year,  before  leaving  Hollywood  for 
her  GI  entertainment  tour  overseas,  In- 
grid Bergman  took  her  shots,  just  like 
everyone  else  who  joins  the  Army.  She 
knew  they'd  make  her  temporarily  woozy 
but  she  thought  by  the  time  the  train  ar- 
rived in  New  York,  where  she  was  to 
join  up  with  Jack  Benny,  Martha  Tilton 
and  Larry  Adler,  the  harmonica  king, 
she'd  be  okay. 

But  the  train  was  over  air-conditioned, 
and  she  arrived  in  Manhattan  in  the  midst 
of  a  sweltering  scorcher.  With  the  shot 
reactions,  it  all  added  up  to  a  bad  cold 
collapse  which  sent  her  to  bed  with  a  high 
fever.  The  doctors  arrived  and  their  ver- 


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diet  was,  "You'll  have  to  cancel  your  over- 
seas tour  and  return  to  Hollywood." 

Jack  Benny  and  the  rest  of  the  troupe 
called  to  tell  her  goodbye.  "Don't  worry, ': 
stated  Ingrid,  biting  her  thermometer 
grimly,  "I'll  meet  you  in  Paris."  They  told 
her  not  to  dare  be  so  silly  and  went  on 
across  the  Atlantic.  Ingrid  spent  four  days 
whipping  her  fever,  then  she  announced 
to  her  head-wagging  medical  advisors. 
"I'm  going  to  go  now — and  nobody's  going 
to  stop  me!"  So  she  wobbled  out  of  bed. 
packed  her  bags  and  climbed  into  an  Army 
C-54.  And  finally  showed  up,  as  she  said 
she  would,  in  Paris,  a  little  shaky,  but  all 
in  one  piece,  to  make  the  eyes  of  Jack 
Benny  and  his  gang  pop  out  of  their  sockets 

She  probably  wouldn't  have  got  by  with 
that  if  her  favorite  physician  and  husband. 
Dr.  Peter  Lindstrom,  had  been  there  to 
hold  her  down,  but  as  it  was,  she  suffered 
no  ill  effects  and  got  the  thrill  of  her  life, 
standing  on  swastika  banners  in  Hitler's 
Nazi  Stadium  at  Nuremberg  and  reciting 
Lincoln's  Gettysburg  speech  while  Larry 
Adler  played  "The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Re- 
public" for  40,000  U.  S.  soldiers. 

a  "natural"  .  .  . 

Ingrid  Bergman  would  be  the  last  tc 
tell  a  story  like  that  on  herself,  and  she'dr 
be  shocked  to  have  it  attributed  to  any 
personal  heroics.  And  with  Bergman  it  isn't 
that  either.  It's  just  that  she  does  not  con- 
sider herself  any  sort  of  a  special  person. 

She  never  wears  dark  glasses  to  dis- 
guise herself.  She  doesn't  work  secretly 
on  closed  sets.  She  drives  her  own  little 
old  cream  colored  Studebaker  coupe  wher- 
ever she  goes.  She  sends  her  most  precious 
possession,  daughter  Pia,  to  Beverly  Hills 
public  schools.  She  chews  gum  unashamed-^ 
ly,  occasionally  croons  an  ancient  Hit  Pa-' 
rade  number  like  "  Jingle-Jangle-Jingle,' 
or  "Don't  Fence  Me  In."  She  has  never  beer 
to  a  beauty  operator;  she  doesn't  even  use{ 
cosmetics.  She  reads  the  comic  strips  an" 
laughs  out  loud,  and  listens  happily  to 
few  radio  screwballs  like  Bob  Hope.  She'si 
never  yet  gone  any  place  to  be  seen,  bu1 
she'll  go  anywhere  to  enjoy  herself  or  tc 
get  something  she  likes. 

On  one  of  her  trips  to  New  York,  In- 
grid checked  into  her  hotel  and  wa 
promptly  called  by  a  New  York  studii 
representative.  He  asked  if  there  was 
anywhere  he  could  take  her,  anythin 
he  could  do.  How  about  dinner? 

"Oh,  no  thank  you.  I'm  going  over  tc 
Hamburger  Heaven,"  said  Ingrid. 

The  startled  gentleman  coughed.  Die 
he  hear  right?  The  great  Miss  Bergman1? 
"Hamburger  Heaven?"  he  repeated  weakly 

"I  like  the  hamburgers,"  laughed  In 
grid.  And  that's  where  she  went.  Afte 
that  she  tripped  on  by  herself  to  Schrafft' 
for  a  gooey  chocolate  concoction  she  fan 
cies.  Schrafft's  chain  of  unglamorous  res 
taurants  is  one  of  her  favorite  New  Yorl 
eating  places.  One  morning,  eating  a  lat 
breakfast  there,  Ingrid  read  her  mornin; 
paper  as  she  sipped  her  second  cup  o 
coffee  (her  favorite  brew) .  Finally  a  wait 
ress  came  up. 

"If  you're  through,  could  you  give  th 
table  to  someone  else?"  she  asked.  "Peo 
pie   are   waiting   to  ■  be   served."  Ingric 
blushed  and  got  right  up  with  apologies' 
The  waitress  had  no  idea  who  she  was.  bu 
as  she  hurried  out,  the  people  taking  he: 
place    thought    they    spotted  something 
"Aren't  you  Ingrid  Bergman?"  asked  ; 
lady.    Ingrid  nodded.    "Oh,  pardon  us,] 
said  the  lady.  "We'd  never  have  botherec 
you  if  we'd  known  who  it  was." 

"I  hope  you'll  pardon  me,"  came  bad 
Bergman,  honestly  contrite.  "I'm  sorry; 
didn't  think."  And  she  blushed  again 
That's  Bergman.  No  haughty  person  i 
ever  troubled  with  blushing,  but  Ingrid 
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Because  she  looks  so  little  like  Miss 
Movie  Star,  Ingrid  Bergman  can  usually- 
pass  unnoticed.  She  strides  around  New 
York  without  much  trouble  from  auto- 
graph mobs.  When  they  do  catch  up  to  her, 
sometimes  they  can't  keep  up  with  her. 

Ingrid  walks  like  a  man,  with  long 
strides  that  cover  ground.  That  gives  her 
an  advantage  when  anything  happens  such 
as  happened  one  night  when  she  took  in  a 
Broadway  play  at  a  theater  down  on  44th 
Street  near  Eighth  Avenue.  There  the  Hol- 
lywood and  Broadway  wise  crowd  spotted 
her  when  she  came  out  and  she  being  Big 
Game,  they  started  to  swarm  all  over  In- 
grid. It  was  raining  cats  and  dogs,  and  the 
besiegers  guessed  that  Ingrid  would  be  cor- 
nered under  the  marquee  while  she  tried 
to  hook  a  cab.    They  didn't  know  Ingrid! 

Two  hours  in  the  stuffy  theater  had 
already  made  her  resolve  to  walk  back  to 
her  hotel.  Rain?  That  only  made  it  more 
interesting.  It  was  a  surprised  bunch  of 
autograph  wolves  who  watched  the  tall 
Swedish  beauty  duck  into  the  downpour 
and  glide  up  Eighth  Avenue.  The  couple 
or  so  who  raced  after  her  got  a  damp  sig- 
nature or  two,  but  darned  few  of  them, 
even  though  they  braved  a  wetting,  could 
catch  up  with  the  racing  Ingrid. 

cosmopolitan  milkmaid  .  .  . 

Although  her  cream-and-butter  com- 
plexion makes  her  look  like  a  milkmaid 
right  off  the  farm,  Ingrid  Bergman  is  at 
home  in  the  world's  cities,  a  well-traveled 
cosmopolite  who  can  rattle  on  in  English, 
Swedish,  German  and  French.  She  was 
born  and  raised  in  an  apartment  house  in 
Stockholm  and  has  been  all  over  Europe 
and  more  of  America  than  most  Ameri- 
cans. She  practically  commuted  between 
Hollywood  and  Rochester,  New  York, 
when  her  husband  was  winding  up  his 
medical  studies  at  the  University  of  Ro- 
chester, and  later  between  Hollywood  and 
Palo  Alto  when  he  interned  at  Stanford 
University.  During  the  war  she  bustled 
here  and  there  in  the  United  States  and 
Canada  on  war  effort  appearances  besides 
her  overseas  tours.  She  likes  to  travel 
and  she  travels  easily.  She  was  the  dream 
girl  of  every  U.S.O.  and  Treasury  Depart- 
ment official,  Hollywood  Victory  Commit- 
tee escort  and  Chamber  of  Commerce 
chief,  wherever  she  went.  She  was  never 
late,  never  tired,  always  fresh  as  a  daisy. 

Mainly  that's  because  Ingrid's  every  bit 
as  disgustingly  healthy  as  she  looks.  She 
can  sleep  like  a  babe  on  a  train,  plane  or 
in  a  noisy  Manhattan  hotel,  and  she  can 
stay  up  half  the  night  and  still  roll  out 
at  dawn,  chipper  and  cheery  as  a  robin 
redbreast.  Because  she  depends  on  no 
feminine  beauty  gear  whatever  and  looks 
like  a  fashion  plate  in  a  few  simple  rags, 
she's  the  fastest  star  packer-and-unpacker 
ever  to  paste  a  Hollywood  label  on  her 
luggage.  Because  she  skips  all  usual  fem- 
inine beauty  routine,  she  can  be  ready 
to  go  as  fast,  or  faster,  than  a  man  can. 

A  couple  of  winters  ago,  Ingrid  traveled 
to  Minnesota  to  make  an  OWI  film  on  a 
Swedish  farm.  It  was  midwinter  and  she 
worked  outdoors  in  the  bitter  cold  of  18 
below  zero.  One  night  the  Swedish  consul 
in  Minneapolis  planned  a  party  for  her, 
but  that  day  the  shooting  rolled  along  un- 
til after  sundown.  They  left  the  farm  at 
eight  o'clock  and  the  city  was  two  hours 
away.  Ingrid  called  to  explain  her  delay, 
which  was  okay  with  the  consul  and  his 
guests.  Still,  when  she  arrived  at  her  hotel 
the  general  idea  was  "Hurry." 

At  that  point  Bergman  was  bundled  in 
heavy  sweaters,  wool  slacks  and  socks, 
galoshes  and  a  sheepskin.  She  had  worked 
outdoors  all  day.  She  had  to  have  a  bath 
and  change  into  evening  clothes,  groom 
herself  from  top  to  toes.  A  male  member 
of  the  company  stopping  at  the  same  hotel 
asked  her  how  soon  he  should  call. 


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"In  fifteen  minutes,"  said  Ingrid. 

He  took  that  with  a  grain  of  salt,  knov 
ing  women,  but  also  knowing  Bergma 
he  rushed  to  his  room  and  knocked  him 
self  out  getting  into  his  clothes.  At  fiftee 
minutes  on  the  dot  he  rapped  at  her  doc 
breathless  from  the  quick  change. 

Ingrid  opened  it.  There  she  was,  neat  ,. 
a  bandbox,  her  coat  on  her  arm. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  aske 
"I've  been  waiting  five  minutes." 

Ingrid  is  just  as  smoothly  efficient  at  horn 
and  home  is  where  she'd  rather  be  ths 
anywhere,  especially  since  she  lives  wi1 
her  family  in  the  first  house  they've  ev« 
owned.  Ingrid  calls  it  "the  barn."  It's 
mountain  lodge  type  place,  half  stone  ar 
half  timber  outside,  with  a  vaulted  ceilir 
inside.  It's  simple  and  unpretei 
tious,  but  comfortable,  friendly  and  moc 
ern,  like  its  mistress.  Mainly,  it's  just  thre 
bedrooms  and  one  big  living  room,  with  i 
cutie  pie  nook-and-cranny  architects 
which  distinguishes  so  many  movie  star 
dream  homes.  With  maybe  a  humoroi 
crack  at  Hollywood's  home  fashions,  Ir 
grid  and  her  husband  have  christens 
various  parts  of  the  spacious  main  roor 
The  chairs  and  sofa  by  the  big  fireplac 
for  instance,  are  "the  den."  Where  tr 
bookshelves  stand  is  "the  library."  And  1 
semi-circular  window  with  another  side 
table  is  "the  breakfast  nook." 

When  Ingrid  started  collecting  Acaderr 
Oscars,  best  actress  plaques,  cups,  frame 
citations  and  awards,  her  surgeon  husbar 
kidded  her.  "We'll  have  to  put  up  son 
shelves  and  build  a  'trophy  room'  here! 

Ingrid  developed  the  joke.  "A  wondei 
ful  idea,"  she  agreed  with  a  grin.  "We 
make  it  a  half-and-half  trophy  room.  Ha 
from  my  picture  prizes  and  half  your* 
from  your  operations!"  It's  a  standir 
joke  which  still  makes  them  chuckle 
picture  Bergman's  Oscars  alongside  bottle 
surgical  trophies — pieces  of  brain,  excise 
bones,  and  vermiform  appendices! 

Ingrid  knew  just  what  she  wanted  in 
dream  home,  long  before  the  Lindstron 
deserted  their  little  five-room  apartmei 
in  Beverly  Hills.  Luckily,  she  found  it 
ready  made,  perfectly  appointed  in  Swec 
ish  modern,  the  style  she  wanted. 

the  doctor  comes  first  .  .  . 

That's  where  the  Lindstroms  live, 
grid  and  Doctor  Peter,  Pia,  "Tiny,"  tl 
pup,  a  nurse  and  a  housekeeper.  And  it 
the  Lindstroms,  as  far  as  Ingrid  is  cor 
cerned,  not  the  Bergmans — because  she', 
much  more  impressed  with  the  work  he 
husband  does  than  the  work  she  doe 
He's  a  brain  surgeon  now,  stationed 
the  Los  Angeles  General  Hospital.  He  w 
a  dentist  when  Ingrid  married  him,  but  ir 
tent  on  being  a  surgeon.  When,  aft< . 
"Intermezzo,"  Hollywood  decided  it  hz 
to  have  this  Bergman  beauty  for  keep 
Dr.  Lindstrom  was  almost  through  h 
medical  studies  in  Sweden.  He  change 
his  plans,  so  he  could  be  with  Ingri 
and  transferred  to  American  schools.  Bi 
the  education  systems  are  different  ar 
many  of  his  credits  didn't  count  over  her 
The  switch  set  him  back  many  months,  bi 
he  set  about  doing  it  the  American  wa 
While  finishing  off  his  medico  cours 
Ingrid,  as  I  said,  was  with  him  every 
set  hour,  and  as  Mrs.  Peter  Lindstror 
She  never  permitted  a  photograph  ni 
gave  an  interview  about  their  home  life. 

When  Ingrid  went  on  location  to  Sv 
Valley  for  scenes  in  "Spellbound,"  Pet' 
went  along  and  they  skiied  together  in 
setting  reminiscent  of  their  courting  day 
He's  a  strong,  well-built  six-foot-twoe: 
and  an  excellent  athlete  and  skiier.  Sc 
Ingrid.  Her  skiing  scenes  in  "Spellbounc 
weren't  any  double  cutting  the  snow.  The 
were  Ingrid  herself. 

There's  another  sentimental  bond  the 
share  in  their  daughter  Pia.  To  make  tr 


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American  version  of  "Intermezzo"  (which 
was  originally  Bergman's  Swedish  starring 
film),  Ingrid  had  to  come  to  Hollywood  and 
leave  her  two-year-old  daughter  under 
Peter's  care  back  in  Stockholm.  When 
Ingrid  herself  was  only  two  her  mother 
died  and  her  photographer  father  under- 
took her  own  raising.  Pia's  name,  as  most 
everyone  knows,  is  derived  from  initials, 
"P"  for  Peter,  "I"  for  Ingrid,  and  "A"  for 
Aron,  her  husband's  middle  name. 

Today,  Pia  is  seven  and  a  miniature  In- 
grid Bergman,  right  down  to  the  sage- 
honey  hair,  the  peach  bloom  cheeks,  the 
bright  but  placid  nature.  She  goes  to  the 
Hawthorne  school  in  Beverly  Hills.  Up 
until  "The  Bells  of  St.  Mary's,"  Pia  had 
never  seen  her  famous  maw  on  the  screen, 
although  she  had  often  toddled  on  sets 
with  her  nurse  for  visits.  It  wasn't  always 
clear  to  Pia  just  what  Ingrid  was  doing 
but  now  she  knows,  although  she's  not  too 
impressed.  Her  nurse  took  her  to  see 
"The  Bells"  at  a  Beverly  Hills  show  and 
she  piped  "There's  Mama,"  and  that's 
about  all.  Much  more  exciting  was  the 
arrival  of  her  dog,  "Tiny." 

He  joined  the  Lindstrom  household 
straight  from  the  dog  jail,  the  Los  An- 
geles City  Pound,  of  which  he  was  prob- 
ably the  most  forlorn,  unaristocratic  look- 
ing inmate.  Ingrid  decided  it  was  time 
Pia  had  a  dog  pal,  but  Dr.  Lindstrom  was 
the  one  who  dropped  by  the  pound  and 
picked  him  out,  deliberately  choosing  the 
mutt  because  he  looked  so  sad  and  woe- 
begone. He  paid  $4  for  the  spotted,  liver- 
colored  "Tiny,"  distantly  related  to  a  Bos- 
ton bull,  and  Pia  was  delighted.  She 
named  the  pup  "Tiny"  and  it  stuck,  along 
with  Tiny  himself.  He's  a  firmly  estab- 
lished member  of  the  Bergman  household 
now,  although  still  sort  of  sad  looking. 

Ingrid's  a  good  mother  and  home  lover, 
and  like  all  Swedish  girls,  she  knows 
how  to  cook.  But  she's  not  the  domestic 
type,  always  fussing  with  pots  and  pans 
or  anything  like  that.  Starting  her  career 
early  and  already  an  established  actress 
when  she  was  married,  she  has  never  had 
time  to  be  a  hausfrau.  The  housekeeper 
takes  care  of  the  house.  But  Ingrid  does  like 
to  market  for  groceries,  though,  and  poke 
around  shops.  On  those  excursions,  if  it's 
winter,  a  common  Bergman  costume  is  a 
mink  coat  and  a  bright  scarf  on  her  hair. 
If  it's  warm,  she's  almost  invariably  in  a 
colorful  peasant  type  skirt  and  gay  blouse 
with  flat  heeled  slippers. 

from  scarf  to  skirt  . 

Ingrid  has  a  passion  for  colorful  men's 
silk  scarves.  She  sews  them  together  to 
make  skirts.  Recently  an  editor  of  a 
fashion  magazine  came  out  to  her  house 
to  take  photographs  and  noticed  the  skirt 
she  wore,  "Where  in  the  world  did  you 
buy  that  striking  skirt?"  she  asked. 

Ingrid  said  she  didn't,  she'd  made  it  and 
told  how.  The  fashion  expert  tried  again. 
Who  created  that  marvelous,  natural,  flat- 
tering coiffure?  Ingrid  laughed.  She  did, 
with  a  comb  and  brush,  in  about  one 
minute  flat.  Er,  groped  the  style  whiz — 
what  about  beauty  aids?  There  weren't 
any.  Desperately  she  tried  diet,  body  care, 
health  regimens.  Ingrid  was  strictly  no 
copy.  There  just  weren't  any  rules.  She 
liked  hot  tubs,  long  walks  and  bran  muf- 
fins and  coffee  for  breakfast,  but  it  wasn't 
very  startling  or  glamorous. 

Ingrid  never  diets,  but  she  often  skips 
lunch.  She  likes  a  big  dinner,  preferably 
at  home,  although  she  likes  to  dine  out, 
too,  in  Hollywood,  particularly  at  the 
Beachcomber,  where  the  tropical  rum 
drinks,  Chinese  and  South  Sea  dishes 
fascinate  her,  partly  because  she  thinks 
they're  appropriate  to  a  land  washed  by 
the  Pacific  Ocean.  She's  a  true  cosmopolite 
that  way;  she  goes  for  the  specialties  of 
the  land  she's  in. 


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When  she  was  in  Minneapolis,  which  is 
.    just  about  the  Swedish  capital  of  America, 
Ingrid  was  asked  out  one  night  by  some 
friends.  They  inquired  if  she  wouldn't  like 
to  go  to  a  local  famous  Swedish  restaurant. 

"Isn't  there  something  different?"  re- 
plied Ingrid.  "I've  been  eating  Swedish 
food  all  my  life."  There  was.  Minneapolis 
was  also  famed  for  its  German  rathskel- 
lers. So  that's  where  they  went  to  drink 
culmbacher  beer  and  eat  knackwurst  and 
seven  or  eight  other  kinds  of  wursts. 

There  are  three  excellent  Swedish  cafes 
right  in  Hollywood  but  Bergman  seldom 
enters  them.  This  particular  phase  of  her 
life  is  American  and  that's  what  she's  spe-  . 
cializing  in  right  now.  In  five  years 
she  has  practically  lost  her  accent,  al- 
though she's  married  to  a  Swede.  It's  be- 
cause they  agreed,  years  ago,  to  speak 
English  at  home.  Pia  doesn't  speak  Swedish 
at  all.  Ingrid  thinks  and  speaks  in  Ameri- 
can idiom,  which  has  been  greatly  ex- 
panded by  her  set  association  with  Bing 
'who's  ever  scattering  pithy  slang  nifties 
around.  When  she  didn't  understand  Cros- 
by's patter,  Ingrid  stopped  him. 

"Please,"  she'd  say  eagerly,  "what  is 
'station-house?' " 

Her  fondness  for  American  books, 
humor,  art  and  music  is  genuine.  Her  first 
musical  loves  are  German  operas.  But  she's 
a  Crosby  fan  too,  also  a  Sinatra  fan  and  es- 
pecially a  Paul  Robeson  fan.  She  likes  dance 
music  and  loves  to  dance,  especially  if  she's 
not  on  exhibition.  Ingrid  plays  the  piano 
well  enough  and  sings  in  a  light,  small  voice 
at  home.  The  Swedish  folk  song  she  sang 
in  "The  Bells  of  St.  Mary's"  didn't  bother 
her  particularly,  because  it  was  on  a  com- 
paratively private  recording  stage.  But 
when  she  sang  it  over  the  air  on  the  Hall 
of  Fame  program  not  long  ago,  Ingrid 
came  away  from  the  mike  clutching  her 
tummy  and  shaking  like  a  leaf.  "I  never 
was  so  scared,"  she  gasped. 

Largely,  however,  Bergman  has  con- 
quered the  shyness  that  mantled  her  when 
she  first  came  to  Hollywood.  It  was  never 
a  Garbo  hermit-recluse-mystery  lady  shy- 
ness. It  was  never  anti-social.  It  was  just 
the  natural  uncertainty  of  a  foreigner 
plunged  into  public  life  in  a  pretty  crazy 
world  of  make-believe.  Her  war  tours 
did  plenty  to  give  her  confidence  before 
crowds  and  she  found  she  liked  them  as 
much  as  the  crowd  likes  her. 

After  the  big  chapel  scene  in  "The  Bells 
of  St.  Mary's,"  where  scores  of  extras 
worked  with  her,  Ingrid  picked  up  the 
collection  plate  and  calmly  walked  among 
the  crowd  on  the  set,  extras,  camera  crew, 
set  technicians,  even  visitors  and  front  of- 
fice big  shots,  collecting  cash  offerings 
which  she  promptly  turned  over  to  Father 
Devlin,  the  Catholic  Church's  technical 
advisor  on  the  picture.  It  was  her  own 
idea  and  a  complete  surprise  to  everyone. 

she  does  what  she  wants  .  .  . 

Ingrid  would  probably  appear  in  public 
around  Hollywood  more  than  she  does 
except  that  most  of  the  pleasures  of  the 
movie  set  just  don't  interest  her.  She's  not 
a  part  of  the  colony  social  swim,  although 
at  industry  events,  benefits,  Academy  din- 
ners, Press  Photographers'  Balls  and  parties 
tossed  by  the  profession,  she's  usually  on 
hand  and  has  a  good  time.  But  outside  of 
a  few  close  friends,  like  the  Alfred  Hitch- 
cocks,  Walter  Wanger  and  Joan  Bennett, 
Cary  Grant  and  Jean  Renoir,  the  French 
director,  she  has  few  intimates  in  Holly- 
wood. For  her  fun  she  prefers  long  eve- 
nings of  conversation  at  her  own  house. 
Dramatics,  art,  philosophy,  books,  prac- 
tically never  politics,  are  the  subjects. 
She'll  stay  up  as  late  as  her  guests  can  stay, 
drinking  coffee,  listening  to  music  and  chat- 
tering away.  But  she's  always  up  by  seven, 
and  fresh  as  dew,  whether  she's  had  eight 
132  hours  sleep  or  two.  She  doesn't  play  cards, 


chess  or  any  game. 

One  day  during  a  Canadian  bond  tour 
some  months  ago,  Ingrid  flew  from  Ottawa 
to  Toronto  in  a  troupe  with  Patsy  Kelly 
and  Barry  Wood.  The  Canadian  commit- 
tee had  arranged  their  schedule  which 
called  for  Ingrid  to  visit  two  defense  plants 
in  the  afternoon  while  Patsy  entertained 
at  a  hospital.  That  night  all  were  to  ap- 
pear at  a  giant  rally. 

But  when  they  arrived  in  Toronto,  Patsy 
fell  ill,  which  meant  that  the  boys  in  the 
hospital  got  no  star.  The  thought  of  their 
disappointment  stirred  Ingrid.  "I'll  go  there 
during  my  lunch  hour,"  she  volunteered. 
"I  don't  like  lunch  anyway." 

But  the  time  was  limited  and  the  hos- 
pital chief  knew  it.  So  that  all  the  boys 
could  get  a  glimpse  of  Bergman,  he  started 
hustling  her  through  the  wards  and  barely 
did  Ingrid  get  "Hello"  out  of  her  mouth 
before  he  was  at  her  elbow,  saying,  "Have 
to  hurry  along  now." 

After  a  couple  of  wards,  Ingrid  came 
out  in  the  hall,  almost  in  tears.  Her  escort 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter. 

"I  won't  do  it,"  raged  Bergman.  "I  can't 
treat  those  men  rudely  like  that.  It  makes 
me  ill." 

They  had  a  hurried  huddle  in  the  hall, 
with  explanations,  and  the  result  was  In- 
grid went  back  and  did  it  right,  even 
though  she  only  covered  half  the  hospital. 
But  she  came  back  the  next  day,  and  spent 
three  hours  so  no  one  was  disappointed, 
posing  at  the  end  for  pictures  with  the  pa- 
tients.   The  souvenirs  they  gave  her — a 


JUNE  ISSUE 

"Nancy  With  The  Laughing 
Face"  smiles  out  of  our  June 
issue — because  we've  a  wonder- 
ful story  about  the  Sinatras 
coming  up.  You'd  better  get  to 
your  newsstand  early,  though, 
on  May  14! 


knitted  cap,  an  ash  tray,  a  scarf — all  made 
by  the  bed  cases,  are  among  her  treasured 
mementos. 

Ingrid  Bergman  is  not  all  sweetness  and 
light,  of  course.  I  said  she  was  human, 
which  means,  like  everyone  else,  she  has 
a  temper.  It  usually  flares  brightest  when 
she  feels  someone  is  imposing  on  her. 

Once  in  New  York  a  little  boy  came  up 
to  her  in  the  lobby  of  her  hotel  looking 
very  forlorn  and  wistful.  "Please,  Miss 
Bergman,"  he  begged,  "give  me  your  auto- 
graph. I've  waited  a  week  to  see  you." 
Ingrid  was  touched.  She  has  a  strict  rule 
about  giving  autographs  in  her  hotel,  be- 
cause she  thinks  it's  an  imposition  on  the 
management  and  because  it  embarrasses 
her  to  cause  a  fuss.  But  she  weakened  for 
this  boy  and  told  him  to  leave  his  book 
at  the  desk,  she'd  sign  it  and  he  could  pick 
it  up  later.  After  a  while  the  bell  boy 
brought  up  fifty  autograph  books.  The 
kid  had  sensed  a  soft  touch  and  spread  the 
word  around.  That  burnt  Bergman  up. 
She  sent  them  all  back.  Nobody  got  an 
autograph. 

It's  hard  for  Ingrid  Bergman  to  get 
along  with  Hollywood  glamor.  Acting  is 
the  thing  she's  interested  in.  She's  hyper- 
critical of  herself  and  keeps  a  scrapbook 
of  all  reviewers'  criticisms,  good  and  bad. 
In  fact,  she  so  arranges  the  book  that 
opposite  every  rave,  there's  a  slam. 

When  she  makes  a  picture  she  gets  as 
wrapped  up  in  all  the  parts  as  she  does  in 
her  own.  She  collected  pages  of  notes  on  Hem- 
ingway's novel  "For  Whom  the  Bell  Tolls," 
starting  the  minute  she  was  cast  as  Maria. 


She  packed  them  along  to  Sam  Wood,  11 
director.  Half  didn't  even  concern  her  ov 
part.  Nineteen  of  her  notes  were  abc 
moods,  feeling,  lines  of  dialogue,  etc.  Ss 
promptly  accepted  them.  But  a  couple 
lines  she  suggested  puzzled  him.  Tin 
were  spoken  by  a  character  the  mov 
script  didn't  mention. 

"But,"  he  protested,  "this  character  isr 
even  in  the  picture!" 

"I  know,"  replied  Ingrid,  "But  the  lini 
express  what  Hemingway  meant  so  we 
that  I  think  somebody  should  say  them 

Bergman  is  probably  the  best  informt 
person  in  the  United  States  today  on  tr 
French  saint,  Joan  of  Arc.  It's  been  h 
lifelong  dream,  ever  since  she  was  a  gii 
to  play  the  maid  of  Orleans.  She's  re£ 
every  biography  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  evei 
source  book  and  history  of  her  era,  fro 
both  sides,  British  and  French.  She  h 
collected  stacks  of  notes  on  everything 
clothes,  customs,  religious  beliefs.  Next  fa 
on  Broadway,  she  hopes  to  make  her  drea 
come  true. 

dream  came  true  .  .  . 

Maxwell  Anderson  has  written  a  pi 
about  Joan,  "The  Girl  from  Lorraine,"  ai 
Ingrid  has  signed  to  do  it.   It  will  ke 
her  away  from  Hollywood  seven  month 
It  will  pay  her  mere  buttons  compared  d 
what  she  could  make  in  the  movies;  jj 
fact,  it  adds  up,  by  conservative  estimate 
to  a  sacrifice  of  about  $500,000. 

That  doesn't  bother  Bergman's  head  f 
a  minute.  She'd  do  it  for  nothing  if 
came  down  to  that.  Money  has  neve 
meant  much  to  her,  although  she's  one  < 
the  highest  paid  actresses  in  the  worl 
Ingrid's  still  a  lady  who  runs  arour 
with  two  or  three  bucks  in  her  purs 
Last  year,  crossing  the  Canadian  border  e 
her  bond  tour,  she  had  to  declare  the  mom 
she  carried.  Ingrid  wrote,  "$1.35."  Thai 
what  she  had.  Being  Swedish  and  not  raise 
in  wealth  at  all,  she's  thrifty  by  trainir 
and  instinct.  She  can't  bear  any  waste — i 
foods,  clothes,  anything. 

But  real  money  is  more  or  less  a  vagu 
unreal  commodity  to  the  lady  whose  hes 
is  always  in  the  clouds  of  her  art.  And  th 
is  the  essential  difference  between  Ingr 
Bergman  and  most  Hollywood  stars: 

To  most,  making  movies  is  a  means  1 
an  end — either  wealth  or  glamor  or  fam 
Hollywood  is  a  gold  mine  where  you  wor 
hard,  strike  it  rich  and  then  buy  a  drear 
Almost  every  star  in  Hollywood  has  a  pla 
to  retire  to  a  lazy,  idyllic  spot — to 
ranch,  a  beach,  a  mountain,  back  home. 

Ingrid  Bergman's  acting  career  is  a 
end  in  itself.  It's  her  life,  what  she  w; 
made  for.  Her  ambition  is  to  have  a  Ion 
busy  life  spent  creating  things  with  othe 
people.  If  you  asked  her,  "When  do  yo 
plan  to  retire?"  shed  probably  answe 
"Never.  Think  of  the  parts  I  can  do  ; 
70  that  I  can't  play  today." 

It's  safe  to  say  that  everyone  who  ht 
seen  the  Divine  Swede  ardently  hopes  si 
gets  her  wish.  That  also  goes  for  some  wr 
are  just  catching  up  with  her. 

Ingrid  saw  "Spellbound"  for  the  fir; 
time  at  the  Army's  Birmingham  Hospit. 
near  Hollywood.  She  sat  in  the  audienc 
with  the  GI  patients  to  watch  it  and  aftei 
wards  stepped  up  on  the  stage  and  signe 
autographs  for  the  soldiers.  One  patio 
on  crutches  came  up  with  a  paper  for  he 
to  sign.  "I  liked  your  picture,"  he  volur 
teered.   "I  wish  you  lots  of  success." 

"Thank  you,"  smiled  Ingrid. 

As  he  swung  away,  another  soldi< 
asked  him,  "What  do  you  mean,  'success 
You  mean  you  don't  know  who  Ingr: 
Bergman  is?" 

"Uh-uh,"  replied  the  first  soldier.  "I  ju 
came  out  of  four  years  in  a  Jap  prise 
camp.  I  didn't  see  many  pictures.  B\ 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  think — that  gal's  gonr 
go  places!" 


Even  Venus  couldrrtr 
aeVaway  with  that ! 


How  can  a  goddess  stay  on  her  pedestal 
unless  she  stays  nice  to  be  near? 

SURE  YOUR  BEAUTY  will  get  a  lift  from 
that  fragrant  bubble  bath!  But  what's 
to  keep  your  freshness  from  fading  after 
the  bath  is  over? 

It's  as  simple  as  this:  Mum's  the  word 
for  lasting  charm.  Your  bath,  you  see, 
washes  away  past  perspiration,  but  Mum 
guards  against  risk  of  future  underarm 
'odor. 

With  Mum  you  play  safe.  You  play  fair 
with  your  friends. 


Take  30  seconds  for  Mum.  Smooth 
Mum  on  each  underarm.  Half  a  minute 
and  you're  protected,  all  day  or  evening. 
Your  fresh-from-the-bath  appeal  marks 
you  as  a  girl  who  is  nice  to  be  near. 


Creamy,  snowy-white  Mum  won't  irri- 
tate your  skin  or  injure  fine  fabrics.  And 
it  won't  dry  out  in  the  jar  or  form  irri- 
tating crystals.  Safe  and  gentle  Mum 
smooths  on  easily  even  after  you're 
dressed.  Get  a  jar  of  Mum  today. 


Mum  - 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


"takes  "the  odor  outo^^ersplraiton 


Mi 


r  -1  <S4S 


* 
* 
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At 

* 

* 
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★ 
★ 
★ 
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* 
★ 
★ 
★ 
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★ 
★ 
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★ 

★ 

★ 
* 

* 
★ 
★ 
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★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
★ 
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★ 
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★ 


Published  In 
this  space 
every  month 


The  greatest 
star  of  the 
screen! 


Sometimes  we  wish  we  were  a  novelist 
— just  for  the  thrill  of  seeing  our  words 
brought  magically  to  the  screen. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 
As  M-G-M  has  just 
done,  for  instance, 
with  A.  J.  Cronin's 

{ftCCH  I  modern  romantic 
masterpiece,  "The 
Green  Years". 

★  ★     ★  ★ 
If  we  had  written 
"The  Green  Years", 

we'd  be  especially  proud  of  having 
created  the  whole  galaxy  of  fascinating 
characters  who  would  shine  before  us 
in  the  hushed  and  darkened  theatre,  the 
living  images  of  what  we'd  envisioned. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

There  would  be  young  Robert  Shannon 
— handsome,  sensitive,  fighting  his  way 
in  a  hostile  world.  And  Alison,  Robert's 
sweetheart,  loveliest  of  all  our  heroines! 
And  Grandfather  Gow,  as  rollicking  a 
rogue  as  ever  caroused  across  the  screen ! 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

We'd  see  that  first  kiss  of  the  lovers... 
and  Robie's 
struggle  against 
a  friendless  town 
..and  the  feud  of 
Grandpa  Gow 
with  his  ghoulish 
in-laws' 

★  ★     *  * 

And  we'd  mar- 
vel at  how  per- 
fectly each  char- 
acter has  been 
cast,  as  though 
born  to  the  role. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

There  couldn't  be  a  better  "Dandie" 
Gow  than  Charles  Coburn;  a  more 
splendid  Robert  than  Tom  Drake;  a 
lovelier  Alison  than  Beverly  Tyler.This, 
by  the  way,  is  Beverly's  first — and  very 
impressive — featured  role. 

★  ★     ★  ★ 

Laurels  would  certainly  go  to  Director 
Victor  Saville  and  Producer  Leon  Gor- 
don; to  screen  play  writers  Robert  Ard- 
rey  and  Sonya  Levien;  and  to  a  fine 
supporting  cast:  Hume  Cronyn,  Gladys 
Cooper,  Dean  Stockwell,  Selena  Royle, 
Jessica  Tandy,  and  Richard  Haydn. 

★  ★*■■* 

Yes,  if  we  were  A.  J.  Cronin,  we'd  be 
very  happy  to  see  "The  Green  Years" 
on  the  screen.  But 
since  we're  a  col- 
umnist and  not  the 
novelist,  we  take  our 
delight  in  typing  out 
this  sincere  tribute 
and  signing  it 

—£ea 


modern  screen 


JUNE,  1946 


stories 


•STRANGER  IN  TOWN  (Van  Johnson)   30 

•THREE  LITTLE  SISTERS  (June  Haver)   34 

SINCE  HE  WENT  AWAY  (Jerome  Courtland)   38 

WATCH  BARBARA  HALE!  by  Hedda  Hopper   40 

ESTHER  WILLIAMS'  LIFE  STORY,  concluded   42 

FLYING   IRISHMAN   (Gene   Kelly)   44 

•NANCY  WITH  THE  LAUGHING  FACE  (Frank  Sinatra)   46 

•INTIME  AND  ON  THE  BEAM  (Kurt  Kreuger)   48 

•THE  POWER  AND  THE  GLORY  (Tyrone  Power)   50 

*A  CAN  OF  BEANS  AND  YOU  (Dane  Clark)   52 

HE'S  MY  GUY,  by  Mrs.  Bob  Mitchum...;   54 

•NOBODY'S  SWEETHEART  (Diana  Lynn)   56 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons   58 


color  pages 


VAN  JOHNSON  in  M-G-M's  "Easy  To  Wed"   30 

JUNE  HAVER  in  20th-Fox's  "Enchanted  Voyage"   34 

FRANK  SINATRA  in  M-G-M's  "Till  the  Clouds  Roll  By"   46 

KURT  KREUGER  in  20th-Fox's  "The  Dark  Corner"    48  : 

TYRONE  POWER  in  20th-Fox's  "The  Razor's  Edge"   50 

DANE  CLARK  in  Warner's  "A  Stolen  Life"   52 

BOB  MITCHUM  in  RKO's  "Till  the  End  of  Time"   55 

DIANA  LYNN  in  Paramount's  "Our  Hearts  Were  Growing  Up"   57 

features 

•EDITORIAL  PAGE   29 


departments 


67 


MOVIE  REVIEWS:  by  Virginia  Wilson  

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  

SUPER  COUPON  

CO-ED:  by  Jean  Kinkead  

RADIO:  "Ed  Sullivan  Speaking"  

BEAUTY:  "He  Admires  Your  Hair"  

•FASHION:  by  Toussia  Pines.   71 

INFORMATION  DESK   102 

COOKING:  "A  Trip  To  The  Tropics"   104 


COVER:  LIEUT.  GENE  KELLY,  M-G-M  STAR.  COLOR  PORTRAITS  OF 
JUNE  HAVER,  FRANK  SINATRA  AND  TYRONE  POWER  BY  WILLINGER. 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Exocutivo  Editor  HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


MAGDA  MASKELL,  western  manager 
JANE  WILKIE,  western  editor 
MIRIAM  GHIDALIA,  associate  editor 
BERYL  STOLLER,  assistant  editor 
OTTO  STORCH,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 


JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 
GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 
BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 
SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  service  dept. 
TOUSSIA  PINES,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 
Vol.  33,  No.  1,  June,  1946.  Copyright,  1946,  the  Dell  Publishes  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J. 
Chicago  Advertising  office,  360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and 
Canada.  U.  S.  subscription  price,  $1.50  a  year.  Canadian  subscriptions,  $1.80  a  year.  Foreign  subscription, 
$2.70  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of 
March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  char- 
acters used  in  semi-fictional  matterare  fictitious.  If  the  name  of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence. 
Trademark  No.  301778. 


M-G-M  has  caught,  with  vibrant  warmth  and 
understanding,  the  spirit  of  this  modern  masterpiece . . . 


THE  GR 


n  ri 


N  YEARS 


M-G-M  presents  A.  J.  CROWN'S  "TH  E  GREEN  YEARS"  starring  CHARLES  COBURN  with  TOM  DRAKE  •  BEVERLY  TYLER  •  HUME  CRONYN  •  Gladys  Cooper 
Dean  Stockwell  •  Richard  Haydn  •  Screen  Play  by  Robert  Ardrey  and  Sonya  Levien  •  Directed  by  Victor  Saville  •  Produced  by  Leon  Gordon  •  A  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  Picture 


To  snag  for  your  very  own  the 
nicest,  strongest  guy  around! 

It's  smart  head-work,  too,  when 
you  choose  DeLong  Bob  Pins  to 
keep  your  page-boy  or  chignon 
under  control  because  they've  got 
the  Stronger  Grip  that's  called  for 
.  .  .  They  simply  refuse  to  slip  and 
slide  around  in  a  weak-kneed 
fashion,  letting  your  carefully  con- 
cocted hair-do  down  to  there... 


Once  you  use  DeLong  Bob  Pins 
you'll  wonder  how  you  ever  lived 
and  breathed  without  them.  Their 
Stronger  Grip  solves  your  head- 
work  problems  now  and  forever 
more.  Remember  .  .  . 

Stronger  Grip 

'Wont  Slip  Out 

Quality  Manufacturers  for  Over  50  years 

BOB  PINS         HAIR  PINS         SAFETY  PINS 

SNAP  FASTENERS       STRAIGHT  PINS 
HOOKS  a  EYES  HOOK  &  EYE  TAPES 

SANITARY  BELTS 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

■  There's  some  nice  Technicolor  scenery  in  "Easy  To  Wed,"  the  nicest  being 
Esther  Williams  in  a  bathing  suit.  Then  there's  a  guy  named  Van  Johnson 
whom  you  may  have  seen  around  from  time  to  time.  There  is  also  the  hilari- 
ous duo  of  Keenan  Wynn  and  Lucille  Ball,  and  if  you  want  anything  more 
you  should  be  in  a  psychopathic  ward.  The  beautiful  Esther  plays  an  heiress, 
Connie  Allenbury,  who  is  suing  a  newspaper  for  two  million  dollars.  They 
have,  she  says  gently,  ruined  her  good  name  by  claiming  she  was  a  husband 
stealer,  and  it  will  take  that  much  dough  to  compensate. 

Haggerty  (Keenan  Wynn),  the  managing  editor  of  the  paper,  is  desperate. 
So  desperate  that  he  re-hires  an  employee  he  fired  the  year  before,  because  he 
thinks  said  employee  is  irresistible  to  women  and  can  maybe  get  somewhere 
with  Connie.  Bill  (Van  Johnson)  is  quite  willing  to  attempt  it,  for  the  trifling 
sum  of  fifty  thousand  bucks.  Here's  the  scheme: — Bill  is  to  marry  some  girl 
whom  they  can  trust,  then  he'll  go  down  to  Mexico  where  Connie  and  her 
father  are  vacationing.  He  is  to'  work  on  Connie,  get  her  to  come  to  his  room 
alone,  and  the  minute  she  enters,  a  photographer  will  snap  her  picture.  Bill 
will  produce  evidence  that  he's  married,  and  there  is  Connie — a  husband 
stealer!  That  will  wash  up  the  lawsuit. 

There  are  difficulties.  The  first  one — where  to  find  a  girl  they  can  trust — is 
solved  by  Haggerty,  who  nobly  offers  up  his  redheaded  fiancee  on  the  altar 
of  business.  The  fiancee,  Gladys  (Lucille  Ball),  is  not  pleased  with  the  no- 
bility, but  grudgingly  agrees  to  go  along  on  the  deal.  The  second  difficulty 
is  that  Connie  turns  out  to  be  a  very  hep  dame,  who  has  been  exposed  to 
every  wolfish  approach  imaginable,  and  thinks  Bill  is  a  fortune  hunter.  But 
he's  a  bright  lad,  and  not  easily  discouraged.  He  finds  that  her  father's  pas- 
sion is  duck  shooting,  and  in  five  days,  Bill  becomes  a  duck  expert.  So  he 
gets  asked  to  go  hunting  with  them,  and  has  a  chance  to  get  better  acquainted 
with  Connie.  She  is,  he  finds  to  his  surprise,  a  swell  girl.  The  kind  you  could 
fall  in  love  with  so  easy. — M-G-M 


Gladys  (Lucille  Ba 


to  help  a  pal  out  of  a  tight  spot! 


THE  STORY  OF  A  MAN  AFRAID  TO  LOVE! 


The  screen's 
boldest  probing  of 
human  emotion  I 


Can 

'guess  her  Age? 


IT'S  Hard  To  Tell  the  age  of  anyone 
whose  skin  is  so  beautiful.  For  isn't  it  true 
that  it's  the  appearance  of  your  skin  that 
"dates"  you? 

No  matter  how  lovely  your  skin  is  today, 
take  the  advice  of  many  beauty  experts  and 
make  every  effort  to  see  that  your  skin 
retains  the  natural  moisture  which  gives  it 
that  peach-bloom  glow  of  youth. 

Protect  the  natural  moisture  of  your  skin 
by  guarding  against  the  things  which  dry 


&2&Z2?g-   — A  wonderful  make-up  base 
that  vanishes  smoothly  into  th*e  skin,  leaving  com- 
plexion satiny  and  daintily  scented.  Let  it  act  as  you 
sleep!  This  fine,  lightly-textured  skin  cream  contains 
"cholesterol".  Helps  keep  skin  soft  and  supple, 
neutralizes  any  excess  acid  accumulations 
in  outer  pore  openings,  guards  vital 
skin  moisture.  60i,  plus  tax. 


DRESS   BY  CHAPMAN 

out  the  skin:  Neglect  of  proper  skin  care 
and  too  much  exposure  to  winter  s  blustery 
winds  and  summer's  hot,  drying  sun. 

Choose  Your  Creams  Carefully.  Not  neces- 
sarily the  most  expensive  but  creams  that 
will  do  something  for  your  skin.  Try  the 
two  creams  that  bear  the  proud  name  of 
Chas.  H.  Phillips. 

Phillips'  Milk  of  Magnesia  Skin  Cream. 

Contains  "cholesterol"  ...  a  special  in- 
gredient that  protects  against  loss  of  nat- 
ural skin  moisture.  Also  soothing,  soften- 
ing oils  that  assist  in  keeping  skin  smooth 
and  supple. 

Phillips'  Milk  of  Magnesia  Cleansing 
Cream.  Especially  prepared  to  remove 
make-up,  surface  dirt  and  accumulations 
from  outer  pore  openings. 

Both  creams  contain  genuine  Phillips' 
Milk  of  Magnesl\. 


Phillips' 

MILK    OF   MAGNESIA  CREAMS 


t^POHi^-  —A  light,  daintily- 
scented  cleansing  cream  that  tissues  off  easily. 
Liquefies  as  you  smooth  it  on  your  skin.  Leaves 
your  complexion  looking  dewy-fresh  and 
sparklingly  clean.  60i,  plus  tax. 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  6) 


P.  S. 

Esther  Williams  had  a  birthday  party 
with  her  family  one  night  after  work. 
Brother  David  gave  her  a  pair  of  water- 
wings,  her  Dad  gave  her  a  miniature  bath- 
ing suit  and  a  request  for  a  pinup  picture, 
and  Mom  came  forth  with  a  china  pig  bank 
— a  gentle  hint  to  Esther  to  save  her  money 
.  .  .  On  location  for  the  picture,  Van  no- 
ticed a  group  of  curious  kids  mounted  on 
horseback.  "That's  a  nice  horse  you  have 
there,"  he  said  to  one  little  girl.  She 
sneered  back,  "Ain't  no  horse — it's  a  mule." 
Then  she  looked  closer  at  him.  "You  a 
stand-in?"  she  wanted  to  know.  "Yes,  for 
Van  Johnson,"  said  Van.  "Humph,"  said 
the  kid.  "You  don't  look  like  him."  .  .  . 
Keenan  Wynn,  back  at  work  for  the  first 
time  since  his  accident,  was  without  a 
dressing  room  the  first  day.  The  cast  and 
crew  had  installed  a  large  doghouse  in  its 
place.  A  sign  over  the  door  read,  "For 
those  who  hold  up  production." 

THE  GREEX  YEARS 

Veteran  Charles  Coburn  heads  the  cast 
of  "The  Green  Years"  as  old  grandpa 
Gow,  whose  only  virtues  are  his  loving 
heart  and  the  way  he  can  explain  his  red 
nose  by  constant  -  references  to  the  poison 
darts  aimed  at  him  in  the  Zulu  War! 
His  son-in-law,  "Poppa"  Leckie  (Hume 
Cronyn),  continues  to  tolerate  his  wife's 
father:  After  all,  how  long  can  the  old 
drunk  live,  and  we  mustn't  forget  that  fat 
insurance  policy,  must  we? 

When  young  Robbie  (Dean  Stockwell), 
orphaned  son  of  a  -  deceased,  disgraced 
Leckie  daughter,  comes  to  Scotland  to  live 
with  them,  poppa  is  beside  himself.  Here's 
another  mouth  to  feed,  he  moans,  and  the 
boy  comes  without  a  cent  to  his  name. 
Convinced  that  he  must  have  the  boy  edu- 
cated, however,  he  sends  Robbie  to  the 
local  Academy,  where  the  sensitive  young- 
ster finds  that  his  outlandish  made-over 
clothes  and  frowned-upon  religion  make 
him  the  butt  of  all  the  class  bullies.  Pain- 
fully, but  always  with  the  warm  guidance 
of  the  schoolmaster  (Richard  Hayden)  to 
spur  him  on,  Robbie  succeeds  in  his  studies 
to  the  extent  that  he  finally  becomes  eligi- 
ble to  stand  for  the  Marshall  Exam,  which, 
if  he  wins,  will  entitle  him  to  five  years' 
free  tuition  at  medical  school.  But  waste 
not,  want  not,  Superintendent  of  Sanitation 
Leckie  is  still  preaching,  he's  cared  for  the 
boy  all  this  time,  now  it's  his  turn  to  go  to 
the  mines  and  contribute  to  the  family. 

There's  not  much  heart-rest  for  Robbie 
Leckie  (played,  as  an  adult,  by  Tom 
Drake)  in  "The  Green  Years."  Not  when 
he's  so  hopelessly  in  love  with  wealthy 
Alyson  Keith  (Beverly  Tyler).  Not  with 
his  dream  of  medicine  shattered,  and 
his  God,  whom  he's  cherished  this  long 
time,  seemingly  deserting  him.  The  only 
thing  which  keeps  him  going  is  the  feel- 
ing, deep  down,  that  even  if  God  does  seem 
temporarily  out  of  happy  solutions,  Grand- 
pa Gow  isn't.  Richard  Hayden  turns  in  a 
"Mr.  Chips"  portrayal  that  will  keep  you 
glowing  for  a  long,  long  time. — M-G-M 

P.  S. 

This  picture  brings  forth  a  new  star, 
Beverly  Tyler,  the  18-year-old  girl  who 
came  to  Hollywood  from  a  choir  loft  in 
Scranton,  Pa.  On  her  days  off,  Beverly 
had  her  portrait  painted.  She  posed  on 
the  stage  of  the  auditorium  of  the  Pasa- 
dena Regional  Hospital,  and  gave  the  pa- 
tients quite  a  few  hours  of  easy  staring  .  .  . 


Ring  out  with  those  roars!  Let  go  with  those  laughs!  Here  conies 
the  merriest,  madcap  merry-go-round  that  ever 
rolled  you  up  and  down  the  aisles! 

^Paramount  presents 


starring 


Olivia  DeHavilland 
Ray  Milland 
Sonny  Tufts 

with  *^ 

James  Gleason  •  Constance  Dowling  •  Percy  Kilbride  •  Jean  Heather 
Produced  by  Fred  Kohlmar  •  Directed  by  Sidney  Lanfield 


Screen  Play  by  Claude  Binyon  and  Robert  Russell 


That  Oscar  winning  Movie  Man  of  the  Year 
follows  up  his  sensational* 'The  Lost  Weekend '* 
performance  with  a  new  screen  high  in 
romantic  hilarity  !  He's  out  for  fun! 


THE     WESTMORES     OF     HOLLYWOOD     BRING  YOU 


A  group  of  seven  exciting,  lipstick  colors  created  in 
Hollywood  for  the  Hollywood  stars  .  .  .  and  you.  Ask. 
for  one  of  the  Westmore  Lipstick  colors  by  name:  — 
Red  Signal,  Garnet,  Jarol,  Pepper  Red,  Glorious  Red, 


m  Deb  and  Strawberry  Blond. 


THERE  IS  NO  LIPSTICK  LIKE  A 
WESTMORE  LIPSTICK  .... 

Created  in  Hollywood,  style  center 
of  the  world,  by  Perc  Westmore, 
the  country's  foremost  make-up 
authority!  Designed  to  give  you 
exactly  the  lustrous,  flattering 
lips  you  want.  You  will  be 
delighted  with  the  creamy  texture, 
staying  quality,  and  true,  vivid 
reds  of  Westmore  Lipsticks 
.  .  in  a  new,  attractive 
METAL  lipstick  case. 


Starring  in 

"SMOKY" 

<A  20(h  Century-Fox  Picture 


PercWestmore,  famous  Hollywood  make-up  authority  who,  with  his  brother 

Wally  Westmore,  created  the  well  known  House  of  Westmore  Cosmetics. 


...  and  for  o  star-lovely  complexion, 
use  the  new  liquid  cream  foundation, 

WESTMORE'S 

GOOD  FOR  YOUR  COMPLEXION  .  .  .  GOOD  FOR  YOUR  SKIN 


in 


in  7  florferiog  shades 


Jessica  Tandy  was  pregnant  during  the 
filming  of  the  picture,  three  weeks  be- 
jor  the  baby  was  born  she  received  a 
wire  from  Lillian  Hellman,  who  wanted 
her  to  do  a  lead  role  in  "The  Children's 
Hour"  on  Broadway.  Jessica  wired  back, 
"Sorry,  but  in  few  weeks  will  have  chil- 
dren's hour  of  my  own"  .  .  .  Tom  Drake 
spent  his  lunch  hours,  on  the  q.t.,  study- 
ing singing  with  coach  Harriet  Lee,  and 
has  finally  received  the  welcome  news  that 
he  will  sing  in  his  next  film. 

A  NIGHT  IN  CASABLANCA 

Remember  how  you  melted  over  the 
Bergman-Bogart  romancing  in  "Casa- 
blanca?" Well,  run  see  this  Marx  Broth- 
ers version  of  intrigue  in  North  Africa — 
the  melting  process  will  be  repeated,  but 
this  time  with  laughter. 

Three  managers,  of  the  swank  Hotel 
Casablanca  have  been  mysteriously  mur- 
dered in  the  past  six  months,  so  the  local 
police  chief  starts  thundering,  "Round  up 
all  suspects!"  Out  scurries  his  staff,  and 
when  one  of  them  corners  blond,  beam- 
ing Harpo,  he  is  no  end  pleased.  "Come 
with  me,"  he  orders.  Harpo  won't.  "What- 
cha  think  ya  doin'?"  snarls  the  copper, 
"holdin'  up  the  buildin'?"  Harpo  nods 
brightly.  So  the  policeman  grabs  Harpo's 
arm,  yanks  him  into  a  waiting  police  car — 
and  the  whole  building  collapses! 

Well,  to  get  back  to  the  story.  A  man- 
ager is  imported  from  out  of  town  to 
take  over  the  hotel,  Ronald  Kornblow 
(Groucho),  who  immediately  succumbs 
to  the  rather  obvious  charms  of  the  hotel's 
entertainer,  Bea  (Lisette  Verea).  Rusty 
(Chico),  owner  of  the  Yellow  Camel  Cab 
Company  and  chisler  de  luxe,  however,  is 
vaguely  suspicious  of  the  undulating  Bea, 
and  eavesdropping  on  her  furtive  tete-a- 
tetes  with  Count  Pfefferman  (Sig  Rumann), 
he  discovers  that  there  is  a  large  cache  of 
Nazi  treasure  hidden  in  the  hotel  which 
Bea  and  the  Count  plan  to  escape  with  as 
soon  as  the  troublesome  Kornblow  is  made 
kaput.  "Stay  away  from  that  woman,  boss," 
pleads  Rusty.  "I  can't,"  retorts  Ronald, 
"I'm  losing  my  head  over  her!"  "Well, 
slap  a  hat  on  your  neck  and  come  out 
anyway!" 

Yes,  those  are  the  gags  that  prevail,  and 
for  not  quite  two  hours  there,  you  really 
don't  give  a  darn  for  Bergman-Bogart, 
you're  so  hysterical.  Except  that  the  Marx 
Brothers  aren't  as  pretty. — U.  A. 

P.  S. 

Last  spring,  the  Marx  Brothers  hired  two 
noted  writers  to  whip  up  the  script  of 
"A  Night  in  Casablanca,"  then  they  hired 
a  rehearsal  hall  and  devoted  long  hours  to 
acting  out  scenes,  adding,  discarding  and 
revising  .  .  .  Trouble  loomed  when  Warner 
Brothers  sued  Loew  over  the  title  rights 
to  "Casablanca."  It  was  solved  when  Loew 
contended  that  no  one  has  exclusive  rights 
to  a  geographical  name,  and  he  won.  But 
not  before  the  Marx  Brothers  got  in  their 
own  two  cents.  "The  Marxes  have  been 
calling  themselves  brothers  long  before 
the  Warners.  And  if  the  Warners  refuse 
to  let  us  use  Casablanca  we  propose  to  sue 
and  restrain  them  from  calling  themselves 
brothers."  Not  content  with  that,  Groucho 
reminded  anybody  who  would  listeii  that 
the  Marx  epics,  "A  Night  at  the  Opera" 
and  "A  Day  at  the  Races;  were  made  long 
before  Warners  planned  their  film,  "Night 
and  Day." 

HEARTBEAT 

If  you've  been  in  Reform  School  like 
Arlette  (Ginger  Rogers),  you  can't  get  a 
job.  So  maybe  you  answer  an  ad,  and 
find  yourself  in  a  school  for  pickpockets. 


oMw 


"THE  YEAR'S  OUTSTANDING  NEW  STAR!" 

DANE  CLARK  IS  WINNER  OF"MOTI0N  PICTURE  HERALD'S"  NATION-WIDE  THEATRE  POLL! 


A  Double  Crime 

THAT  WORKED 


A  Double-Cross 

THAT  DION  T!... 


it's  Warners  Again  for  excitement  and 
adventure!  here's  a  story  cram-full  of 
both  so  don't  miss  a  single  minute  of  it! 

Dane  Clark 
zachary  scott 
jan  is  paige 

HMind  ofMan" 

directed  by  FREDERICK  de  CORDOVA  with  FAYE  EMERSON  •  GEORGE  TOBIAS-  HOWARD  SMITH  •  HARRY  LEWIS-  produced  by  ALEX  GOTTLIEB 

Screen  Play  by  Gordon  Kahn  and  Leopold  Atlas  •  Original  Story  by  Charles  Hoffman  and  James  V.  Kern 


THE  RUGGEDEST  PAIR 
IN  PICTURES 


THAT  NEW  GAL—  BRINGING 
A  LUSCIOUS  NEW 'SOMETHING'TO  PICTURES! 


WARNiREMINDER:  See  'SARATOGA  TRUNK'  yet?  Be  mighty  sure  to-or  you'll  be  mighty  sorry. 


Let  the  Glamour  of 


add  a  Garland  of 
brightness  to 


our  hair 


Use  Your  Head  .  ■  .  and  make  the  most  of 
your  hair!  It  can  be  one  of  your  loveliest  fea- 
tures, as  flattering  to  your  complexion  as  the 
lipstick  and  dress  shades  you  choose  with  such 
care  .  .  .  so  color-frrigfcf  that  you're  always  at 
your  best.  And  it's  all  so  easy. 

3  Minutes,  at  Home  .  .  .  does  the  trick! 

That's  all  the  time  it  takes  to  use  Marchand's 
wonderful  !Make-Hp  Hair  Rinse.  Not  a  bleach 
—  not  a  permanent  dye  —  it's  absolutely  harm- 
less, as  safe  to  use  as  lemon  or  vinegar.  And  it 
does  so  much  more  for  your  hair! 
Here's  All  YOU  Do  .  .  .  After  your  shampoo, 
dissolve  a  package  of  Marchand's  Rinse  in  warm 
water  and  brush  or  pour  it  through  your  hair. 
In  seconds,  all  trace  of  soap  film  is  gone!  Your 
hair  shines  with  new  color,  sparkles  with  danc- 
ing highlights,  and  is  easier  to  manage,  too. 

For  Euery  Shade  of  Hair  .  .  .  Yes,  with 

Marchand's  12  smart  Rinse  shades,  you  can 
achieve  a  variety  of  interesting  color  effects.  For 
example,  you  may  highlight  your  natural  hair 
color,  or  even  tone  down  overbright  hair.  Sound 
interesting?  Try  it  —  after  your  next  shampoo! 


r 


Made  by  the  Matters  of  Marchand's  Golden  Hair  Wash 


The  Professor  (Basil  Rathbone)  is  a  very 
good  teacher,  but  Arlette  isn't  a  very  good 
pupil.  She  gets  her  eye  on  a  diamond 
stickpin  and  snitches  it,  but  her  victim 
makes  her  give  it  back.  He  also  dreams 
up  a  little  job  of  thieving  for  her  to  do  for 
him,  or  else  he'll  call  the  police.  He  is  an 
Ambassador  (Adolph  Menjou),  and  he 
suspects  his  wife  of  playing  around  with 
a  handsome  diplomat,  Pierre  des  Roches 
(Jean  Pierre  Aumont).  He  takes  Arlette, 
dressed  in  a  just-bought,  expensive  gown, 
to  the  Embassy  Ball.  There  she  is  to 
steal  Pierre's  watch  and  the  Ambassador 
will  see  if  his  wife's  picture  is  in  it. 

The  picture  is  there  all  right,  but  Arlette, 
fascinated  by  Pierre's  charm,  takes  it'  out 
before  she  gives  the  watch  to  the  Am- 
bassador. He  is  delighted  that  he  has  mis- 
judged his  wife,  and  tells  Arlette  to  run 
along  now,  he's  through  with  her.  She 
can't  tear  herself  away  from  Pierre,  and 
eventually  tells  him  all  about  herself,  in- 
cluding that  pickpocket  school  she  has 
been  going  to.  He  is  considerably  dis- 
illusioned, but  is  sorry  enough  for  her  to 
find  a  solution.  He  will  marry  her  to  his 
worthless  friend,  Roland,  who  will  do  any- 
thing for  money.  That  will  give  her 
identification  papers,  so  she  will  be  able  to 
apply  for  jobs  without  mentioning  the 
Reform  School.  This  seems  like  a  fine 
plan,  only  somehow  by  the  time  the  wed- 
ding is  scheduled,  neither  Pierre  nor  Ar- 
lette really  wants  her  to  marry  Roland. 

"Heartbeat"  is  not  as  heavily  emotional 
as  its  title  sounds.  It's  a  light,  gay  ro- 
mance that  will  pass  your  evening  pleas- 
antly.— RKO 

P.  S. 

"Heartbeat"  is  Jean  Pierre  Aumont' s 
first  film  since  his  distinguished  discharge 
from  the  Free  French  Forces,  which  he 
left  with  two  wounds  and  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  .  .  .  For  the  scene  in  which  Basil 
Rathbone  hauls  off  and  slaps  Ginger,  the 
actress  insisted  upon  doing  her  own 
screaming.  Usually,  a  studio  hires  a  pro- 
fessional "screamer"  to  emit  the  howls 
for  $25  a  day,  but  that  wasn't  for  Ginger. 
She  said  she  had  her  own  brand  of  screech- 
ing, and  she'd  do  it  herself  .  .  .  Upholding 
his  reputation  as  owner  of  the  largest  male 
wardrobe  in  Hollywood,  Adolph  Menjou 
contributed  his  own  watch,  worth  $7000,  as 
an  important  prop  for  the  picture.  The 
studio  had  the  ticker  insured  and  paid 
Menjou  $5  daily  rental,  just  to  make  every- 
thing legal. 

THEIR  HEARTS  WERE 
GROWING  UP 

George  Bernard  Shaw  sure  hit  it  on  the 
head  when  he  cracked,  "Youth  is  so  prec- 
ious, it's  a  shame  to  waste  it  on  the  young." 
Especially  when  the  youth  part  takes  place 
in  the  roaring  twenties  and  the  young  are 
Emily  Kimbrough  (Diana  Lynn)  and  Cor- 
nelia Skinner  (Gail  Russell). 

This  time  the  two  zanies  are  franti- 
cally trying  to  locate  a  fake  "uncle"  whom 
they  can  pass  off  as  their  chaperone  to 
the  head  of  their  school,  thus  wangling 
permission  to  attend  the  Harvard-Prince- 
ton game  with  their  fiances.  Desperate, 
Emily,  who  isn't  the  shy  type  anyhow, 
sidles  up  to  a  likely  looking  gent  at  Penn- 
sylvania Station  and  puts  the  question  to 
him,  point  blank,  and  is  bowled  over  when, 
just  as  simply,  the  man  accepts!  And  not 
only  does  this  Tony  Minetti  (Brian  Don- 
levy)  agree  to  join  them,  but  he  insists  on 
throwing  in  an  extra  "uncle,"  Mr.  Peanuts 
Schultz  (William  Demarest),  to  further 
the  good  work.  There's  no  telling  how 
intimate  the  group  could  have  become  if, 
on  arriving  at  Princeton,  Emily  hadn't 
accidentally  unpacked  Uncle  Minetti's 
bags — and  discovered  a  fortune  in  smuggled 
hooch!   Petrified,  she  ships  Cornelia  down- 


stairs to  entertain  their  waiting  beaux, 
Avery  Moore  (James  Brown)  and  Dr.  Tom 
Newhall  (Bill  Edwards),  and  pours  the 
giggle  water  down  the  drain. 

There  are  many  laughs  and  much  fun  in 
this  one — but  nothing  to  ever  make  your 
heart  want  to  grow  up! — Para. 

P.  S. 

William  Russell,  who  makes  his  debut 
as  a  director  with  this  film,  has  been  for 
years  a  talent  coach  at  Paramount  and  has 
been  responsible  for  the  careers  of  many 
of  the  young  kids  on  the  lot,  including  his 
foursome  in  this  picture,  Diana  Lynn, 
Gail  Russell.  Bill  Edwards  and  Jim  Brown. 
Many  of  Russell's  "kids"  insisted  on  doing 
bit  parts  and  walk-ons  in  the  new  direc- 
tor's first  picture,  as  a  gesture  of  friend- 
ship. Mona  Freeman  suggested  that  she 
do  a  small  part  which  kept  her  on  the 
screen  only  a  minute-and-a-half  .  .  .  On 
the  first  day  they  worked,  Gail  and  Diana 
presented  director  Russell  with  a  base- 
ball bat  hung  with  ribbons  and  advised 
him  to  swat  them  if  they  turned  tempera- 
mental. They  later  gave  him  a  "director's 
chair"  on  the  back  of  which  were  painted 
two  hearts,  their  autographs,  and  the  title, 
"The  Genius." 


SOMEWHERE  IX 
NIGHT 


THE 


Amnesia  has  been  kicked  around  con- 
siderably as  a  theme  for  pictures.  How- 
ever, with  John  Hodiak  as  a  bewildered 
ex-Marine  who  doesn't  know  who  he  is, 
it  gets  a  fancy  doing  over.  Nancy  Guild 
plays  the  debonair  heroine  who  h©lps 
him  find  his  past.  You  see,  when  a 
guy  comes  to  in  a  South  Pacific  hospital 
and  can"t  remember  anything  at  all,  it's 
a  bit  upsetting.  The  doctors  and  nurses 
call  him  George  Taylor,  but  who  is  George 
Taylor? 

George,  if  that's  his  name,  is  discharged 
from  the  Marines,  and  goes  to  a  rundown 
Los  Angeles  hotel  which  was  the  address 
given  in  his  identification  papers.  No  one 
there  remembers  a  George  Taylor.  He 
has  a  baggage  check  in  his  foot  locker, 
and  when  he  turns  it  in  he  is  given  a 
dusty  old  brief  case.  "Almost  four  years 
since  that  was  checked"  the  clerk  tells 
him.  Inside  it,  George  finds  a  .38  revolver 
and  a  letter  signed  by  Larry  Cravat.  It 
says,  "I  deposited  $5000  for  you  in  the 
Second  National  Bank.  Your  pal,  Larry." 

When  George  goes  to  the  bank  to  col- 
lect the  money,  he  is  met  with  stares, 
whispers  and  delay.  He  leaves  without 
the  money  when  he  hears  them  calling  the 
police.  But  at  least  he  now  has  one  clue 
to  his  past — Larry  Cravat,  if  he  can  find 
him.  In  his  search  for  this  unknown  Larry, 
he  meets  charming  Christy  (Nancy  Guild), 
a  night  club  singer  who  thinks  he's  a 
wolf.  He  is  beaten  up  by  a  bartender,  and 
questioned  expertly  by  a  racketeer.  Every- 
one wants  to  know  why  he's  interested  in 
Larry  Cravat.  Christy  is  eventually  con- 
vinced of  his  sincerity.  She  gets  Phillips 
(Richard  Conte),  owner  of  the  club  where 
she  works,  to  enlist  a  detective  in  the 
search  for  Larry.  The  detective  has  heard 
about  him  before.  He  suddenly  had  two 
million  bucks  dropped  in  his  lap  from 
Nazi  sources  and  then  disappeared.  The 
police  would  like  to  know  where  he  went. 
So  would  George  Taylor.  So  would  you, 
because  by  the  time  you've  seen  this  much 
of  the  picture,  it's  really  got  you. 

Richard  Conte,  as  usual,  walks  off  with 
the  acting  honors. — 20th-Fox 

P.  S. 

John  Hodiak  finished  work  in  "Time  For 
Two"  at  Metro  at  3  a.m.  one  morning,  and 
reported  at  Fox  for  his  new  role  in  "Some- 


TICKETS  PLEASE!"  whathaPPens  is  hilarious ...  when  Claudefte  makes  friends 

of  two  handsome  strangers!  She  boards  their  train  without 
reservations  .  .  .  and  winds  up  in  a  Pullman  predicament! 


JESSE    L.  LASKY    and    WALTER  MacEWEN 

CLAUDETTE  COLBERT  JOHN  WAYNE 

in  MERVYN  LeROY'S  production  of 

with  DON   DeFORE  •  ANNE  TRIOLA  and  Miss  LOUELLA  parsons 
Produced  by   JESSE   L.  LASKY 

Scieei  Play  bj  ANDREW  SOU' 


Not  you?  Why  certainly  not!  It 
must  have  been  an  echo  from 
grandmother's  day  because  you, 
modern  miss,  know  that  the 
functional  pain  of  menstruation 
is  quickly  relieved  by  taking 
Midol! 

Yes,  these  famous  tablets  are 
offered  specifically  to  relieve  pe- 
riodic pain,  and  do  it  without 
opiates.  Millions  of  girls  and 
women  accept  Midol  because 
they  have  learned  that  it  helps 
give  them  real  comfort  on 
"those  days"  in  not  one,  but 
three  ways:  Eases  Cramps — 
Soothes  Headache — Stimulates 
mildly  when  you're  "Blue" . 

It's  so  easy  to  be  comfortable 
and  carefree  every  day  of  the 
month.  And,  it's  easy  to  have 
Midol  handy,  because  drug- 
stores everywhere  carry  it.  Ask 
for  Midol  today! 


PERSONAL  SAMPLE— In  plain  envelope. 
Write  Dept.  C-66,  Room  HI  8, 
il  East  i2nd  St.  New  York  1 7,  N.  Y. 

CRAMPS -HEADACHE -"BLUES" 


14 


where  in  the  Night"  at  ten  o'clock  that 
morning  .  .  .  This  is  the  first  screen  role 
for  Nancy  Guild,  the  blonde  gal  who  was 
discovered  by  Hollywood  when  her  pic- 
ture appeared  in  a  national  magazine, 
wearing  a  GI  hat.  When  Darryl  Zanuck 
saw  her  screen  test,  made  without  any 
makeup  except  lipstick,  he  said,  "There 
are  only  two  things  to  do  to  that  girl — 
leave  her  exactly  as  she  is  and  put  her  in 
a  picture  immediately."  A  week  later  she 
was  assigned  the  leading  role  in  "Some- 
where in  the  Night,"  opposite  Hodiak. 

THE  BRIDE  WORE  ROOTS 

Yoicks  and  tally-ho!  This  is  one  of  the 
horsiest,  most  hilarious  pictures  to  come 
out  of  Hollywood  yet,  with  a  stuffed  horse 
leering  from  one  side  of  our  hero's  desk 
and  a  definitely  unstuffed  one,  Albert  by 
name,  falling  madly  in  love  with  him! 

Ever  since  he  was  a  kid,  Jeff  Warren 
(Robert  Cummings)  has  hated  horses — he 
couldn't  even  bear  merry-go-rounds  or 
"Black  Beauty,"  so  why  Albert  should 
have  conceived  this  violent  passion  for  him 
is  past  all  understanding.  Especially  since 
he,  Jeff,  is  that  celebrated  authority  on 
southern  history  who  is  about  to  be  di- 
vorced by  Sally  (Barbara  Stanwyck),  who 
owns  a  stable  and  probably  even  takes  a 
bath  in  her  riding  boots. 

The  whole  business  is  so  silly,  anyway. 
Jeff  doesn't  object  (well,  not  too  strenu- 
ously) to  -  having  Lance  Gale  (Patric 
Knowles),  who.  is  obviously  in  love  with 
Sally,  hanging  around  all  the  time,  so  he 
can't  understand  Sally's  objections  to  Mary 
Lou  Medford's   (Diana  Lynn)  attentions. 

The  reports  about  Jeff  and  Mary  Lou 
are  so  incriminating  that  if"  it  weren't  for 
Uncle  Tod's  (the  late  Robert  Benchley) 
maneuverings,  ten-to-one  Sally  would 
have  scratched  herself  out  of  the  race 
and  Mary  Lou  would've  raced  in  the 
winnah.  But  Sally's  a  thoroughbred— and 
who  ever  heard  of  a  thoroughbred  set- 
tling for  place  or  show? 

We  nominate  Albert,  the  horse,  for  swoon 
boy  of  the  century. — Para. 

P.  S. 

The  stuffed  horse,  "Black  Prince,"  cre- 
ated confusion  every  time  he  appeared  on 
the  sound  stage,  when  the  27  real  horses 
hired  for  the  film  went  into  a  wild  up- 
roar .  .  .  Stable  scenes  were  shot  in  the 
northern  end  of  San  Fernando  Valley. 
On  the  particular  day  that  the  tempera- 
ture hit  118  degrees,  the  hottest  day  of  the 
year  in  that  area,  Bob  Cummings  had  to 
do  the  exterior  scene  swathed  in  a  well- 
padded  Santa  Claus  costume  .  .  .  "The 
Bride  Wore  Boots"  was  the  last  film  in 
which  Robert  Benchley  worked  before 
his  untimely  death  .  .  .  Albert,  the  horse 
who  gives  the  picture  its  loudest  laughs,  is 
actually  "Goldie,"  a  trick  horse  said  to 
have  the  highest  equine  I.Q.  in  the  world. 

SPECTER  OF  THE  ROSE 

There's  an  eerie  kind  of  magic  in  "Spec- 
ter of  the  Rose" — a  magic  that  comes  of 
ghosts  who  cannot  rest,  and  hushed,  yet 
still-tinkling  music. 

The  world  of  the  ballet  is  a  small  one, 
fiercely  loyal  and  tightly  shut  against  out- 
siders. That's  why,  when  Andre  Sanine 
(Ivan  Kirov),  acclaimed  Nijinsky's  suc- 
cessor, is  suspected  of  having  knifed  his 
wife  to  death  and  retires  to  a  hide-away 
with  a  "nervous  breakdown,"  his  friends 
do  everything  in  their  power  to  keep  the 
police  from  questioning  him.  Among  them 
is  the  crippled  "Madame  La  Sylph" 
(Judith  Anderson),  who  in  the  old  days 
was  a  premiere  ballerina  and  who  now 
beats  time  with  her  gold  handled  cane  for 


NCER 


DOES  NOT  WAIT 


Surely  you  have  at  least  nine  persons  in  your 
family.  Then  accept  this  fact:  One  of  those 
nine  is  doomed  to  die  of  cancer.  And  don't 
push  that  thought  away,  because  that  is  not  a 
threat — just  a  statement,  a  proven  fact.  ONE 
OUT  OF  EVERY  NINE  PERSONS  ALIVE  IN 
THE  UNITED  STATES  TODAY  WILL  DIE  OF 
CANCER.  One  of  those  nine  is  bound  to  be 
your  mother,  your  father,  your  brother,  sister, 
friend,  a  close  relative — or  yourself!  For 
cancer  respects  no  age,  no  race,  no  physique — 
CANCER  DOES  NOT  WAIT.  There  is  no  uglier 
death.  There  is  no  more  painful  death.  There 
is  no  illness  more  terrifying  in  the  toll  it  takes  in 
anguish  for  the  patient,  and  grief  for  the  wait- 
ing relatives — waiting,  because  after  a  certain 
stage  in  this  disease  there  is  no  way  out.  There 
is  no  miracle,  no  cure,  no  begging  off,  no  swap 
with  God. 

That's  why  the  Memorial  Cancer  Center  Fund 
has  been  established:  To  build  a  greet  hospital 
where  doctors  can  be  trained  to  understand, 
treat,  but  most  important,  diagnose  cancer. 
CAUGHT  IN  TIME,  CANCER  IS  CURABLE. 
Letting  it  go  undiscovered  for  even  one  week 
may  mean  certain  death.  The  hospital  will 
provide  for  advanced  patients  who  need  the 
highly  specialized  nursing  which  alone  can  ease 
their  torture.  The  hospital  will  have  a  special 
wing  for  the  nearly  2000  children  under  five 
years  of  age  who  each  year  are  stricken. 

Let  us  repeat:  These  are  not  "scare  statis- 
tics." If  164,000  people  die  each  year  of 
cancer,  one  of  them  will  be  someone  dear  to 
you.  The  Fund  needs  four  million  dollars  to 
carry  on  its  work.  If  you  give  as  little  as  a 
dollar,  a  quarter,  you  may  be  giving  a  scientist 
the  final  push  towards  discovering  a  cure,  you 
may  be  saving  a  loved  one's  life — or  your  own. 

Frank  Sinatra,  who  begs  you  to  "pitch  in  to 
speed  victory  over  one  of  man's  worst  enemies — 
cancer,"  James  Melton,  Fredric  March,  Ralph 
Bellamy,  Lawrence Tibbett,  Lily  Pons,  Hildegarde 
and  many  other  stage  people  are  behind  this 
drive — won't  you  join  in  and  fight  the  good  fight 
with  them? 


I'd  like  to  get  behind  Frank  Sinatra  and 
all  the  other  persons  interested  in  this 
great  cause.  Here  is  my  contribution 
of  $   which  I  am  sending  to: 

The  Memorial  Cancer  Center  Fund 
444  East  68th  Street 
New  York  21,  N.  Y. 

Name   

Street   ,  .j 

City  Zone  State  


"SUSPENSE"  A  KING  BROTHERS  PRODUCTION  starring  BELITA  •  BARRY  SULLIVAN  •  BONITA  GRANVILLE 
ALBERT  DEKKER  with  EUGENE  PALLETTE  •  Miguelfto  Vaides  ■  Bobby  Ramos  &  His  Band  •  Produced  by  MAURICE  and  ^jy^ 
FRANKLIN  KING  •  Directed  by  Frank  Turtle  •  Original.  Screenplay  by  Philip  Yordan  •  Music  by  Daniele  Amfltheotrof  •  A  MONOGRAM  PICTURE  \Z&£r 


says  SUSAN  HAYWARD 

See  her  in  Walter  Wanger's 
"CANYON  PASSAGE"  in  Technicolor 


"THE  TASTE-TEST  CONVINCED  ME.  I  tried  lead- 
ing colas  in  paper  cups — found  Royal  Crown 
Cola  tasted  best!"  Try  it!  Say,  "RC  for 
me!"  That's  the  quick  way  to  get  a  real 
quick-up  with  Royal  Crown  Cola— best  by 
taste-test. 


the  young  hopefuls  who  attend  her  dance 
school.  And  there's  Max  Polikoff  (Michas) 
Chekhov) ,  fabulous,  extravagant  Max  who, 
when  he  gets  around  to  it,  produces  ballets 
with  the  money  he  wheedles  out  of  rich  old 
matrons  and  has  just  been  fired  by  Billy 
Rose  for  leering  at  the  Diamond  Horse- 
shoe showgirls.  Max  loves  everybody,  he 
loves  La  Sylph  for  the  genius  she  once  had, 
and  shy,  intense  Haidi  (Viola  Essen),  for 
the  talent  she  shows.  In  fact,  the  only 
person  whom  he  doesn't  consider  "ador- 
able, vunder-full,  exquisite,"  is  Lionel 
Gans  (Lionel  Stander) ,  a  gravel-voiced 
cynic  who  marches  about  calf-eye'ing 
Haidi  and  reciting  gruesome  poetry.  In- 
evitably, Andre  and  Haidi  meet,  fall  hun- 
grily in  love,  and  marry.  Their  friends 
cluster  about  the  newlyweds  at  the  wed- 
ding feast,  with  the  specter  of  Nina,  the 
wife  Andre  may  have  killed  in  a  burst  of 
insanity,  hovering  over  their  heads. 

There  is  terror  and  beauty  and  great 
faith  in  this  picture.  See  it,  if  only  to 
thrill  to  the  wonderful  dancing — and 
Michael  Chekhov's  and  Judith  Anderson's 
superb  acting. — Repub. 

P.  S. 

Some  years  ago,  Ben  Hecht,  the  cigar- 
chewing  genius  of  the  pen,  saw  the  French 
ballet,  ''Spectre  de  la  Rose."  His  imagina- 
tion was  caught  up  by  the  weird  strange- 
ness of  the  plot,  and  he  made  a  subcon- 
scious note  that  some  day  he  would  write  a 
story  about  it.  Hecht  has  never  been  daz- 
zled by  the  idea  of  making  money  from  mo- 
tion pictures.  He  claims  that  a  good  movie 
can  be  made  quickly  and  cheaply.  He 
talked  about  it  to  Herbert  Yates,  presi- 
dent of  Republic  Studios,  who  agreed  to 
make  it  for  Hecht  simply  because  it  was 
so  refreshing  NOT  to  be  told,  "This  movie 
will  make  a  million"  .  .  .  Everyone  in  the 
cast,  mostly  unknowns  except  for  Judith 
Anderson,  Michael  Chekhov  and  Lionel 
Stander,  was  so  enthusiastic  about  both 
the  picture  and  Hecht  himself,  that  they 
all  crowded  into  a  projection  room  when 
work  was  finished  to  see  the  daily  rushes. 

CLOY  BROWN 

On  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  London,  1939, 
Mr.  Hilary  Ames  (Reginald  Gardner)  is 
busily  calling  up  plumbers.  His  kitchen 
sink  is  stopped  up,  and  he  has  forty  people 
arriving  for  cocktails.  None  of  the  plumb- 
ers seem  interested  in  working  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  but  when  the  doorbell  rings, 
Ames  thinks  one  of  them  must  have  re- 
lented. He  proceeds  on  this  theory  with 
the  man  who  enters,  until  he  finds  to  his 
disgust  that  it's  a  Czech  professor  named 
Belinski  (Charles  Boyer)  who  has  come  to 
the  wrong  apartment.  Belinski  is  not  an- 
noyed at  being  taken  for  a  plumber.  To 
the  contrary,  he  borrows  a  fast  five  pounds 
and  decides  to  stay  for  the  party. 

The  doorbell  rings  again  and  this  time 
it's  a  girl.  Rather  an  attractive  girl.  Her 
opening  line  is  "Well,  shall  we  have  a  go 
at  it?"  which  disconcerts  Mr.  Ames,  until 
he  discovers  she  has  come  about  the  sink. 
Her  name  is  Cluny  Brown  (Jennifer  Jones) 
and  she  isn't  a  plumber,  but  her  uncle,  who 
is,  was  busy,  so  she  decided  to  try  it  her- 
self. She  fixes  the  sink  and  celebrates  by 
having  a  couple  of  quick  drinks  with  Ames 
and  Belinski.  Her  uncle  shows  up,  suspects 
the  gentlemen  of  untoward  designs,  but 
admits  it's  probably  Cluny's  fault,  as  she 
doesn't  know  her  place.  He  yanks  her 
home,  and  tells  her  she  is  to  go  into  service 
as  a  maid  at  a  country  home. 

Cluny  goes,  under  protest.  The  first 
night  at  dinner,  she  drops  the  roast  in 
surprise  at  seeing  Belinski,  who  turns  *m 
as  the  guest  of  Andrew  (Peter  Lawford), 
the  son  of  the  household.  Her  domestic 
career  continues  to  be  hazardous,  but  she 


R\  V  is  the  quick  way  to  say. . . 

^    COLA  * 

Best  by  taste-test  '® 


■  CHARLES  DRAKE  •  LOIS  COLLIER 

LISETTE  VEREA  •  SIG  RUMAN  •  DAN  SEYMOUR  •  LEWIS  RUSSELL 
Released  thru  United  Artists      •      DIRECTED  BY  ARCHIE  MAYO 


acquires  a  beau.  He  is  the  village  chemist 
(Richard  Haydn)  and  Belinski  thinks  he's 
dull.  Belinski  is  considerably  surprised 
to  find  himself  getting  quite  intense  about 
the  whole  affair,  but  where  Cluny's  con- 
cerned anything   can   happen. — 20th-Fox. 

P.  S. 

Boyer  was  so  well  liked  by  the  entire 
"Cluny"  company  that  every  member 
of  the  crew  asked  him  for  an  auto- 
graphed photograph.  Their  tribute  was 
summed  up  by  a  grip  who  said,  "This  sort 
of  thing  is  rarer  than  an  Academy  Award." 
It  could  be  that  their  affection  for  Boyer 
was  enhanced  when,  without  rehearsal,  he 
executed  a  fast  rhumba  with  Helen  Walk- 
er. "Good  thing  it  wasn't  a  waltz,"  said 
Boyer.  "That  might  have  given  me  trouble" 
.  .  .  In  this,  her  first  film  comedy,  Jen- 
nifer Jones  comes  through  with  the  au- 
thentic hair.do  of  Cluny,  bangs  across  her 
forehead,  and  the  "pony  tail"  sticking 
out  in  back  .  .  .  Peter  Lawford,  playing 
Andrew  Carmel,  is  pleased  when  he  wins 
Helen  Walker.  "That's  better  any  day  than 
Lassie,"  he  said.  Peter  plays  almost  a 
real  life  role  in  the  film,  that  of  the  only 
son  of  a  British  Lord  and  Lady. 

HER  KIND  OF  MAN 

At  one  point  in  "Her  Kind  Of  Man,"  a 
detective  remarks  about  its  heroine,  "When 
a  girl  like  that  picks  the  guy  she  wants, 
she's  his  till  he's  salted  away."  That  sums 
up  the  story  of  Georgia  King  (Janis  Paige). 

But  that's  getting  ahead  of  the  story. 
Let's  go  back  to  a  New  Year's  Eve  in  a 
night  club  of  a  small  city.  The  club  is 
owned  by  Joe  Marino  (George  Tobias), 
and  its  star  attraction  is  the  glamorous 
singer,  Georgia  King.  Georgia's  mind  isn't 
on   her   work   tonight.    Steve  (Zachary 


Scott)  promised  he'd  be  here,  but  he 
hasn't  shown  up.  He  is,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  in  a  crap  game,  and  winning  heavily. 
By  the  end  of  the  game,  he's  made  a 
lot  of  money  but  he  has  also  made  an 
enemy  of  a  guy  named  Bender.  Still, 
he's  acquired  a  bodyguard,  "Candy,"  so 
perhaps  it  evens  up. 

When  Steve  finally  gets  to  the  club, 
Georgia  forgives  him,  as  she  always  does. 
He  asks  her  to  marry  him  and  go  to 
New  York.  But  just  then  Bender  shows 
up.  Steve  shoots  him,  in  self-defense, 
and  has  to  hide  out  in  Florida.  Georgia 
goes  to  New  York  alone.  She  does  all 
right  there,  too.  Gets  in  a  Broad- 
way show,  and  soon  has  tl.3  famous  colum- 
nist, Don  Corwin  (Dane  Clark)  head 
over  heels  in  love  with  her.  Not  that  she's 
interested — she's  waiting  for  Steve  to 
show  up.  But  you  can  ride  your  luck  too 
long,  and  Steve  does  just  that,  with  disas- 
trous consequences.— War. 

P.  S. 

Dane  Clark  spent  most  of  his  time  on 
the  set  watching  the  clock.  During  pro- 
duction he  bought  a  home  and  three  acres 
of  land  in  Brentwood,  and  being  master  of 
the  house,  missed  every  minute  he  couldn't 
be  supervising  carpenters  and  plumbers  . . . 
Zach  Scott  also  had  his  mind  on  home 
one  day.  The  preceding  night  he  had  gone 
home  and  found  that  an  anonymous 
character  had  sprayed  kerosene  on  all  his 
fruit  trees,  flowers  and  the  vegetable  gar- 
den. The  culprit  has  never  been  caught . . . 
Janis  Paige  devoted  much  of  her  spare 
time  to  the  returning  GIs  during  the 
shooting  of  the  film.  She  sang  for  Army 
men  and  women  just  returned  from  a 
Japanese  prison  camp,  the  first  entertain- 
ment they  had  had  since  their  release  from 
the  Orient  .  .  .  Faye  Emerson  changed 


ADVERTISEMENT 


back  to   her  natural  brunette  hair 
wore  it  in  an  up-do.    Faye  never  lo 
at  the  daily  rushes,  so  will  see  the  scr 
effect  of  the  new  coiffure  for  the  J 
time  when  she  sees  the  completed  filv 

RENEGADES 

When  a  good  woman  falls  for  a 
man,  there  isn't  much  anybody  can 
about  it.  Except  write  a  picture  and  sl- 
it in  Technicolor,  with  Evelyn  Keyes 
the  good  woman  and  Larry  Parks  as 
bad  man.  There  is  also  a  good  man,  pla 
by  Willard  Parker.    He  is  a  doctor  in 
little  Western  town  of  Prairie  Dog,  b 
in  the  stagecoach  days.    His  name  is  E 
Martin  and  he  is  in  love  with  pretty  H 
nah  Brockway   (Evelyn  Keyes) .  Han: 
is  going  off  on  a  trip  to  the  county  sea 
buy  her  trousseau  for  their  wedding. 
Sam  had  known  whom  she  would  meet 
that  trip,  he  would  never  have  let  her  g 

It's  on  the  way  back  that  it  happt 
The  stagecoach  is  held  up  by  the  notori 
Dembrow  brothers,  but  they  in  turn 
hijacked  by  a  mysterious  stranger  v 
lets  them  escape.  He  returns  the  mone; 
the  stagecoach  passengers,  and  tells  tf 
his  name  is  Ben  Taylor  (Larry  Pari 
They  all  acclaim  him  as  a  hero.  Ben  t 
Hannah  he  has  moved  to  Prairie  I 
where  he  lives  with  his  mother,  who  is 
She  recommends  Sam  as  a  doctor. 

Sam  is  nice  to  Ben  at  first,  but  he  s< 
suspects  the  newcomer  of  a  connection  v. 
the  Dembrows.  Eventually  he  learns  t 
Ben  is  indeed  a  brother  of  the  outlaws, 
though  he  himself  has  stayed  on  the  side 
the  law.  It  is  worry  over  the  other  bro 
ers  which  has  made  his  mother  ill.  D 
Dembrows  attack  Hannah's  father  i 
night  soon  after,  in  a  search  for  some 
surance  money.  With  a  posse  in  hot  p 
suit,  they  ride  to  Ben's  house.  The  sh< 


■  Vx  l\ 


li 


/ 


'Hey,  Joe!  Hide  that  Pepsi-Cola.  She's  supposed  to  act  sad  in  this  scene. 


kills  his  mother,  and  Ben  is  arrested  as 
one  of  the  gang. 

P.  S. 

Columbia  had  owned  the  story  of  "Ren- 
egades" for  a  long  time,  but  held  up  start- 
ing production  because  they  couldn't  find 
a  suitable  leading  man.  Willard  Parker, 
the  six-and-a-half  foot  young  giant  who 
starred  with  Rosalind  Russell  in  a  movie 
before  going  into  the  service,  was  at  last 
discharged  from  the  combat  engineers,  and 
the  picture  started  rolling  . . .  Evelyn  Keyes' 
unique  allergy  to  horses  gave  her  little 
trouble,  despite  the  fact  that  she  had  to 
ride  a  Palomino '  in  several  scenes.  The 
studio  doctor  injected  her  with  a  serum 
that  took  care  of  the  whole  thing. 

HOLD  HIGH  THE  TORCH 

Just  recently,  the  Surgeon  General's 
Office  of  the  Army  put  on  a  campaign  to 
educate  civilians  against  using  the  term 
"shell  shock."  It's  "battle  fatigue"  now, 
or,  if  you  must  be  fancy,  "war  neurosis," 
but  never,  never  shell  shock.  But  maybe, 
because  we're  talking  about  a  dog,  they 
won't  mind  if  we  say  you-know-what. 
We'd  feel  pretty  silly  talking  about  a 
hound's  nerves,  and  as  to  the  other,  Bill 
may  have  been  in  battle,  but  what  un- 
hinged his  brave  collie  heart  certainly 
wasn't  fatigue.  Hatred  maybe,  or  even 
love,  but  not  fatigue.  Bill  wasn't  the  kind 
that  got  tired. 

From  the  very  moment  he  first  remem- 
bered being  alive,  Bill  has  craved  security 
and  affection,  ever  since  that  hazy,  long- 
ago  day  when  some  hunters  captured  his 
mother  and  four  brothers  and  left  him 
alone,  terrified  and  exhausted,  whimper- 
ing in  the  protection  of  the  tall  grass.  It 
was  Kathy  (Elizabeth  Taylor)  sunny,  sen- 
sitive Kathy,  who  stumbled  on  him  and 
carried  him,  his  blood  staining  her  blue 
jeans  crimson,  to  old  Harry  MacBain 
(Frank  Morgan)  for  help.  And  help  he 
does,  so  well,  that  in  no  time  at  all  Bill 
is  out  on  the  meadows,  learning  the  tricks 
of  his  new  trade  from  Harry's  old  sheep 
dog,  with  Kathy  ever  poking  about  after 
him,  bursting  with  fun  and  curiosity. 

It's  a  good  life  the  two  youngsters  are 
leading  when  suddenly,  one  day,  as  Bill 
is  herding  a  flock  of  sheep  across  the 
road,  a  huge  army  truck  appears,  swerves 
sharply,  then  goes  out  of  control.  When 
the  driver  leaps  down  to  inspect  the  dam- 
age, he  comes  on  a  huddled  form  under 
the  wheels — Bill. 

Gently,  the  soldiers  lift  the  unconscious 
dog  into  the  truck  and  speed  him  to  the 
nearest  vet,  the  roar  of  their  engine 
drowning  out  the  sound  of  a  little  girl's 
voice  wailing  through  the  fields. 

Maybe  it  was  Kathy's  love,  even  though 
they  were  miles  apart,  that  kept  Bill  go- 
ing, but  he  soon  recovers,  and  when  the 
Army  Veterinarian  Center  can  find  no 
trace  of  ownership,  it  is  decided  to  send 
Bill  to  the  San  Carlos  Dog  Training  Cen- 
ter where  he  graduates  as  a  messenger 
dog.  Replacements  have  been  high  on 
Attu  Atoll,  and  gratefully,  the  men  of 
Group  Four  accept  Bill.  He  is  put  to  the 
test  almost  immediately  for,  their  ammu- 
nition gone,  Bill  is  their  last  hope  to  get 
word  to  the  Comman  I  Post.  Jap  bullets 
whining  overhead,  Bill  drags  himself  to 
the  Post,  only  to  have  the  CO.  order  him 
back  immediately,  there  is  no  one  else  to 
lead  the  way.  Desperately,  the  dog  re- 
traces the  terrifying  steps  and  then,  his 
duty  done,  his  nerve  snaps  and  he  becomes 
a  wild,  bare-fanged  killer. 

But  through  all  the  madness,  the  sound 
of  Kathy's  voice  and  the  touch  of  her 
hand  stay  with  him  and  as  ever,  love  finds 
a  way. — M-G-M. 


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Ill  I  Mil  i  iiiimiiiiiiiiii  


1 1 


By  LEONARD  FEATHER 


■  This  will  be  known  as  Feather-Sticks-His-Neck-Out 
Month  in  the  Sweet  and  Hot  department.  Strictly 
for  my  own  amazement,  I  was  compiling  a  list  of 
bests  and  favorites  in  the  musical  field  the  other  day, 
and  by  the  time  I  was  through  it  occurred  to  me  that 
if  I  passed  the  list  along  to  you,  it  might  at  least 
prove  interesting — provocative,  even.  So  now,  while 
I'm  taking  cover  from  the  brickbats,  here  is  my  own 
private  collection  of  favorites.  The  opinions  ex- 
pressed do  not  necessarily  reflect  the  attitude  of  Editors 
Al  Delacorte,  Henry  Malmgreen  or  any  living  person, 
present  company  excepted: 

GREATEST  BANDS:    Duke  Ellington,  Woody  Her- 
man. 

GREATEST  JAZZ   SINGERS:  Louis 

Billie  Holiday. 
GREATEST  POPULAR  SINGERS:  Bin° 

Crosby,  Mildred  Bailey. 
MOST  BEAUTIFUL  SINGER 

Day. 

GREATEST  PERSONALITY 

LEADER:    Lionel  Hampton. 
BEST   DRESSED  SINGER: 

Wayne. 

BEST  DRESSED  BANDLEADER: 


Armstrong, 


I) 


oris 


BAND- 


Frances 


Duke 


Ellington. 


BANDLEADERS  BEST  LIKED  PER- 
SONALLY: Louis  Armstrong,  Les 
Brown. 

SINGERS  BEST  LIKED  PERSONALLY: 

Frank  Sinatra,  Lena  Home. 
MOST  UNDERRATED  BAND:  Boyd 

Raeburn. 

MOST  UNDERRATED  SINGER:  Kay 
Starr. 

MOST    OVERRATED    BAND:  Guy 


Lombardo. 
MOST  OVERRATED  SINGER:  Vaughn 
Monroe. 

BEST  NEW  SINGING  BETS:  Johnny 

Desmond,  Lynne  Stevens. 
BEST  GIRL  MUSICIANS:    Mary  Lou 
Williams,    Mary    Osborne,  Marge 
Hyams. 

MOST    VERSATILE  BANDLEADER: 

Benny  Carter. 
BEST  LOOKING  BANDLEADER:  Ina 
Ray  Hutton. 

I  could  go  on  like  this  for  several 
pages,  thinking  up  new  kinds  of  bests 
and  mosts,  but  I've  probably  started 
enough  trouble  already,  so  the  rest  can 
be  saved  for  some  future  issue.  "Best 
liked  personally"  in  the  above  list  means 
best  liked  as  a  person,  among  fellow  musicians  and 
showfolk,  regardless  of  talent. 

For  the  month's  best  popular  selection  I'd  take  Bill 
Finnegan's  fine  arrangement  of  Siving  Low,  Sweet 
Chariot,  played  by  Tex  Beneke  with  the  revived  Glenn 
Miller  Orchestra  on  Victor:  and  for  hot  jazz,  Duke 
Ellington  conducting  the  Metronome  All-Star  band  for 
1946  in  Metronome  All  Out,  also  Victor,  but  a  12- 
incher. 

Best  Popular 

FULL  MOON  AND  EMPTY  ARMS— Frank  Sinatra 
(Columbia).  There  are  umpteen  other  records  of 
this,  but  Frank's  is,  of  course,  the  most  popular  as  well 
as  one  of  the  best  musically.  (Continued  on  page  24) 


Jack  Smith  (at  the  lady's  right)  takes  a  busman's  holiday  at  a  CBS 
rehearsal  with  the  Modernaires:  Those  4  guys  and  a  gal — Paula  Stone. 


20 


N. 


cHarts 


COUPoN 

V*  Ik 


CHECK  THE  BOXES  OPPOSITE  THE  CHARTS  YOU'D  LIKE 


jVew  CHARTS  THIS  MONTH        FOR  ROMANCE 


GLAMOR  FOR  THE  TEENS— by  Jean  Kinkead—Jhis 

teen-agers'  beauty  bible  has  been  revised  and 
enlarged  to  include  new  sections  on  Body  Beau- 
tiful, Grooming,  Clothes,  Jewelry,  Accessories, 
etc.  PLUS  up-to-date  advice  on  complexion, 
hairdo's,  makeup,  nails,  exercise  and  diet. 
FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope  D 

HOW  TO   USE   MAKEUP    I10c)_Makeup  CAN 

make  you  more  lovely,  if  you  know  how  to  apply 
it  properly.  Here  are  step-by-step  directions, 
with  diagrams,  that  tell  you  how  to  blend  your 
cosmetics  to  bring  out  your  own  natural  beauty; 
minimize  your  defects.  Send  10c  and  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope  CD 


y  HOW  TO  BE  POPULAR  WITH  BOYS — by  Jean 
Kinkead— Be  dated,  re-dated,  but  never  super- 
annuated! The  secret  of  making  the  right  kind 
of  impression  on  the  nice  boys  you  know.  Hold- 
your-man  tactics  that  WORK!  FREE,  send  a 
LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope, 
or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


/BE  A  BETTER  DANCER!— by  Arthur  Murray- 
Easy  to  follow  directions  on  all  the  turns  and 
tricks  that  will  make  you  a  honey  on  the  dance 
floor.  Plus  dance  floor  etiquette — what  to  wear, 
how  to  be  popular  with  the  stags.  FREE,  send 
a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  enve- 
lope, or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.  . .  □ 


FOR  HOME  SWEET  HOME 


HOW  TO  THROW  A  PARTY —How  to  moke  your 
sh  indig  o  sure-fire  success,  whether  it's  an 
orchids-and-tails  gala,  or  Sunday  supper  for  the 
gang.  Sound  advice  on  good  hostessing,  re- 
freshments, decorations,  entertainment,  etc., 
and  charted  Party  Index  for  all  occasions. 
FREE,  send  LARGE,  self-addressed,  stamped 
(3c)  envelope  Q 


y  DESSERTS  FRANKIE  LOVES — by  Nancy  Sinatra— 

—  Here  are  recipes  for  making  Frankie's  Favor- 
ite Lemon  Pie,  Apples  Delicious,  Sigh-Guy  Gin- 
gerbread, and  many  more  that  are  high  on  the 
Sinatro  Dessert  Parade.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
THREE-IN-ONE  offer    □ 


FOR  FANS 

SUPER  STAR  INFORMATION  CHART  (10c)_ Com- 
pletely  revised  to  include  all  the  latest  data  on 
the  lives,  loves,  hobbies,  new  pix,  little  known 
facts  about  the  stars.  Send  10c  and  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c).  self-addressed  envelope  ..CD 


HOW   TO   JOIN   A   FAN  CLUB 


irand-new,  re- 


edited  chart,  listing  over  100  of  the  best  clubs 
for  all  your  favorites — Frank  Sinatra,  June  Ally- 
son,  Peter  Lawford,  Alan  Ladd,  etc.  Learn  about 
the  MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIA- 
TION. Also,  how  to  write  good  fan  letters. 
FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope   CD 

INFORMATION  DESK  —Answers  to  every  question 
that  ever  pops  into  your  mind  about  Hollywood, 
the  stars  and  their  movies.  If  you're  hankering 
to  know  about  casting,  musical  scores,  or  who 
socked  the  heroine  with  a  tomato  in  the  film 
you  saw  last  night,  see  box  on  page  102  for 
details.    THIS  IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  GLAMOR 

/  SKIN  CARE  FOR  TEENS — Teen  beauty  de- 
pends on  care,  diet,  grooming.  Here's  a  chart 
that  tells  you  all  about  skin  care,  facials,  PROB- 
LEM skin.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c), 
self-addressed  envelope,  or  see  THREE-IN-ONE 
offer   ,  □ 

\f  HAIR  DO'S  AND  DON'TS  FOR  TEEN-AGERS— 

This  is  the  last  word  on  hair  glamorl  It's  got 
everything — hair-grooming  directions,  charts  for 
facial  types,  new  hair  style  ideas!  FREE,  send 
a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  en- 
velope, or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE.  offer  □ 

/  YOU  CAN  BE  CHARMING! — says  Jean  Kinkead— 

It  isn't  always  the  gal  with  the  smoothest  chassis 
and  prettiest  face  who's  perfect  date-bait.  It's 
a  warm,  friendly  spirit  and  that  glow  from  with- 
in that  really  count.  Here's  how  to  de-vel-op 
your  per-son-al-i-ty.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


/  PLEASE  BEHAVE! — Easy  etiquette  for  sailing 
through  any  social  situation  without  awkward, 
embarrassing  moments.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer   □ 


</  GUIDE  FOR  BRIDES  —Complete  wedding  eti- 
quette for  the  girl  who'll  be  a  bride  this  June — 
and  every  girl  who  ever  hopes  to  be  one.  Covers 
invitations,  announcements,  showers,  trousseau, 
reception,  flowers,  music,  expenses  for  formal 
and  informal  affairs.  FREE,  send  LARGE,  self- 
addressed,  stamped  (3c)  envelope,  or  see  spe- 
cial THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


CO-ED  PERSONAL  ADVICE— Want  to  know  how 
to  get  him  to  ask  for  a  dote,  or  when  it's  cagey 
to  be  "hard  to  get"?  Write  to  Jean  Kinkead, 
c/o  MODERN  SCREEN.  She'll  answer  all  your, 
vital  heart-problems  in  a  personal  letter.  THIS 
IS  NOT  A  CHART. 


FOR  THE  FASHION  WISE 


/  DATE  DRESS  DATA  FOR  TALL,  SHORT,  STOUT 
AND  THIN  GIRLS — New-as-tomorrow  ideas  about 
dressing  for  dates.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


/  SPORTSWEAR  FOR  TALL.  SHORT,  STOUT  AND 
THIN  GIRLS — Now  that  sport  clothes  are  worn 
from  sun-up  to  dancing-in-the-dark,  here's  how 
to  look  your  best  in  them.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


✓  ACCESSORIES  FOR  TALL.  SHORT,  STOUT  AND 
THIN  GIRLS — if;  accessories  that  make  your 
outfit!  How  to  glamor-up  your  clothes  with 
those  little  touches  that  mean  everything!  FREE, 
send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed 
envelope,  or  see  special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer. CD 


/MAKE  YOUR  HOME  MORE  ATTRACTIVE— House- 
beautifying  tricks  to  transform  a  drab  corner  or 
a  whole  room  into  o  heavenly  setting  for  you 
and  yours.  And  it's  both  fun  and  money-saving 
to  do  it  yourself!  FREE,  send  a  LARGE, 
stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope,  or  see 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer  □ 


FOR  CAREER 


HOW  TO  PICK  THE  RIGHT  JOB —Career  Chart 
No.  I — Select  the  job  that's  right  for  you — on 
the  basis  of  your  hobbies,  natural  abilities,  per- 
sonal desires.  Private  secretary,  model,  nurse, 
interior  decorator,  statistician — whatever  your 
choice — -here's  how  to  decide  whether  you'd  fit 
in.  FREE,  send  a  LARGE,  stamped  (3c),  self- 
addressed  envelope  (see  Career  Chart  No.  2)  CD 


JOBS  AND  HOW  TO  GET  THEM_Career  Chart 
No.  2 — Once  you  decide  which  job  is  for  you. 
you'll  want  to  know  how  to  go  about  getting  it. 
Here's  the  straight  low-down  on  scores  of  career 
jobs — how  to  be  interviewed,  salaries  to  be  ex- 
pected, even  your  chances  of  marrying  the  boss. 
The  same  envelope  that  brings  you  Career 
Chart  No.  I  will  take  care  of  this  one,  too,  if 
you  check  here  CD 


&/ieviaJ  THREE-IN-ONE  OFFER 

Save  postage  by  taking  advantage  of  our 
special  THREE-IN-ONE  offer.  Look  up  and 
down  the  list  of  free  charts.  You'll  find  an  even 
dozen  (12)  checked  [V)  like  this.  Select  ANY 
THREE  of  these  checked  charts  and  enclose 
ONE  large  envelope  bearing  SIX  CENTS  in 
stamps  We'll  send  you  all  THREE  in  this  one 
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22   Write  to:  Service  Dept.,  Modern  Screen,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  Don'f  forget  your  zone  number! 


EDWARD  G 


if  ]^  Hunter— or  prey? 

Friend  or  Stranger? 


ROBINSON 


Tainted  by  the 
touch  of  the 


LORETTA 


ORSON 


Stranger  to  fear . . 
master  of  deceit ! 


WELLES 


International.  Pictures  presents 

EDWARD  G.  ROBINSON  •  LORETTA  YOUNG 
ORSON  WELLES 

PHILIP  MER|VALE  •  RICHARD  LONG  •  BILLY  HOUSE 
Produced  by  S.  P.  EAGLE 

,  ,!u!m!!!!1  Story  by  VICTOR  TRIVAS  and  DECLA  DUNNING 

Screenplay  by  ANTHONY  VEILLER 

AN  INTERNATIONAL  PICTURE 
(THE  HAtG  CORPORATION!  Itdauccd  through  RKO  RADIO  PICTUHES 

Directed  by 
ORSON  WELLES 


SWEET  AND  HOT 

(Continued  from  page  20) 


One  sure  formula  for  song  success  seems 
to  be  this:  You  take  a  standard  or  classical 
melody,  write  some  lyrics  with  moon  in  the 
title  and  stick  your  own  name  on  as  com- 
poser. That's  what  happened  when  some- 
thing of  Tschaikowsky's  became  famous 
as  Moon  Love;  that's  how  it  went  when  a 
Rachmaninoff  concerto  became  Full  Moon 
and  Empty  Arms;  and  that's  the  way  it'll 
be,  too,  with — 

IN  THE  MOON  MIST— Les  Brown  (Col- 
umbia), Will  Osborne  (Black  and  White) 
— this  is  not  the  old  Duke  Ellington  theme 
song  Moon  Mist,  but  a  "new"  number 
which  turns  out  to  be  "adapted  from  a 
melody  by  Godard."  Oh  well,  it's  an  easy 
way  to  make  a  living.  But  I  find  the  story 
of  the  next  item  much  more  interesting — 

THERE'S  NO  ONE  BUT  YOU— Hal  Mc- 
Intyre  (Cosmo),  Kay  Kyser  (Columbia) 
— This  might  well  be  described  as  "adapted 
from  a  commercial  by  transcription." 
You  see,  this  tune  started  life  as  one 
of  those  little  jingles  written  for  a  singing 
commercial,  transcribed  and  played  for 
ages  over  New  York  stations.  It  was  then 
called  The  Prince  George  Hotel  and  the 
lyrics  simply  sang  the  praises  of  that 
establishment.  The  tune  was  so  pretty, 
though,  that  people  began  humming  it 
anyway,  and  the  young  Englishman  who 
has  made  a  living  writing  clever  commer- 
cials for  these  transcriptions,  Ginger 
Croom-Johnson,  decided  to  convert  it  into 
a  Tin  Pan  Alley  special;  hence  There's  No 
One  But  You  and  a  good  Hal  Mclntyre 
platter. 


BEST  HOT  JAZZ 

A  WOMAN'S  GOT  A  RIGHT  TO 
CHANGE  HER  MIND— Jimmy  Jones 
(H.R.S.)  In  spite  of  that  mouthful  of  a 
title,  there  isn't  a  word  sung  or  spoken  on 
this  record,  nor  do  you  hear  Jimmy  Jones, 
who,  fine  pianist  though  he  is,  stays  in  the 
background  while  Duke  Ellington's  great 
baritone  sax  man,  Harry  Carney,  takes  the 
spotlight.  It's  a  lovely  tune  wonderfully 
played,  whether  you  agree  with  the  title  or 
not  (I  don't,  but  we  won't  go  into  that 
here!) 

METRONOME  ALL  OUT— Metronome  All- 
Star  Band  (Victor)— Duke  Ellmgton  led 
the  band  on  this  side  in  a  tune  which  be- 
gan life  as  part  of  the  Ellington  version 
of  Frankie  and  Johnny,  but  wound  up 
being  something  new  on  its  own.  The 
other  side  has  Sy  Oliver  as  conductor- 
composer  for  Look  Out.  I  was  at  this  ses- 
sion, and  I  never  saw  so  many  great  musi- 
cians get  together  and  produce  such  fine 
music  with  so  little  display  of  tempera- 
ment. Tommy  Dorsey,  as  usual,  mod- 
estly refused  to  hog  the  trombone  solo 
work,  bowing  to  his  colleagues  in  the 
trombone  section  that  night  (it  was  a  mid- 
night date).  Said  colleagues  being  Will 
Bradley,  J.  C.  Higginbotham  and  Bill  Har- 
ris, it  was  hard  to  make  a  choice  for  the 
solo  spots.  The  sax  section  was  even  more 
amazing:  Georgie  Auld  and  Flip  Phillips 
splitting  the  tenor  work,  Johnny  Hodges 
and  Herbie  Fields  on  altos,  Harry  Car- 
ney's baritone,  plus  the  clarinet  of  Tommy 
Dorsey's  Buddy  de  Franco.  With  six  top 


trumpet  men,  a  fine  rhythm  section,  ar 
Red  Norvo's  vibes  for  good  measure,  th 
bunch  spent  a  short  while  under  the  Ellin; 
ton  baton  and  wound  up  sounding  mo: 
like  Duke's  band  than  Duke's  band  itse 
You'd  never  think,  to  listen  to  the  wor 
derfully  integrated  results,  that  noboc 
knew  until  a  few  hours  before  the  se 
sion  who  was  going  to  be  in  the  ban 
and  that  some  of  the  fellows  had  neve 
even  met  before! 

TONSILLECTOMY  — Boyd  Raebui 
(Jewel) — All  the  Boyd  Raeburn  recor 
on  Jewel  are,  to  coin  a  phrase,  out  of  th 
earth.  Boyd  is  a  persistent  little  man.  Ir 
stead  of  giving  up  hope  when  his  futuri 
tically  styled  band  couldn't  get  any  bool 
ings,  he  just  settled  in  Hollywood  ar 
gathered  around-  him  a  bunch  of  mus 
cians  who  believed  in  modern  music  as 
does.  They'd  work  separately  in  the  mov 
and  radio  studios  for  money,  then  con 
and  rehearse  with  Boyd  for  kicks,  ar 
make  transcriptions,  records  and  an  occt 
sional  one-night  stand  with  him.  Han 
James'  new  girl  singer,  Ginnie  Powe 
came  along  too,  to  sing  the  vocal  on  R 
Van  Winkle.  The  music  was  all  written  t 
a  young  character  named  George  Hand 
who  wears  a  beard  and  dark  glasses  b 
is  a  genuinely  terrific  composer.  Anoth 
title  in  this  series  is  Yerxa,  described 
the  "elegy  movement  from  the  jitterbi 
suite."  (Ted  Yerxa  is  a  popular  L.A.  rad 
disc  jockey.)  Either  you  won't  be  ab 
to  make  head  or  tail  of  the  Raebur; 
Handy  musical  products,  or  you'll  be  nu 
about  'em. 


IRRESISTIBLE  /T^TLIPSTI 
andjVVETAL  SWIVEL  CASE 


*Pre-War  irresistible  is  back! 
The  smoother  lipstick,  longer-lasting, 
more  wonderful  than  ever  thanks  to 
wartime  research,  whip-text  through  our 
secret  process,  of  long  scarce  materials, 
irresistible  lipstick  is  creamy  soft 
as  you  love  it,  yet  firm,  non-breaking . . . 
and  comes  in  a  smart  metal 

swivel  case  that  works! 


24 


; 

&  RUBY  RED \' 

oe  s-.m-o-o-t-h-e-r  .... 

DO  YOU  LOVE  ME? — Ella  Fitzgerald- 
Billy  Kyle  (Decca) — Back  after  a  long, 
long  siege  in  the  Pacific,  Billy  Kyle  is  a 
civilian  again.  The  popular  ex-John 
Kirby  pianist  had  only  been  home  a  few- 
days  when  he  formed  this  bright  little  trio, 
with  guitarist  Jimmy  Shirley  and  former 
Ellington  bass  man  Junior  Raglin. 

ONE  MORE  TOMORROW— Tex  Beneke 
(Victor) — Sorry,  but  I  won't  refer  to  this 
as  the  Glenn  Miller  Orchestra.  I  have  a 
funny  feeling  about  using  a  dead  man's 
name  for  top  billing  with  a  band,  even 
when  the  idea  is  a  sincere  attempt  to  pre- 
serve his  memory.  Artie  Malvin,  who  sings 
on  One  More  Tomorrow,  was  part-com- 
poser, with  Glenn,  of  another  of  the  band's 
Victor  releases,  I'm  Headin'  For  California. 

BEST  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

ROAD  TO  UTOPIA— Bing  Crosby  Album 
(Decca) — This  album  comes  to  a  cross- 
road at  one  point  and  hits  "The  Road  To 
Morocco"  for  one  side,  with  Bob  Hope  join- 
ing the  Bingle  in  the  title  song  of  that 
older  opus.  The  other  sides  are  all  "Utopian 
products."  I  just  heard  that  Barry  Ulanov, 
whose  book  on  Duke  Ellington  was  such  a 
hit,  has  signed  to  do  a  similar  full-length 
book  on  Bing,  despite  the  fact  that  his 
brother  is  planning  a  Crosby  tome,  too! 


RECORDS  OF  THE  MONTH 

Selected  by  Leonard  Feather 

BEST  POPULAR 

MILDRED  BAILEY— Album,  with  Red  Norvo 
and  His  Music  (Crown) 

FULL  MOON  AND  EMPTY  ARMS— Frank 
Sinatra  (Columbia),  Gordon  MacRae 
(Musicraft),  Bob  Eberle  —  Carmen 
Cavallero  (Decca) 

I'M  IN  LOVE  WITH  TWO  SWEETHEARTS — 
Harry  James  (Columbia) 

IN  THE  MOON  MIST— Les  Brown  (Colum- 
bia), Will  Osborne  (Black  and  White) 

COLE  PORTER  Show  Hits  Album— Allan 
Jones  (Victor) 

PRISONER  OF  LOVE— Perry  Como  (Vic- 
tor) ,  Billy  Eckstine  (National) 

ST.  LOUIS  BLUES — Larry  Adler— Johnny 
Kirby  (Decca) 

SWING  LOW.  SWEET  CHARIOT  — Tex 
Beneke  (Victor) 

THERE'S  NO  ONE  BUT  YOU— Hal  Mclntyre 
.(Cosmo),  Kay  Kyser  (Columbia) 

WHERE  DID  YOU  LEARN  TO  LOVE?— Tom- 
my Dorsey  (Victor),  Louis  Prima 
(Majestic) 

BEST  HOT  JAZZ 
BARNEY  BIGARD— Step  Steps  Up  (Sig- 
nature ) 

KING  COLE  TRIO— Sweet  Georgia  Brown 
(Capitol) 

EDMOND  HALL— Face  (Continental) 
BILL  HARRIS — Characteristically   B.  H. 
(Keynote) 

HELEN  HUMES— Pleasing  Man  Blues 
(Aladdin) 

JIMMY  JONES— A  Woman's  Got  a  Right 
to  Change  Her  Mind  (H.R.S.) 

BARNEY  KESSEL— What  Is  This  Thing 
Called  Love?  (Atomic) 

METRONOME  ALL-STAR  BAND  — Metro- 
nome All  Out  (Victor) 

BOYD  RAEBURN— Tonsillectomy  (Jewel) 

ART  TATUM— Piano  Solos  (A.R.A.) 

BEST  FROM  THE  MOVIES 

A  NIGHT  IN  CASABLANCA— Who's  Sorry 
Now? — Bing  Crosby— Eddie  Heywood 
(Decca) 

CENTENNIAL  SUMMER— All  Through  The 
Day  — Frank  Sinatra  (Columbia), 
Perry  Como  (Victor) 

DO  YOU  LOVE  ME?— I  Didn't  Mean  a  Word 
I  Said— Jo  Stafford  (Capitol) .  Do  You 
Love  Me?— Ella  Fitzgerald— Billy  Kyle 
(Decca),  Johnny  Desmond  (Victor) 

GILDA— Put  The  Blame  On  Mame— Milt 
Herth — Jesters  (Decca) 

GIVE  ME  THE  SIMPLE  LIFE— Give  Me  The 
Simple  Life — Benny  Goodman  (Co- 
lumbia) 

ONE  MORE  TOMORROW— One  More  To- 
morrow— Tex  Beneke  (Victor) 

THE  OUTLAW  — Now  and  Forever- 
Freddy  Martin  (Victor) 

ROAD  TO  UTOPIA— Bing  Crosby  Album 
(Decca).  Personality  —  Pearl  Bailey 
(Columbia),  Johnny  Mercer  (Capitol) 

TOMORROW  IS  FOREVER— Tomorrow  Is 
Forever — Martha  Stewart  (Victor) 


ANNE  BAXTER  — STARRING  IN 

"SMOKY" 

A  20TH  CENTURY-FOX 
TECHNICOLOR  PRODUCTION 


Be  shining  as  a  star  at  your  own  table  .  .  share 
the  silvery  beauty  Anne  Baxter  and  other 
Hollywood  stars  lavish  on  their  tables.  Ask 
your  dealer  to  show  you  place  settings  in  the 
Silver  Service  of  the  Stars  .  .  in  DEL  MAR  — 
inspired  by  a  Hollywood  wedding  ...  or  in 
SURF  CLUB — the  pattern  that  echoes  the 
silvery  sheen  of  the  white  California  strand. 
Be  the  first  in  your  set  to  set  a  table  like  the 
Hollywood  stars! 

1881 

©ROGERS®" 


ONEIDA  LTD. 

SILVERSMITHS 


*  Trade-mark  Reg.  U.S.  Pal.  Off. 
Copyright  1946  Oneida  Lid. 


25 


SHORTCUTS. 
//V 


"Beauty  treat"  for  glass-ware,  as 
well  as  your  own  precious  com- 
plexion! Use  soft,  SITROUX 
TISSUES  for  quick  "shine-up" 
on  glasses,  ash-trays,  mirrors. 
Saves  time  — heightens  shine! 


Absorbent  Sitroux  Tissues  "blot 
up"  spilled  liquids  in  a  hurry! 
Saves  table  surface— and  disposi- 
tions! And  speaking  of  "saving"— 
never  waste  Sitroux!* 


Substitute  soft,  absorbent, 
SITROUX  TISSUES  for  baby's 
bib— (use  after,  for  "mopping 
up"  high-chair  tray!)  Sitroux  is 
grand  for  "sniffles"  and  sneezes, 
too  —  and  cuts  down  on  laundry 
bills  as  well.  Always  say— 
"SIT-TRUE"! 


28 


with  materia,  shortages  a  p~ 
«on  diff.culf.es  .  •  •  but  "    o  ^ 
1       our  level  best  to  supp  y J£J  i 
many  Sitroux  Tissues  as  po  s.ble  st 

SITROUX 

TISSUiS 


A  girl's  best  friend  is 
her  girl  friend — so  how  do 
you  rate  with  Kate?  And 
Mom  and  the  kids? 
Don't  hoard 
that  charm  of  yours! 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 

I've  never  had  a  date  in  my  life,  and 
from  the  look  of  things  I  never  will.  Isn't 
fifteen  pretty  old  to  be  dateless?  What  do 
you  suppose  is  the  matter  with  me? 
M.  T.  Amenia,  N.  Y. 

One  of  the  most  attractive  gals  we 
knozv  never  had  a  date  until  she  was 
eighteen,  so  you  see  you  have  really 
nothing  to  be  frantic  about.  Aside  from 
the  obvious  things,  like  making  yourself 
as  gorgeous  as  you  possibly  can  and 
getting  yourself  some  small  talk,  best 
way  we  krwzv  to  start  dates  rolling  is 
to  invite  a  guy  and  another  couple  over 
for  a  casual  evening  of  fun.  Maybe 
Sunday  night  supper  and  a  round  of 
darts.  Or  Friday  night  for  movies 
(your  treat)  and  hamburgers  at  your 
house.  Or  Saturday  night  to  dance  to 
the  Hit  Parade.  Somehow,  once  you've 
broken  the  ice,  dates  just  sort  of  happen. 
Try  it  and  see. 

My  father  saw  me  kissing  my  date  good- 
night, and  since  then  he_  hasn't  let  me  go 
out  at  all.  How  can  I  convince  him  that 
I'm  not  the  hussy  he  thinks  I  am?  H.  G., 
Athens,  Ohio.  (Continued  on  page  103) 


At  least  half  of  our  columns  ya-ta- 
ta,  ya-ta-ta  about  getting  along  with 
the  guys,  and  if  occurred  to  us  that 
we've  been  by-passing  the  rest  of  the 
world.  How  about  getting  along  with 
the  gals  and  the  family  and  people  in 
general?  You  can't  be  really  attrac- 
tive, really  well-balanced  if  you're 
purely  and  simply  a  man-trap.  What's 
more,  always  a  siren,  never  a  bride. 
So,  with  one  eye  on  that  happily-ever- 
after  stuff  and  the  other  eye  on  a  more 
satisfactory  Now,  let's  talk  about  you 
and  your  public. 

The  Women:  If  you  want  to  attract 
the  smoothest  gals,  you  have  to  look 
pretty  sharp  yourself.  Not  that  beauty 
is  a  must.  But  good-looking  outfits  are, 
shining  hair  and  a  well-assembled 
makeup  job  are,  a  good  big  smile  is. 
Girls  like  to  be  seen  with  a  swish  dish 
olniost  as  much  as  boys  do,  and  they 
leave  the  slow  drip  strictly  to  herself. 
And,  in  addition  to  looking  good, 
you've  also  got  to  be  hep.  Get  yourself 
a  slew  of  interests — music,  dogs,  a  sport 
or  two,  poetry,  airplanes.  The  more 
interested  you  are  in  the  world,  you 
know,,  the  more  interesting  a  char- 
acter you'll  be.  Furthermore,  if  you 
want  to  rate  with  Kate,  don't  be  boy- 
crazy.  Don't  be  a  prig.  Don't  be  a 
Mrs.  Milquetoast  with  melted  vanilla 
ideas  about  everything  from  tennis 
to  Dennis.  Don't  be  a  wicked  witch, 
with  a  barb  for  a  tongue  and  an 
ice  cube  for  a  heart.  Nip  cruel  gossip 
in  the  bud,  instead  of  passing  it  on 
with  embellishments;  play  Cupid  when 
you  can  instead  of  homewrecker;  re- 
peat the  nice  things  you  hear  about 
people  instead  of  the  digs.  Don't  form 
a  closed  corporation  with  just  one  other 
girl.  Sure,  have  one  very  best  friend, 
for  secrets  and  giggling  and  deep, 
deep  discussions,  but  have  lots  of  other 
buddies,  too.  'Cause  if  you  and  Janie 
are  always  together,  you'll  wind  up 
wearing  twin  clothes,  talking  the  some 
jive,  loving  (Continued  tn  page  103) 


JEAN 
KINKEAD 


It's  captivating— the  clearer,  fresher,  softer 
complexion  that  comes  with  your  first  cake 

of  Camay!  So  tonight,  change  from  careless 
cleansing— go  on  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet. 
Doctors  tested  Camay's  daring  beauty  promise 
on  scores  and  scores  of  complexions.  And  these 
doctors  reported  that  woman  after  woman 
—using  just  one  cake  of  Camay  — had  softer, 
smoother,  younger-looking  skin. 


MRS.  CALDEMEYER'S  STORY 


Maryland  Hayride:  Off  on  a  fun-filled  hay- 
ride,  under  bright  Baltimore  skies, 
Muriel  and  Dan  pair  up.  It's  his  hand, 
and  heart,  to  "the  loveliest  girl  of  all" 
—to  Muriel  of  the  softly  luminous 
complexion!  "1  thank  Camay,  and  its 
mild  care,  for  my  skin's  fresher  glow," 
says  Muriel .  "My  very  first  cake  brought 
a  new,  clearer  look." 


Coming-  a  home  for  two!  A  Colonial -in  Evansville 
—with  wide  terraces  planned  for  buffets  and  barbe- 
cues. "I'll  go  to  Evansville  as  Dan's  bride  — and  to 
look  the  part,  to  keep  my  skin's  sparkle,  I'll  stay  with 
the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet."  Really  mild  —  Camay 
cleanses  without  irritation.  Make  your  skin  lovelier, 
too  — full  directions  on  every  Camay  wrapper! 


Please— be  Camay-careful.  Make  each  cake 
last,  for  precious  materials  go  into  soap. 


i 


the  cushioned  softness  of  Kotex*  —  the  sanitary 
napkin  made  for  lasting  comfort 

Comfort  and  confidence  are  always  vours  .  .  .  with  Kotex! 
For  it's  made  to  stay  soft  while  wearing  -  made  to  hold 
its  shape.  Its  extra  comfort  is  only  one  of  manv  special 
Kotex  features  that  are  all  very  personally  yours. 

To  prevent  revealing  outlines,  Kotex  has  flat,  tapered 
ends  that  don't  show.  So,  your  secret's  safe! 

What's  more.  Kotex  is  made  with  an  exclusive  safety 
center  —  designed  for  plus-protection  against  accidents, 
against  roping  and  twisting-  against  moist,  chafing  edges. 

A  deodorant  in  every  Kotex  napkin 

As  an  extra  safeguard  for  your  daintiness,  your  poise, 
every  Kotex  napkin  contains  a  deodorant.  It's  locked  in 
so  it  can't  shake  out—  a  new  Kotex  "extra"'  at  no  extra 
cost !  .  .  .  And  only  Kotex  provides  3  sizes  for  different 
women,  different  days  —  Regular  in  the  blue  box,  Junior 
in  the  green  box.  and  Super  Kotex  in  the  brown  box. 


More  women  choose  Kotex 
than  ajj  other  sanitary  napkins 


»T.  M.  Rfg.  V.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


TO    OUR  READERS... 


•  A  man  past  60  can  be  very  young  and 
frisky  when  he's  happy.  Jean  Kinkead  found 
that  out  when  she  drove  up  to  Newport,  R.  I. 
to  see  Charles  Johnson. 

It  was  the  day  after  Van's  visit.  Pop  still 
had  kind  of  an  emotional  hangover.  He  knew 
Jean  and  greeted  her  like  a  long-lost  love. 
That  famous  Johnson  scapegrace  grin,  which 
looks  as  good  on  Pop  as  on  Van,  seemed  to 
say,  "Wait  till  I  tell  you!" 

From  then  on,  he  was  enthusiasm 
corporated.  Pop  pouring  coffee  straight  from 
the  steaming  pot;  Pop  breaking  Jean's  train- 
ing with  a  whole  lost  weekend's  worth  of  pie 
a  la  Johnson.  Pop  dashing  off  like  an  over- 
sized bird-dog  to  lug  in  all  the  fan  mail  Jean's 
last  story  ("That's  My  Boy")  had  brought 
him. 

At  which  point  the  phone  rang.  Van  had 
heard  Jean  was  coming  and  wanted  to  say 
hello.  They  talked  about  Pop's  pie  and  when 
would  Van  make  his  next  picture?  Kind  of 
silly,  wasn't  it — but  what  does  a  girl  say  to 
Van  Johnson? 

Somewhat  giddy  in  the  head,  Jean  anchored 
herself  with  another  cup  of  coffee  and  pro- 
ceeded to  get  Pop  talking  about  Top  Secret 
No.  1.  What  he  said  makes  a  charming  story, 
which  you  can  read  right  away  if  you'll  take 
the  trouble  to  turn  the  page. 

But  before  you  turn,  see  if  you  don't 
think  this  is  kind  of  cute.  As  Jean  was 
leaving,  Pop  dashed  off  on  another  of  his 
mysterious  errands  and  came  back  with  an 
armload  of  tourist  pamphlets  all  about  beau- 
tiful Newport  "For  you!"  That  was  all  he 
said.  But  the  Johnson  grin  meant,  "New- 
port's some  town.  After  all,  wasn't  Van 
Johnson  born  here?" 


'/on  got  a  kick  out  ot  school  chum  Berry  Cozzens  asking  tor  auto- 
troph. Felt  ihrilled  when,  recently,  he  got  royal  welcome  ot  o  N.  Y. 
lirery  that  5  yecrs  ago  had  barred  him — for  collecting  signotures! 


FOR  VAN.  VISITING  HOME 


WAS   LIKE   BEING   A   LITTLE   BOY  AGAIN, 


WITH  DAD  AND  THE  OLD 


FRIENDS  AND  THE 


GOOD  FEELING  OF  BEING  LOVED 


By  Jean  Kinkead 


In  the  old  days,  the  Johnson  men  had  many  friends  only  too  willing 
to  look  out  for  their  womanless  household.  Among  them,  Mrs.  Betty 
Meikle  Ottilge   (at  Charles  J.'s  right)  and  Mrs.  Peter  Speckmon. 


■  Van  Johnson  came  home  the  other  dav.  Maybe 
you  read  about  it,  maybe  not.  It  didn't  get  very 
much  publicity  because  Van  didn't  want  it  to.  After 
four-and-a-half  years,  he  was  coming  home  to  Newport 
to  see  his  dad  and  the  house  he'd  grown  up  in,  the 
Opera  House  and  Martellino's  Drug  Store:  and  if  it. 
was  all  the  same  with  everyone,  this  once  he'd  skip 
the  photographers  and  the  press.  If  it  was  all  the 
same  with  even' one,  this  once  he'd  just  be  a  stranger 
in  town.  He  slipped  into  the  Union  Station  at  Provi- 
dence at  5:00  Saturday  afternoon  and  slipped  away 


again  on  Sunday  afternoon,  and  there  were  no  bi<* 
parties,  no  brass  bands:  just  a  quiet  dinner,  some 
good  talk  and  a  lot  of  beloved,  familiar  faces.  And  if 
you  think  he  didn't  have  a  wonderful  time,  you're 
crazy. 

Van  had  come  East  for  a  vacation.  Five  days  in 
Nassau,  a  little  while  in  Miami,  a  weekend  at  the 
Waldorf.  He  had  dreamed  the  whole  thing  a  hundred 
times  while  he  was  finishing  his  last  picture— pre- 
living  the  swell  tennis  in  Nassau,  the  long,  lazy 
Florida  days,  the  bright  lights  on  Broadway.  But 


31 


During  his  New  York  trip  Van  (here  with  Kate  Smith  and  two 
young  admirers)  became  a  member  of  Kate  Smith's  fan  club.  Is 
an  ardent  fan  himself,  raves  on  for  hours  about  Spence  Tracy 


Van  insists  on  comfortable  clothes,  wears  a  favorite  item  till  it's 
battered  and  tattered.  Lives  in  moccasins,  even  travels  in  em. 
Also  dotes  on  that  hound's-tooth  topcoat  he's  carrying  here,. 


strangely  enough,  the  part  of  the  dream  that  really 
stirred  him,  that  squeezed  his  heart  till  it  hurt,  was 
the  visit  home.  He  wrote  his  dad,  "Gee,  it  will  sure 
be  fine,"  and  Mr.  Johnson,  reading  the  words,  thought 
in  his  big  kid's  language,  "You're  not  kidding." 

He  cleaned  the  house  till  it  shone,  fixed  Van's 
room  the  way  it  always  was,  with  the  comfortable 
disarray  of  stuff  on  the  bureau.  High  school  pictures, 
a  couple  of  letters  he  wanted  him  to  read,  some  new 
movie  magazines.  Then  he  got  in  bags  and  bags  of 
fruit,  bananas  and  oranges  and  apples,  and  put  them 
in  the  big  blue  bowls  Van  used  to  like.  He  gathered 
an  armful  of  pussy  willows  from  the  yard  and  put 
them  around.  After  that  there  wasn't  much  to  do 
except  wait  for  the  telegram  that  would  say  "when." 
At  last  it  came,  "The  airport  at  4:30  Saturday."  Then 
later  on  the  word  that  the  plane  had  been  grounded, 


and  he'd  be  on  the  five  o'clock  train. 

And  after  a  while,  Mr.  Johnson  was  in  his  shiny 
Ford  driving  the  thirty-odd  miles  to  Providence,  and 
then  he  was  standing  in  the  Union  Station,  back  near 
the  door  where  he'd  said  he'd  be;  a  big,  red-haired 
man  without  a  hat,  standing  quietly  with  a  waiting 
look  in  his  eyes.  Van  misunderstood  about  the  meet5 
ing  place,  as  his  dad  had  half-suspected  he  might,  but 
eventually  Mr.  Johnson  saw  him  at  the  other  end  of 
the  station — big  and  tanned  and  grinning  with  his 
whole  face.  He  caught  sight  of  his  dad,  and  he 
charged  at  him,  wrapped  him  in  a  tremendous  bear 
hug.  Charlie  Johnson  gripped  him  hard  around 
the  arms,  thinking  in  one  confused,  terribly  happy 
second  how  strong  he'd  grown,  how  healthy  he  looked 
and  how  terrific  that  accident  must  have  been  to  put  a 
,  scar  like  that  on  his  forehead.  (Continued  on  page  107  I 


32 


Van  (dining  with  his  No.  I  girl,  Scnja  Henie)  never 
showed  up  at  Esther  Williams'  wedding.  Seems  that  his 
invitation  got  snowed  under  all  that  Johnson  fan  mail. 


In  New  York,  Van  remained  in  one  piece  thanks  to  the 
iron  rails  at  Grand  Central  Station.  In  Miami,  he  puffed 
with    pride   when   Winston   Churchill    lunched   with  him. 


Margaret  O'Brien  and  Van  (at  President's  Birthday 
Ball),  deny  romance  rumors,  insist  careers  come 
first.     Van's   now   in    "Till   the   Clouds    Roll  By." 


JOYOUS  JUNE,   DECISIVE   DOT  AND  EX- 


CITABLE EVVIE— MEET  THAT  HILARIOUS  HAVER  TRIO  WHOSE  SECRET 
PASSWORD  IS  "GET  THE  LINENS!"    •    BY  HELEN  COLTON 


three  little  sisters 


It  takes  Junie  (of  "Woke  Up  and  Dream")  hours  to  dress  for  a 
date,  but  around  the  house  she  wears  the  same  Sloppy  Joe  togs 
as  blonde  Dot  and  dark  Ewie.    Junie  adores  charm  bracelets. 


Bubbly  June's  inclined  to  swagger  a  bit  in  her  walk,  but  Mom  can 
stop  her  dead  in  her  tracks  by  letting  out  a  long,  shrill  wolf-whistle! 
Director  Bruce  Humberstone  is  the  latest  of  June's  many  beau/ 


The  girls  hoot  at  the  idea  of  having  a  decorator  glamorize  June's  new 
Coloniol-type  home.  They  have  such  definite  ideas  that  Ma  (who  answers 
to  the  name  of  "Junior"),  is  scared  to  buy  a  pot  without  first  asking! 


•  On  the  set  recently  at  Twentieth  Centurv-Fox 
Studios,  June  Haver  has  been  one  of  the  "Three 
Little  Girls  in  Blue."  But  at  home,  a  ten-minute 
scoot  by  car  from  the  studio,  Junie  is  one  of  three 
little  sisters  in  rosy  pink.  That's  the  color  of  the  lives 
the  Three  Little  Havers — June,  Dorothy,  and  Evelyn 
— have  made  for  themselves  by  their  team  spirit. 

Not  that  there's  never  been  a  cross  word  bandied 
around  among  them.  Like  any  three  young,  attractive 
girls,  they've  had  their  bickerings  and  quarrels  over 
clothes  and  dates.  But  underneath  it,  the  Haver  gals, 
like  the  Three  Musketeers,  are  "One  for  all  and  all 
for  one."  And  let  the  outsider  who  would  try  to 
split  them  beware,  before  he  is  sent  scurrving! 

When  the  three  Haver  gals  wrere  kids  back  in  Bock 
Island,  Illinois,  June  and  Ewie's  favorite  game  when 
Dot,  the  eldest,  had  a  boy  friend  visiting,  was  "Let's 
sneak  and  peek."  Dot,  who'd  been  tricked  before, 
would  make  sure  her  kid  sisters  were  tucked  in  bed 
before  it  was  time  for  her  date  to  arrive.  Mother 
would  tactfully-  exit  to  the  kitchen  or  be  out  for  the 
evening.  Junie  and  Ewie  would  stay  awake,  giggling 
with  anticipation  of  their  little  game.    When  they 


35 

I 


June's  forever  phoning  Jimmy  Dunn  to  see  if  St.  Christopher,  her  collie 
dog  with  the  wandering  affections,  is  parking  at  his  house.  Seems  Chris- 
tie met  Jimmy  at  a  nearby  golf  course  and  promptly  switched  loyalties. 


June  feels  extra  close  to  her  mom  and  grandma  because  they  are 
so  unusually  young.  Grandma,  called  "Mammo,"  was  already  c 
grdndparent  at  33.  Mom  (left)  recently  became  an  actors'  agent 


Composing  is  another  of  June's  accomplishments.  Having  written  a  piano 
concerto  and  other  works,  she  got  Dave  Rose's  advice  on  them,  which 
started  all  that  romance  talk.  But  no — it  was  a   professional  tie-up! 


A  career  girl  despite  all  those  rumored  heartthrobs,  June  (here  with 
Dick  Haymes  at  a  Screen  Guild  show  rehearsal)  had  a  radio  pro- 
gram of  her  own  at  age  I  I  as  star  of  an  ice  cream  company's  show. 


36 


heard  the  doorbell  ring  and  knew  that  Dot's  beau  had 
come,  they'd  sneak  out  of  bed,  tiptoe  to  the  living  room 
door,  He  down  on  the  floor  in  their  pajamas  and  peek 
at  Dot  and  her  friend.  Their  giggles  would  give  them 
away  and  they'd  be  sent  back  to  bed,  with  admonitions 
from  Dot  to  "never  do  that  again."  After  a  while,  they 
gave  it  up.  It  just  got  too  dull  when  they  realized  that 
all  Dot  and  her  boy  friends  did  was  sit  and  talk! 

Junie  and  Ewie  were  too  young  to  provide  any  real 
competition  for  Dot's  beaux,  who  called  them  "kid  stuff." 
(Dot  was  born  on  July  16,  1921,  and  is  five  years  older 
than  June,  born  on  June  10,  1926,  wEo's  fourteen 
months  older  than  Ewie,  born  August  11,  1927.)  But 
Dot  recalls  it  was  always  Ewie  who  got  the  presents 
from  her  boy  friends.  One  night  a  gang  of  her  friends 
came  over  for  the  evening.  Junie  was  in  her  room 
practicing   her   impersonations   of   Garbo,  Hepburn, 


Helen  Hayes  and  Zasu  Pitts  for  a  political  rally  where 
she'd  be  the  mistress  of  ceremonies. 

"Where's  your  little  fat  sister?"  one  of  the  gang 
asked  Dot.  (Ewie  herself  admits  she  was  a  fatty  until 
a  couple  of  years  ago.) 

"Someplace  around  the  house." 

"I  got  a  little  toy  for  her  here.  I'll  go  find  her." 

The  boy  stormed  back  into  the  living  room  a  minute 
later.  "Some  family  you  are!"  he  exploded,  "leaving 
your  baby  sister  in  there  all  alone  to  do  the  dinner 
dishes  for  all  of  you." 

"What?"  Dorothy  said,  rushing  into  the  kitchen. 
There  Ewie  stood,  surrounded  by  dirty  pots,  plates, 
spoons,  with  cocoa  and  sugar  spilled  on  the  stove. 

"Making  fudge.  Have  some?"  Ewie  murmured, 
proffering  a  syrupy  finger  for  Dot  to  lick.  Dot  wanted 
to  be  mad  for  the  tall  tale  ( Continued  on  page  68 ) 


three  little  sisters 


37 


QUITE  A  TRIO,  THE  GALS 

HE  LEFT  BEHIND:  MOM.  SIS.  AND  MARIT.  BUT 

A  QUIET  TRIO.  SINCE  JEROME  COURTLAND  WENT  AWAY 

By  Hank  Jeffries 


(Editor's  Note:  Talk  about  mountains  going  to 
Mahomets!  Talk  about  coincidences!  Talk  about 
Modern  Screen  being  ever  on  the  beam!  Here  we 
were  moaning  about  Jerry  Courtland's  being  so 
terribly  far  away  for  an  interview,  when  an  old 
writer  pal  of  ours,  Hank  Jeffries,  by  name,  scribbled 
us  a  "Having  wonderful  time,  wish  you  were  here" 
note — datelined  Yokohama !  .  Which,  as  good  luck 
and  Modern  Screen's  special  good  fairy  would 
have  it,  is  where  Co  jo  is  stationed!  So  here  it  is,  a 
wonderful  scoop  by  a  first  string  reporter  on  one 
of  our  most  favorite  young  actors.) 

■  It  was  Christmas  Eve  in  Yokohama.  The  night 
was  cool,  with  a  bright  crispness  in  the  air — not 
like  a  night  in  Japan,  really,  but  more  like  one  back 
home.  The  barracks  were  strangely  quiet,  and 
there  was  none  of  the  usual  horseplay  going  on. 
Most  of  the  men  were  writing  letters.  Suddenly 
a  long,  lanky  boy  who  was  lying  on  a  cot  in  the 
corner,  began  to  sing. 

"I'm  dreaming  of  a  White  Christmas 

"Just  like  the  ones  I  used  to  know." 

His  voice  was  clear  and  strong  and  unbelievably 
sweet.  Gradually,  the  other  men  joined  in,  and 
through  the  still  dark  Japanese  night,  rose  the 
strains  of  that  typically  American  song. 

The  lean,  dreamy-eyed  boy  who  started  it  was 
Jerome  Courtland  and  he  was,  at  that  moment, 
more  homesick  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 
Yokohama  was  such  a  (Continued  on  page  120) 


The  first  time  Jerome  (who  was  photographed  in  Japan  b\ 
the  author)  saw  himself  on  the  screen,  he  was  so  disgusted  thai 
he  shouted  at  himself,  "Straighten  up  there!  Shoulders  back! 


The  gals  Cojo  left  behind  him:  Blonde  Marit  and  Mom,  wh 
once  sang  on  the  radio  under  the  name  of  Mary  Courtlan 
Cojo  likes  tall  girls,  else  his  6'4"  build  makes  him  feel  giraffis 


B.  sighed,  "Now  I  haven't  any  excuse  for  coming  in  late  from  my  new  ranch!"  when  Hedda  H.  presented  Barbara  with  her  Gruen  Award. 


She's  got  no  glamor,  no  gift  of  gab.   Just  that  shiny, 

little-girl  look  and  a  talent  that's  shooting  her  starward. 


by  hedda  hopper 


40 


watch 


Barbara  and  "fiance  Bid  Williams  [here  at  the  Acad.  Award  din- 
ner) are  saving  furiously.  Each  has  a  $40  per  week  budget,  salts 
the  rest  away  in  annuities.  They  play  to  get  married  early  in  June. 


Barbara 
hale 


After  months  of  playing  "wallc-ons,"  Barbara  (of  "A  Likely  Story") 
won  the  annual  Look  Magazine  award  as  I945's  most  promising 
actress.   Bob  Hope  presented  her  with  a  plaque  to  make  it  official. 


■  Four  months  ago.  I  picked  Bill  Williams  as  my 
Star  of  the  Month.  When  I  phoned  and  invited  him 
to  lunch,  there  was  a  brief  silence  before  he  answered. 
Finally  he  got  it  out 

''Could  I  bring  my  girl,  Miss  Hopper?" 

I  grinned  to  myself.  This  kid  was  a  character. 
The  new  rave  of  the  town's  press,  he  sounded  more 
like  a  hometown  school  boy  who  doesn't  even 
drink  a  coke  without  his  girL 

"In  the  first  place."  I  said,  "call  me  Hedda.  In 
the  second  place,  who's  your  girl?" 

"Barbara  Hale,"  he  said  quickly.  "She"s  in  the 
movies,  too.  You  ought  to  be  watching  her  instead 
of  me."  This  was  completely  unlike  an  actor.  So 
was  the  next  sentence.  "I  don't  mean  to  be  rude. 
Miss  Hop — Hedda,  but  we  always  go  everywhere 
together.    Would  it  be  all  right  with  you?" 

I  told  him  to  bring  her  along.  What  I  didn't 
tell  him  was  that  the  average  actor  who  is  invited 
to  lunch  shows  up  with  his  whole  frat  chapter  in  tow. 

When  Barbara  arrived  that  day,  I  could  see  Bill's 
point.  They  belong  together  like  the  sea  and  the 
sky,  except  that  with  these  two,  there's  no  horizon, 
no  divisible  line  to  separate  them.  They  sort  of 
melt  into  each  other,  and  seem  like  one  person.  Thev 
radiate  a  bloom  of  youth  that  makes  this  old  girl 
wish  she  could  see  twenty  again.  Walking  into  the 
restaurant,  hand  in  hand,  they  looked  bike  some- 
thing dreamed  up  by  a  4-H  club.  There's  that  halo 
of  health  about  them  that  makes  me  wisli — oh  well,  on 
with  the  story. 

I  didn't  learn  much  about  Barbara  that  day.  She 
kept  talking  about  Bill,  how  good  he  was,  how  proud 
she  was  that  I  had  chosen  him  for  the  watch  award. 
But,  on  Bill's  advice,  plus  (Continued  on  page  131) 


41 


flying  irishman  A 


Reunion  in  Chicago:  When  Gene  (now  a  lieutenant,  j.g.)  appeared 
at  March  of  Dimes  campaign,  m.c.  turned  out  to  be  ex-Lt.  Bob 
Brown,  who'd  worked  with  Gene  in  motion  pic  photography  division! 


On  leave  from  boot  camp  last  Christmas,  Apprentice  Seaman  Gene  Kelly 
visited  Hollywood's  Clover  Club  with  wife  Betsy.  Now  Betsy's  in  New  York, 
understudying  the  leading  role  in  a  Broadway  show,  till  Gene's  a  civilian. 


By  GEORGE  FRAZIER 


When  Gene  was  in  New  York  last,  he  usually  ate  at  the  cheaper  "hamburger  joints  of 
his  chorus  boy  davs.  Once  a  waitress  timidly  inquired  it  he  were  Sene  Kelly  the 
dancer.    "What?"  snorted  Kelly.    "A  sissy  dancer?    I  should  say  not!    Im  a  sa.lor! 


•  Last  February,  when  Gene  Kelly 
and  Van  Johnson  were  in  Washing- 
ton for  the  President's  Birthday  Ball, 
Gene  realized  that  Van,  who  neither 
sings  nor  dances  to  any  extent,  would 
be  at  a  decided  disadvantage  when 
it  came  to  performing  for  the  guests 
at  the  ball.  Inasmuch  as  they  are 
both  extremely  popular  young  actors 
and  therefore  natural  rivals,  you 
might  have  expected  Gene  to  press 
his  advantage.  Instead,  he  whipped 
up  a  skit,  which,  far  from  spotlight- 
ing his  own  gifts,  was  designed  to 
build  up  Van. 

On  this  same  trip  Kelly  made  it  a 
point  to  visit  the  Naval  Hospital  at 
Bethesda,  Maryland,  and  chat  with 
the  patients.  As  he  was  about  to 
leave  each  ward  he  stopped  and 
looked  back.  "There's  a  fellow  com- 
ing up  to  see  you,"  he  told  the  pa- 
tients. "His  name's  Van  Johnson. 
You'll  like  him."  Johnson  made  no 
secret  of  the  fact  that  this  thoughtful- 
ness  of  Gene's  on  his  behalf  created 
inestimable  good  will  among  war- 
toughened  men  who  might  otherwise 
have  resented  the  Johnson  vogue. 

In  addition  to  being  an  irrepres- 
sible Boy  Scout,  Gene  is  probably  the 
most  abundantly  talented  entertainer 
in  the  world!  Because  of  his  many- 
sided  talents,  Gene  is  probably  the 
most  irreplaceable  piece  of  property 
under  contract  to  any  motion  picture 
studio.  To  fill  his  job  with  any 
adequacy  at  all  would  require  five 
specialists.  (Continued  on  page  66) 


HE  SHAKES  HIS  HEAD  AND  SWEARS  HE'S  JUST  A 

TIRED  OLD  TAP  DANCER  ...  AS  HE  PUSHES  THROUGH 


THE  BOBBYSOCKERS  AND  SIGNS  "GENE  KELLY"  FOR  THE'lOOTH  TIME! 


43 


&  »  ti  «#  m  m 


i  il  a  it  a  lif 


Esther  went  jewelry  mad  in  Mexico,  bought  so  much  that  even  Ben's  Icing-size  Valentine's  Day  jewel  box  overflows. 


•  Esther  Williams  was  just  seventeen  when 
she  came  home  in  triumph  after  her  cham- 
pionship swimming  sweep  in  the  Nationals 
at  Des  Moines.  Flushed  with  her  victories 
and  fired  by  the  approaching  realization  of 
her  ambition — to  swim  for  the  United  States 
in  the  1940  Olympics — she  plunged  into  an 
all-out  training  campaign  at  the  Los  Angeles 
Athletic  Club.  She'd  won  three  team  spots 
and  three  berths  of  the  big  Olympic  ship  due 
to  sail  in  May.  Esther  had  done  the  impos- 
sible, as  she'd  vowed  to  do — reached  world 
championship  form  in  two  years.  She  had 
nine  months  now  to  whet  the  edge  of  her 
racing  form. 

Then  a  bomb  screamed  down,  burst  in  a 
bright,  red  flame — and  shattered  Esther  Wil- 
liams' swimming  career  to  smithereens. 

The  bomb  burst,  not  in  Los  Angeles,  but  in 
far-off  Helsinki,  Finland.  It  fell  from  a  roar- 
ing Russian  bomber  (Continued  on  page  86) 


Between  acting  and  camp  touring,  E.  squeezed  in  some  non-pro  dunking 
with  her  then  fiance,  Sgt.  Gage.  Now  Ben's  spare  time  goes  in  build- 
ing a  bar  out  of  wood  he  knocked  out  of  an  "extra"  wall  in  their  home. 


44 


The  Gage  patio  looks  over  the  Hollywood  hills  and  ocean,  has  a  beat-up  barbe- 
cue which  Ben  works  overtime.  A  singing  chef,  he  bellows  so  loud  at  his  work 
Esther  has  to  stuff  her  ears,  plead  "Please,  darling,  boom  in  the  other  direction." 


SHE  WAS  SCARED  TILL 
GABLE  STARTED  KISSIN',  SHE  WAS 
SHY  TILL  THE  MAR- 
QUEES BLAZED.    THEN  IT 
HAPPENED— THE  MERMAID 
TURNED  INTO  A  SIREN. 

By  Kirtley  Baskette 


The  piglet  helps  her  penny  pinch,  but  it  took  a  slew  of  pals  to 
okay  Esther's  new  rug.  She  had  them  drink  a  toast,  then  spill  the 
champagne.    When,  later,  no  spots  appeared,  she  bought  the  rug! 


For   Frankie,  she  takes  the  winter 
And  makes  it  summer — 

Picture  a  tomboy  in  lace,  that's 


nancy  with  the  laughing  face 


Family  Portrait:  Tiny  Nancy  [with  Frank,  Jr.  and  Mom)  is  so  attached  to  Dad 
that  when  he  flew  to  Boston  to  play  a  benefit  with  Crosby,  she  wept  buckets.  Show 
was  such  a  hit,  Frank  (of  "Till  The  Clouds  Roll  By")  and  Bing  plan  a  pic  together. 


By  Ida  Zeitlin 


■  She  came  running  in.  her  face  lighting 
up  as  always  when  she  sees  her  father. 
Frank  scooped  her  into  his  arms.  "Here's 
Nancy  with  the  laughing  face — " 

"Hey,  that's  a  cute  song  title,"  said 
Phil  Silvers,  who'd  dropped  in  at  Frank's 
with  Jimmy  \  an  Heusen.  Jimmy  was 
doodling  at  the  piano.  "Lemme  write  a 
lyric  and  run  the  pros  out  of  town — " 

He  didn't  mean  it.  Phil's  that  unique 
bird  who  doesn't  want  to  write  a  lyric. 
All  he  wants  is  to  be  an  employed  actor. 
This  lyric  he  wrote  in  spite  of  himself. 
Because  Jimmy  grinned  up  at  him  and 
went  on  doodling,  and  out  of  the  music 
little  Nancy's  face  laughed  again,  and 
words  began  forming  inside  Phil's 
dome.  .  .  . 

\\~hen  it  was*  finished,  he  sang  it  for 
big  Nancy,  who  got  all  choked  up  and 
made  the  boys  send  it  to  Frank  in  New- 
York.  He  read  it  and  gulped  and  intro- 
duced it  on  his  next  broadcast.  Maybe 
he  sang  it  three  times  altogether  before 
leaving  with  Phil  and  the  rest  of  the  gang 
for  the  ETO.  No  one  expected  the  song  to 
be  commercial.  -  The  boys  had  written  it 
for  their  buddy,  Frank  had  put  it  on  the 
air  for  Nancy,  and  now  it  could  be  re- 
tired to  private  life. 

So  they  go  overseas  and  the  song's 
forgotten  and  comes  time  for  Frank  to 
do  his  recruest  (Continued  on  page  110) 


47 


tutmg,  and  on  the  beam 


■  The  telephone  rang.  It  kept  on  ringing.  A  tousled 
blond  head  emerged  from  beneath  a  pillow,  and  a 
tanned  arm  reached  for  the  instrument. 

"Hello,"  Kurt  said,  without  enthusiasm.  It  was 
pretty  early  in  the  morning. 

"Give  me  the  perfume  counter,  please."  .  said  a 
feminine  voice  at  the  other  end. 

Kurt  didn't  even  do  a  double  take.  He  was  used 
to  this.  His  telephone  number  was  so  similar  to  that 
of  a  big  Los  Angeles  department  store  that  it  happened 
all  the  while.  He  was,  he  decided  sourly,  tired 
of  it.  He  had  been  out  till  three  this  morning  and 
being  waked  up  at  nine  by  some  dizzy  female  who 
couldn't  even  dial  straight  didn't  please  him.  He 
would  teach  her  a  lesson.  He  clicked  the  phone  a 
couple  of  times  and  then  said  "This  is  the  perfume 
counter,"  in  a  rather  high  voice. 

"I  wanted  to  know  if  you  still  have  the  LaRue  cologne 
at  $8.75  a  bottle,"  the  customer  (Continued  on  page  126) 


"Intime"  (pro- 
nounced an-teem) — that's  "cozy"  in 
French.    And  Kurt 
Kreuger — that's  charm  in 
any  language! 


Courtly  Kurt  (now  villaining  in  "The  Dark  Cor- 
ner") has  been  going  steadiest  with  ex-Powers 
girl    Cathy    Downs,    new   20th    Century-Fox  starlet. 


By  Abigail  Putnam 


Recently  Kurt  answered  a  knock  at  his  door,  whereupon  a  girl  dashed  in,  ran 
to  +tie  piano,  played  a  song  and  kissed  him  before  being  chased.  "That 
sort  of  thing  happens  all  the  time,"  puzzles  Kurt,  "I  can't  understand  why!" 


49 


./V 


the  power  and  the  glory 


THE  GLORY  OF  HOME- 
COMING, THE  POWER  OF  TYRONE'S  LOVE- 
NO  WONDER  ANNABELLA  MET 
THE  BOAT,  AND  TY  JUMPED  SHIP! 

By  Fredda  Dudley 


■  The  Marine  lieutenant  on  the  ship  which 
was  being  towed  into  dock  at  Portland, 
Oregon,  was  a  very  glum  chum,  indeed. 
He  had  let  his  wife  know  on  what  boat  he 
was  returning  from  the  South  Pacific,  and 
he  had  assured  her — as  he  had  been  assured 
— that  the  vessel  would  put  to  port  in  San 
Francisco. 

But  now,  in  accordance  with  military 
custom  the  world  over,  the  plans  had  been 
changed.  The  lieutenant  was  landing  a 
thousand  miles  north  of  San  Francisco,  and 
he  thought  gloomily  of  the  little  woman 
standing  on  the  wharf  within  the  Golden 
Gate  and  being  viewed  by  the  hungrv  eyes 
of  thousands  of  other  returning  servicemen 
— not  one  of  whom  was  her  eager  husband. 

Tyrone  Power  was  leaning  over  tbe  rail 
and  taking  a  generally  dim  view  of  the 
homecoming  he  had  so  long  anticipated, 
when  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  sight  of  a 
gleaming  head  far  below.  In  addition  to 
her  shining  hair,  this  slender  number  had 
ample  assets  to  inspire  the  wolf  calls  that 
began  to  ascend  like  midnight  on  the  Yukon 
trail. 

"Annabella!"  he  veiled. 

"Oh,  Tyrone  .  .  .  Tyrone,"  she  called 
back.  She  pronounces  his  name  Tear  (as 
in  dew  from  the  eyes,  which  she  had  in 
quantities  i  and  Own  (as  in  Mine,  all  mine). 
''Tear-own.  Tear-own" 

Lieutenant  Power  scanned  the  dock  and 
found  a  clear  spot  toward  which  he  might 
leap.  Then  he  looked  at  the  yawning  gap 
of  rideland  water  (Continued  on  page  99) 


Story  swapping  at  the  Stork:  Civilians  Romero  and  Power  both  have 
long  service  in  the  Marianas  to  their  credit,  both  are  now  movie 
making:   Cesar  in   "Three   Girls   in   Blue,"   Ty  in   "The   Razor's  Edge.' 


Mrs.  P.  used  to  visit  Ty  (here  with  an  officer  friend)  at  the  El  Centra 
Marine  Corps  Air  Station,  kept  his  interest  in  acting  so  bright  he 
invested,  along  with  Helen  Hayes,  in  the  American  Repertory  Theater. 


51 


1+  didn't  matter 
to  the  Dane  Clarks  if  all  they 
had  for  dinner  was  a  can 
of  beans — so  long  as  they 
had  each  other. 


a  can  of  beans - 

and  you 


Dane  (in  "A  Stolen  Life")  vows  the  birdhouse  is  cozier  that 
their  4-room  "mansion"  which  Claries  moved  into  befor 
roof  was  installed.  They  lived  under  tar  paper  for  2  week 


By  Edward  A.  Herron 


Dane  runs  up  huge  phone  bills  raving  to  pals  about  new  house  furnishings. 
Margot  gets  just  as  excited,  but  not  as  extravagant.  The  Clarks  haunt 
antique  shops,  will  storage  most  ot  their  buys  till  house  is  completed. 


■  A  white-haired  old  man  met  them  at  the  door, 
nodded  absent-mindedly  and  led  the  way  into  the 
parlor.  A  short,  matronly  woman  came  and  stood 
beside  the  piano  during  the  ceremony,  fanning  herself 
with  a  small  handkerchief.  She  stopped  the  fluttering 
when  the  final  words  were  said  and  the  dark-haired 
boy  looked  at  the  red-haired  girl  for  just  a  moment 
before  folding  her  in  his  arms.  "Honey,"  she  heard 
him  whisper,  "it's  forever.  Forever  and  ever." 

Dane  Clark  and  Margot  were  married. 

"You're  not  sorry,  Red?"  When  she  shook  her 
head  vigorously,  smiling,  he  took  hold  of  hands,  in- 
tense. "It's  going  to  be  a  tough  go,  honey,  a  fight 
from  the  opening  bell,  and  maybe  I  shouldn't  have 
asked  you  to — " 

"It's  too  late  to  change  my  mind,  Dane.  And  I 
don't  want  to.  We've  talked  it  over  a  hundred  times. 
Besides  we're  going  to  miss  the  bus  back  to  town. 


Come  along,  darling." 

They  ran  across  the  hot,  concrete  street,  dodging 
the  swollen  stream  of  traffic,  waving  wildly  at  the  bus 
ripping  along  the  edge  of  the  stream.  When  they 
came  to  the  brownstone  front  in  Brooklyn  hiding  the 
one-room  apartment  that  was  to  be  Honeymoon  Hotel, 
they  went  along  a  narrow  hall,  pitch  dark  save  for 
the  yellow  light  gleaming  dimly  at  one  end.  Before 
the  dark  wooden  door  Dane  fumbled  for  his  key.  He 
had  it  thrust  out  toward  the  door  when  suddenly  he 
jammed  it  deep  within  his  pocket  again. 

"Cripes,  Red,  this  is  no  place  for  us.  Let's  get 
out  of  here." 

A  half  hour  later  they  were  walking  quickly  toward 
the  black  gash  cut  in  surrounding  skyscrapers.  There 
were  tall  trees,  the  sleepy  chattering  of  birds,  the  faint, 
elusive  touch  of  a  breeze.  They  passed  a  policeman's 
horse  clomping  morosely  {Continued  on  page  122) 


DIANA'S  A  TEEN-DREAM 


Diana  claimed  Douglas  Dick  (of  "The  Searching  Wind")  tied  his 
bow  like  an  inside  loop,  bet  him  a  car-polishing  she'd  do  it  prettier! 
Result:  The  sigh  guy  with  the  spry  tie  massaged  her  convertible! 


WITH  A  STRING  OF  HEARTS  LIKE  A  CHARM 


BRACELET,  BUT  MRS.  LYNN  REMEMBERS 


WHEN  SHE  PREFERRED  BOOKS  TO  BOYS 


by  Cynthia  Miller 


■wreethoart 


"Our  Hearts  Were  Growing  Up"  is  more  than  the  title  of  Diana's 
pic;  she's  very  grown  up  with  Henry  Willson  escorting  her  to  the 
Academy  Award  dinner  .  .  .  grown  up  to  a  full  five-feet,  six-inches. 


■  As  the  car  turned  up  the  hill,  Diana 
looked  at  her  watch  for  the  third  time  in 
five  minutes. 

"Gosh,  it's  almost  two-thirty,  and  one  is 
absolute  curfew.  This  is  really  going  to 
be  rough." 

The  young  ensign  at  the  wheel  was 
apologetic.  "I  should  have  kept  track  of 
the  time.    It  isn't  up  to  a  girl  to  do  it.'" 

"But  we  were  having  such  fun.  All  those 
friends  of  yours  were  wonderful,  and  I 
loved  sitting  around  singing  those  old 
songs.  .  .  ."  Diana  stopped  suddenly  as 
she  got  a  look  at  the  Loehr  house  which 
was  lighted  up  like  the  Carthay  Circle  at 
a  premiere.  She  groaned.  "You'd  better 
just  let  me  out  and  then  duck.  This  looks 
like  double  trouble." 

"Don't  be  a  dope."  The  ensign  stopped 
the  car  and  gallantly  came  around  to  help 
her  out.  "I  can  always  offer  to  make  an 
honest  woman  of  you."  He  grinned  at 
her   teasingly.  {Continued  on  page  82) 


That  lazy  jumping  bean,  Bob 
Mitchum,  has  two  suits,  two  sons  and  two  studios, 

but  is  strictly  one  of 
those  one-woman  guys — even  if  Dot  can't  cook! 


The  kids  can  take  anything  Bob  dishes  up!  Big  Jimmy's  spots  are 
the  remains  of  chicken  pox.  while  Chris  still  has  a  babyhood  bare 
spot  on  his  noggin.    Dad's  apron  is  a  leftover  from  his  Army  days 


Bob's  career  slept  through  eight  "Hopalong  Cassidy"  horse  operus. 
countless  bit  parts,  comes  fully  awake  in  "Till  the  End  of  Time." 
David  O.  Selznick   proudly  owns  half  of  his  ex-extra's  contract. 


•  Bob  was  lying  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the 
fire,  fast  asleep,  when  it  happened.  Not  that 
he  would  have  admitted  he  was  asleep — he 
never  does.  He  always  claims  he  "just  shut  his 
eyes  for  a  minute."  He  even  thinks  I  believe 
it.  Anyway,  there  he  was,  sleeping,  and  there 
/  was,  out  in  the  kitchen  frowning  in  despair 
at  the  cookbook  he'd  given  me  the  week  be- 
fore. Why  can't  cookbooks  say  what  they 
mean  in  plain  English?  Why  all  this  double- 
talk  about  dripping  and  basting  and  things 
nobody  ever  heard  of?  I  had  a  roast  in  the 
oven,  and  I  was  determined  that  for  once  it 
should  taste  like  something  besides  used 
chewing  gum.  I  was  going  to  dream  up  seme 
biscuits  to  go  with  it,  too,  I  hoped,  if  only 
I  could  interpret  that  cookbook. 

The  radio  was  going  but  I  wasn't  paying 
any  attention.  We  leave  it  on  for  hours  with- 
out really  listening.  But  suddenly  the  words 
clicked  into  place  in  my  mind,  because  the 
commentator  was  talking  about  Bob. 

"Academy  Award  nominations  for  best  sup- 
porting male  role  include  Robert  Mitchum  ? 
performance  in'GI  Joe!'" 

I'll  never  forget  those  words,  or  the  way 
they  made  me  feel.  Happiness  bubbled 
through  me — the  crazy  kind  that  catches  at 
your  throat  and  makes  you  want  to  laugh 
and  cry  all  at  once.  I  jumped  up,  knocking 
over  the  mixing  bowl,  and  tore  into  the 
other  room. 

"Bob!   Wake  up!   You're  a  great  actor!" 

Bob  opened  one  languid  eye  and  grinned  at 
me.  "Urn-hum." 

"You've  been  nominated  for  an  Oscar!  Did 
you  hear  it,  you  big  dope?" 

"Um-hum."  He  stretched  lazily,  ripping 
his  shirt  in  the  process.  I  can't  keep  that 
guy  in  shirts. 

"Honey,  don't  you  care?  Oh,  golly,  I'm 
so  excited  I  can  {Continued  on  page  115 1 


by 

dorothy  mitchum 

as  told  to 
Virginia  wilson 


Lost:  One  weekend! 
Found:  One  Oscar!  Academy  Award 
Dinner  bright  with 
some  tears  and  much  laughter. 


Attendees  were  treated  to  the  newest  in  Academy  Award  dinners — 
scenes  featuring  the  Oscar  candidates  flashed  on  a  screen!  Here  Best 
Actor  Ray  Milland  receives  his  prize  from  1944  winner  Ingrid  Bergman. 


Runner-up  Cornel  Wilde  and  wife  raved  for  Ray. 


Best  Actress  Joan  "Mildred  Pierce"  Crawford  missed  all  the  fun.  Sat  up 
in  her  sickbed  to  croak  thanks  to  Director  Mike  Curtiz  who  acted  as  her 
stand-in   at  the  great   moment  and   then   toted   the  Oscar  to  her. 


58 


The  night  of  nights  in  Hollywood  .  .  .  The  Academy 
Awards  .  .  .  and  I've  never  seen  so  many  smiles  of  happiness 
on  every  face  ...  or  so  many  tears  in  the  eyes! 

Does  that  sound  ambiguous?  It  is  only  because  as  each  win- 
ner was  announced,  Joan  Crawford,  Ray  Milland,  Anne  Revere 
and  particularly,  James  Dunn,  there  was  so  much  real,  heartfelt 
sentiment. 

Don't  let  anybody  tell  you,  and  I  have  heard  a  few  hints, 
that  Ingrid  Bergman  took  her  loss  hard.  The  truth  is,  that  back- 
stage, Ingrid  grabbed  hold  of  Charlie  Brackett's  (also  a  winner 
for  scripting  "Lost  Weekend")  arm  and  said  with  feeling  too 


sincere  to  doubt,  "I'm  so  glad— so  glad,  for  Miss  Crawford." 

Joan,  herself,  was  well  dissolved  in  tears  in  bed  at  her 
home  by  this  time  for,  as  you  know,  she  was  suffering  with 
the  flu  and  running  a  temperature  of  103.  I  talked  with  her 
on  the  telephone  five  minutes  after  we  •  left  the  theater  and 
she  was  so  choked  up  with  emotion  she  could  hcrrdly  speak. 
"I  just  can't  believe  it,  Louella,"  she  said  between  sobs,  "I 
just  can't  believe  it!" 

Then  she  laughed  a  little  bit  and  said,  "Flu  or  no  flu,.  Dr. 
Branch  has  given  permission  for  the  photographers  to  come 
out  here  and  take  my  picture  with  (Continued  on  page  63) 


louella  parsons'  good  news 


ED  SULLIVAN  SPEAKING... 


1 


While  the  scientists  are  rigging  up  the  Pacific 
atoll  experiments  that  will  determine  the  energy 
content  of  the  various  types  of  atom  bombs,  the 
people  of  show  business  would  like  to  learn  the 
secret  of  another  bundle  of  energy  which  goes  by 
the  name  of  Eddie  Cantor — and  goes  at  top  speed. 
The  nuclear  reactions  of  Cantor  30  years  ago  be- 
wildered Flo  Ziegfeld,  fifteen  years  ago  baffled  Sam 
Goldwyn,  and  today  are  a  subject  of  equal  per- 
plexity to  radio  sponsors,  motion  picture  theater 
managers,  directors,  newspapermen  and  everyone 
else  who  comes  into  direct  contact  with  Little 
Popeye,  Ida's  husband.  I've  known  him  for  sixteen 
years  and  still  can't  figure  out  what  makes  him 
tick,  because  his  energy  is  unlimited,  his  zest  for 
life  is  stepped-up  with  the  yeaTS.  I'm  convinced 
that  vitamins  take  Cantor! 

Not  long  ago,  I  asked  Eddie  to  take  his  radio 
show  out  for  me  to  Halloran  General  Hospital,  the 
great  Army  hospital  on  Staten  Island.  It  required 
guite  a  bit  of  maneuvering  on  Cantor's  part — it  also 
cost  him  about  $1,000  of  his  own  money  for  tele- 
phone wires — but  one  day  he  called  up  and  said 
that  it  was  all  set.  "Where  you  calling  from,  Ed- 
die?" I  asked  him.  "Right  here  in  Boston,"  he  said 
casually.  He  had  flown  to  Boston  to  try  to  salvage 
the  musical  show,  "Nellie  Bly,"  in  which  he  had 
$150,000  of  his  own  money.  Throughout  this  time, 
despite  the  certain  loss  of   that  large  chunk  of 


currency,  Cantor  never  was  anything  but  genial 
and  considerate.  I  commented  on  this  and  Cantor 
said:  "When  I  was  wiped  out  in  1929,  I  found  out 
that  money  didn't  mean  a  thing.  I  don't  like  to  lose 
5150,000,  but  all  I  can  do  is  my  best  to  recoup — 
if  that's  not  sufficient,  well,  that's  a  closed  chapter." 

He  came  in  from  Boston  and  the  ill-fated  "Nellie  Bly" 
for  the  Halloran  broadcast.  We  met  in  the  lobby  of 
the  Waldorf-Astoria  Towers  at  about  two  o'clock.  Can- 
tor was  doing  a  buck-and-wing  for  some  members  of 
the  radio  cast.  Seeing  me,  he  switched  to  an  Irish  jig, 
halting  that  to  sign  some  autographs  for  an  elderly 
guest.  A  room  clerk,  a  girl,  introduced  herself  to 
me  as  a  friend  of  my  family,  so  I  introduced  her  to 
Cantor.  He  promptly  did  a  dance  with  her,  sang 
some  snatches  of  a  song,  signed  the  autograph.  They 
called  him  to  the  phone.  He  told  somebody  in 
Boston  to  take  a  pencil  while  he  dictated  a  change 
in  dialogue  in  one  scene,  corrected  some  lighting 
cues. 

It  was  time  for  us  to  start  out  in  the  Red  Cross 
bus  for  Halloran.  Out  on  the  sidewalk,  people  were 
waiting  for  him  and  he  got  them  laughing  with 
rapid-fire  jokes.  He  was  signing  autographs  right 
up  to  the  time  the  bus  pulled  down  50th  Street,  and 
from  then  until  we  reached  the  hospital,  he  talked 
authoritatively  and  interestingly  on  politics,  the  Jew- 
ish question  as  it  related  to  Palestine,  the  wounded 
he'd  entertained  at  a  Navy  hospital,  the  late  FDR 
and  a  variety  of  other  subjects. 

By  this  time,  we  were  on  the  electric  ferry  that 
slices  past  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  into  the  fairway 
leading  to  Staten  Island.  The  salt  air  made  me 
sleepy,  but  not  Cantor.  It  merely  served  to  wake 
him  up.  When  I  dozed  off,  he  was  getting  a  ship- 
board shoeshine  while  talking  animatedly  to  a  group 
of  servicemen  and  civilians  who  had  surrounded 
him.  He  was  still  talking  and  signing  autographs 
when  we  berthed  at  Staten  Island  and  started  the 
last  15 -minute  drive  to  the  giant  hospital.  At  the 
hospital.  Cantor  rehearsed  his  entire  show — songs 
and  dialogue — and  then  after  almost  two  solid  hours 
of  rehearsal,  he  turned  to  us  and  said  happily: 
"Now  we  can  go  out  to  the  wards  and  entertain 
some  of  the  wounded  who  won't  be  able  to  get 
to  the  auditorium."  (Continued  on  page  63) 


Ed  Sullivan  awards  the  MODERN  SCREEN  Plaque  to  famous 
comic,    philanthropist   and    brilliant   showman,    Eddie  Cantor. 


HOSPITAL  STAFF  ASSISTANT—  Early  in  the 
war  Joy  volunteered  as  Hospital  Staff  Assistant. 
"It's  desk  work  that  is  very,  very  human"  she 
says.  Hospitals  still  are  in  desperate  need  of 
volunteers.  Go  to  your  local  hospital  and  help. 


SHE    USES  POND'S! 


Her  beauty  is  gold  and  rose — aristocratic  as  an  exquisite  Venetian  painting. 


jfeptmne  (&me#  fa  /vime^O^y^o^J 


Her  ring,  seven  diamonds 
set  in  platinum 


When  she  was  just  a  little  girl, 
Joy  Thomas  used  to  watch 
Jackie  Dale  play  tennis,  and  ardently 
admired  his  skill. 

Now,  she's  a  tall,  slim,  golden  girl 
happily  wearing  his  beautiful  ring. 
Another  Pond's  engaged  girl  with  the 
soft-smooth  witchery  of  an  especially 
lovely  complexion. 

"I'm  ever  so  keen  about  Pond's 
Cold  Cream  to  keep  my  face  looking 
nice  and  feeling  soft  and  smooth  to 
touch,"  Joy  says.  "Pond's  is  really  a 
grand  cream." 

Joy  uses  Pond's  Cold  Cream  like 
this:  Smooths  the  silky,  white  cream 
generously  over  her  face  and  throat 


DAUGHTER  OF  MR.  AND  MRS.  DAVID  THOMAS  II,  CHESTNUT  HILL,  PA.. 
ENCAGED  TO  JOHN   A.  H.  DALE 


— and  pats  well  to  soften  and  release 
dirt  and  make-up.  Tissues  off. 

Rinses  with  another  Pond's  cream- 
ing, circling  cream-coated  fingers 
around  her  face  in  little  spirals.  Tis- 
sues again.  "It  makes  my  face  feel 
extra  clean,  extra  soft,"  she  says. 

Pond's  your  face  her  twice-over 
way — in  the  morning  when  you  get 
up,  and  again  at  bedtime.  Use  Pond's 
Cold  Cream  for  daytime  freshen-ups, 
too.  It's  no  accident  so  many  more 
women  use  Pond's  than  any  other 
face  cream  at  any  price. 


Ask  for  a  big  luxury  size  jar  of  Pond's  today. 


61 





EVEN 


PARIS 


WAS  EMBARRASSED! 


62 


ED  SULLIVAN  SPEAKING 

(Continued  from  page  60) 


The  wards  were  a  tumult  of  excitement 
when  he  arrived.  Again  autographs,  per- 
sonal jokes  to  the  men,  and  then  into  a 
regular  stage  routine  with  Thelma  Car- 
penter and  Leonard  Sues.  By  this  time 
Cantor  had  been  on  his  feet  for  three  hours, 
but  finally  he  was  to  get  a  chance  to  sit 
down,  at  dinner  with  General  and  Mrs. 
Ralph  G.  Devoe,  and  Lieut.  Col.  (Father) 
John  M.  Bellamy.  From  the  dinner,  we  sped 
to  the  broadcast  in  the  auditorium,  but 
preceding  the  broadcast,  Cantor  put  on  a 
30-minute  warm  up  session.  And  late  that 
night,  when  we  got  back  to  New  York, 
Cantor  suggested  gaily:  "Eddie,  how's 
about  going  to  some  alley  and  bowling 
three  games?" 

Actually,  he  isn't  the  athletic  type. 

Once,  at  Palm  Springs,  California,  we 
asked  him  to  get  up  early,  to  go  horseback 
riding  and  then  play  a  few  holes  of  golf. 

"Listen,  boys,"  said  Cantor.  "I  have  seen 
too  many  little  guys  go  to  a  resort  for  a 
rest  and  drop  dead,  trying  to  get  in  shape 
over  the  weekend.  Not  me.  My  limit  in 
exercise  is  gin  rummy,  with  very  light 
cards." 

Anyone  so  successful  as  Cantor  must 
have  made  enemies.  His  assured,  dictatorial 
manner  has  enraged  plenty  of  people.  His 
dabbling  in  polities  has  enraged  others, 
who  don't  believe  that  actors  should  have 
opinions  on  anything  more  profound  than 
a  bad  review  in  Variety.  First  time  Can- 
tor and  I  ever  hooked  up,  he  was  furious 
at  something  I'd  written  about  an  act  in 
which  he  currently  was  appearing  with 
Jessel.  Cantor,  always  enthusiastic,  was 
going  to  buy  up  the  newspaper  to  gratify 
his  yen  to  fire  me.  Down  the  years,  he  has 
aroused  vivid  grudges  and  indulged  plenty 
of  his  own.  His  courage  inevitably  would 
lead  into  violent  disputes,  for  he  was 
courageous  as  a  comedian,  and  courageous 
offstage. 

His  closest  friend,  I  guess,  is  Georgie 
Jessel,  of  whose  fantastic  activities  Cantor 
cnce  remarked:  "Georgie  is  wonderful. 
He  has  so  many  irons  in  the  fire — that  he 
puts  out  the  fire."  On  one  occasion,  Jessel 
long-distance  phoned  Cantor  from  San 
Francisco.  "Come  here  instantly,  Eddie," 
pleaded  Jessel.    Cantor,  fearing  the  worst, 


rushed  from  Beverly  Hills  to  San  Francisco. 
He  dashed  into  Jessel's  suite,  certain  that 
Georgie  had  knocked  himself  off.  In  the 
half-gloom,  he  saw  Jessel  in  front  of  a  fire 
with  a  beautiful  Chinese  girl.  "Eddie,"  said 
Jessel,  calmly,  "can't  you  use  her  in  your 
next  Goldwyn  picture?" 

What  qualities  in  Cantor  have  made  him 
a  tremendous  commercial  success,  not  only 
once,  when  he  was  a  young  man — but  when 
he  was  older,  broke,  busted  after  the  1929 
Goldman-Sachs  debacle?  Start  off  with 
his  enormous  talent,  if  you  wish  to  ap- 
praise him,  because  he  has  talent  to  burn. 
Some  comics  are  good  in  night  clubs  or 
on  vaudeville  stages — some  may  click  in 
movies,  or  on  radio.  Consider  that  Cantor 
has  clicked  in  every  medium,  and  in  addi- 
tion, is  probably  the  greatest  "book"  comic 
ever  to  appear  on  Broadway.  Add  to 
these  assets  his  singing,  and  his  dancing — 
and  above  all  these  things,  threw  in  his 
courage  and  intelligence  and  you  have  an 
all-star  lineup  of  assets. 

Cantor  undoubtedly  has  been  spoiled. 
Anyone  who  zoomed  from  the  east  side 
of  New  York  to  international  reputation 
might  certainly  be  pardoned  a  bit  of  spoli- 
ation. The  astounding  thing  is  that  he  has 
rarely  lost  his  head,  or  gone  sour  in  his 
judgment. 

His  biggest  mistake  bankrupted  him  in 
1929,  but  Wall  Street  brought  down  brain- 
ier financial  men  than  Cantor  in  that  ap- 
palling disaster. 

His  radio  judgment  of  Mussolini,  after 
meeting  him  in  Rome,  was  in  error,  but  not 
more  faulty  than  the  estimate  written  into 
history  by  some  of  the  top  statesmen  of  the 
world. 

Cantor,  however,  wiped  out  all  other 
errors  in  his  correct  estimate  of  Franklin 
Delano  Roosevelt.  Close  to  the  people 
himself,  Cantor  realized  instantly  that  FDR 
was  destined  to  be  the  people's  champion. 

So  much  for  Cantor  as  a  man  of  the 
world.  Let's  regard  him  professionally. 
Probably  no  other  performer  ever  knew 
so  much  about  selecting  vaudeville  dates 
as  Cantor  knew.  Other  performers  on  tour 
frequently  found  themselves  washed  out  by 
springfloods,  or  flattened  by  Lent,  or  wrecked 
by  Jewish  holidays.  Some  failed  to  notice 


that  they  had  been  booked  into  a  city  in 
which  the  American  Legion  or  Shriners 
destroyed  show  business  for  a  week.  Still 
other  performers  forgot  to  notice  that  they 
had  been  booked  into  Chicago  during  the 
home  stay  of  the  Cubs  or  White  Sox. 

Cantor  never  made  mistakes  like  that. 
Perhaps  he  absorbed  that  vaude  knowl- 
edge from  William  Morris  or  Abe  Last- 
fogel,  but  his  sagacity  in  booking  personal 
appearances  was  legendary.  He  always  had 
the  best  of  it,  because  he  made  his  breaks 
and  he  never  butted  his  head  against  a 
stone  wall.  One  week,  I  followed  him  into 
the  •  Palace  Theater,  at  Chicago.  Cantor 
busted  every  record,  and  this  curious  thing 
developed:  The  manager  of  the  theater 
told  me  that  the  box  office  never  had 
handled  so  many  large,  old-style  dollar  and 
five  dollar  bills.  Farmers  and  their  wives 
who  had  learned  to  enjoy  Cantor  over 
the  radio  came  to  Chicago  on  a  picnic 
when  he  was  booked  into  the  Palace, 
brought  along  Ma  and  the  kids,  and  ate 
their  lunches  right  in  the  theater. 

In  giving  this  third  Ed  Sullivan-MOD- 
ERN  SCREEN  Award  to  Eddie  Cantor,  as 
a  recognition  of  long  and  honorable  service, 
I've  tried  to  express  the  overall  picture 
of  the  energetic  little  comedy  star,  a  com- 
posograph  of  a  fine  artist  and  a  fine  citi- 
zen. It  is  a  recognition  of  the  military 
ports  and  posts  and  hospitals  he  has 
played,  a  memorial  from  the  little  church- 
es and  synagogues  which  owe  so  much 
to  his  personal  appearances — it  is  appre- 
ciation and  amazement  at  the  energy  which 
distinguishes  him. 

While  he  was  in  New  York,  Cantor  in- 
troduced me  one  night  at  Rabbi  Birstein's 
annual  benefit  show  for  the  Actors'  Syna- 
gogue: 

"Every  time  you  see  this  fellow,"  said 
Cantor,  "he  is  appearing  at  a  benefit  show 
for  the  wounded,  or  the  sick,  or  the  poor, 
regardless  of  race,  color  or  religion.  How 
he  does  it,  at  his  age,  I  don't  know."  With 
that  jibe,  the  considerably  older  Cantor 
ran  offstage.  Actually,  I  can  use  his 
tag-line  as  the  tag-line  of  this  tribute  to 
Eddie  Cantor,  and  I  hope  Ida  and  the 
daughters  aren't  listening — because  "how 
he  does  it  at  his  age,  I  don't  know." 


the  Oscar.  I  want  my  picture  taken  so  I'll 
always  know  how  I  looked  on  the  happiest 
night  of  my  life!" 

Later,  at  the  La  Rue  cafe,  where  Para- 
mount was  tossing  a  "victory"  party,  I  ran 
smack  into  the  other  big  winnah,  Ray  Mil- 
land.  "I  sure  got  you  off  the  hot  spot,  Lou- 
ella!"  he  called,  clear  across  the  room.  And 
ie  sure  had!  Here's  a  little  secret:  I  was  so 
sure  he  was  going  to  win  that  I  had  built 
my  whole  radio  show  around  an  interview 
with  Ray  weeks  in  advance! 

Of  course,  the  whole  Paramount  crowd 
was  up  in  the  air  because  not  only  had  Ray 
:jiven  the  "best  male  performance  of  1945," 
Dut  their  picture,  "The  Lost  Weekend,"  was 

he  winning  production  of  the  year,  Billy 
Wilder,  who  directed  it,  "the  best  director" 
xad  Wilder  and  his  crony,  Charles  Brackett, 

'the  best  script  writers." 


GOOD  NEWS 

(Continued,  from  page  59) 


But  let's  get  back  to  other  high  spots,  and 
one  or  two  low  moments,  of  the  show  itself. 

Sometimes,  Frankie  Sinatra  can  irritate  me 
a  little.  But  the  night  of  the  Academy  was 
NOT  one  of  the  times  he  peeved  me. 

Frankie  pitched  in  and  helped  out  every 
time  he  was  called  upon  to  pinch  hit.  And 
he  was  asked  to  pinch  hit  for  nobody 
less  than  Bing  Crosby,  who  most  certainly 
SHOULD  have  been  there  and  WASN'T! 

But  when  Bing  didn't  show  up,  Frankie  was 
called  on  to  do  the  honors.  He  did  the  num- 
bers beautifully  even  though  he  had  to  read 
the  words  off  a  card  put  into  his  hand  just 
before  he  stepped  onto  the  stage. 

And,  oh,  that  Jimmy  Dunn!  I  tell  you  there 
was  a  shout  of  happiness  from  everybody 
in  the  theater  (have  I  mentioned  that  it  was 
Grauman's  Chinese?)  when  Ginger  Rogers 
told  the  world  that  Jimmy  had  hit  the  come- 


back trail  to  win  with  his  wonderful,  moving 
performance  in  "A  Tree  Grows  In  Brooklyn." 
I  was  sitting  close  to  Jimmy  and  the  first 
thing  he  did,  even  before  he  started  to  run 
down  to  the  stage,  was  to  lean  over  and  kiss 
his  pretty  wife  and  press  her  hand  hard. 

Anne  Revere,  who  snagged  the  honors  for 
"best  supporting"  actress  for  the  mother  in 
"National  Velvet"  was  lovely  in  her  formal 
black  gown  with  the  corsage  of  orchids. 

The  girl  who  really  looked  the  most 
stunning,  and  just  the  way  fans  expect 
movie  stars  to  look,  was  Kathryn  Grayson 
in  a  form  fitting  white  dress,  a  full  length  er- 
mine coat,  and  her  hair  dressed  beautifully 
with  braids  around  her  small  head.  Her 
jewelry  was  stunning — diamonds  and  emer- 
alds— a  bracelet,  earrings  and  '  a  clip. 

Myma  Loy  had  one  of  the  new  short  hair 
cuts — very  short  and  feather  waved  like  a 


•         r  HHHHHHHHHHHH 

KATHRYN  GRAYSON,  STARRING  IN  M-G-M'S  "  TWO  SISTERS  FROM  BOSTON 


Woodt  urv 


peach  it  vs^exc  sk»n-P«        n    s  you* 

^^^^ 


^  OUR  M  \1<  III  l»  M 

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Towder 


2.  Star  lipstick — your  just-right  shade 

3.  Matching  rouge — right  for  you 
Boxes  of  Film-Finish  Powder,  2Si  and  10^ — *plus  tax. 


cap  around  her  head.  Dinah  Shore's  gown 
was  a  bouffant  blue  net,  very  ingenue- ish, 
but  pretty  on  her. 

Bob  Hope  got  laughs,  as  usual,  in  the 
master  oi  ceremonies  spot  and  received  a 
miniature  Oscar  for  m.c'ing  the  Awards  for 
seven  years. 


Judy  Garland  became  very  nervous  and 
uncomfortable  and  went  into  the  hospital 
three  or  four  days  before  her  doctor  had 
scheduled  her  Caesarian  operation. 

I'll  let  you  in  on  a  little  secret — both  Judy 
and  her  husband,  Vincente  Minelli,  had  made 
several  bets  that  they  would  be  the  parents 
of  a  boy.  Now  they  deny  it  and  say,  "We 
wanted  and  expected  a  girl  all  along!" 

Miss  Liza  Minelli  made  her  debut  at  7:58 
a.  m.  March  10th.  She  has  a  great  deal 
of  black  hcdr  and  light  blue  eyes.  When  she 
cries,  Judy  insists  she  is  "singing"  and  when 
she  kicks  her  feet  in  a  mild  temper  her  Ma 
says,  "It's  a  dance  step." 

Certainly  Liza  has  one  of  the  prettiest 
nurseries  in  town — and  so  unusual.  The 
entire  color  scheme  is  yellow — a  soft  yellow 
lighter  than  a  singing  canary. 

One  of  the  first  gifts  she  received  was  a 
miniature  contract,  an  exact  replica  of 
her  mother's,  from  Louis  B.  Mayer,  Judy's 
M-G-M  boss — and  it  has  been  framed  and 
hangs  in  the  nursery.  The  contract  is  abso- 
lutely on  the  level  and  when  Miss  Liza  is 
eighteen  years  old  she  can  put  it  into  immedi- 
ate effect  if  she  wants  to  be  a  movie  actress. 
*        *  • 

While  we  are  in  the  Stork  Department — I 
sincerely  believe  that  having  a  baby  will 
smooth  out  all  the  marriage  tangles  between 
Betty  Hutton  and  Ted  Briskin. 

It  would  be  silly  to  deny  that  Ted  and 
Betty  haven't  had  a  pretty  stormy  time  during 
their  first  eight  months  of  marriage.  It  all  cen- 
ters on  the  fact  that  Betty  is  an  independent 
little  girl  who  has  worked  hard  and  paddled 
her  own  canoe  for  years. 

She  was  confused  and  unhappy  when  Ted, 
a  business  man — but  not  a  movie  business 
man.  started  giving  her  advice.  But  Betty  is 
happy  now  that  she's  sure  she  is  expecting 
a  baby,  and  I  think  she  and  Ted  really  love  1 
one  another. 


Well,  I  sure  found  out  when  I  asked  my 
MODERN  SCREEN  friends,  "Shall  I  continue 
to  write  about  Hollywood  parties?"  Your 
letters  came  in  by  the  basketsful.  You  readers 
don't  think  that  parry  news  is  frivolous  news 
and  the  consensus  of  opinion  is,  "Keep  on  tell 
ing  us  about  Hollywood  parties." 

In  just  a  moment  or  two,  I  will.  But  first 
I  want  to  ask  another  question.  Is  it  the 
Van  Johnsons,  the  Frank  Sinatras  and  the 
June  Allysons  you  want  to  hear  most  about 
or  would  you  like  to  hear  about  Clark  Gable 
Claudette  Colbert,  Irene  Dunne  and  Walte; 
Pidgeon?  Sometimes  when  you  are  as  close 
to  the  picture  as  I  am,  it's  difficult  to  knov. 
just  who  are  your  biggest  favorites. 

Please  keep  writing  because  I  love  you 
letters.  Believe  me,  I  try  to  answer  as  man} 
as  I  can. 


And  now  for  some  parties!  There  have 
certainly  been  some  good  ones. 

Tennis  is  becoming  increasingly  popular  in 
movietown  and  almost  every  Sunday  after- 
noon youll  find  a  crowd  of  devotees  at 
Irene  Selznick's  beautiful  home.  There's  a  lot 
of  good  natured  rivalry,  too,  for  top  honors. 

I  stopped  in  one  Sunday  night  when  Irene 
had  kept  all  the  tennis  players  for  dinner, 
and  one  by  one  other  guests  dropped  in. 

We  were  greeted  by  the  unusual  specta- 
cle of  Van  Johnson,  weary  from  so  much 
tennis,  stretched  out  on  a  divan  with  his 
shoes  off,  his  trousers  rolled  up  above  his 
knees,  and  practically  asleep  in  spite  of  the 
noise  and  gay  greetings. 

Jimmy  Stewart  had  been  playing  all  day, 
too — but  he  wasn't  tired.  He  was  sitting  at 
the  piano  playing  and  composing  his  own 
numbers  (very  funny,  too)  as  he  went  along. 
He  had  an  admiring  group  around  him  and 
one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  was  Eddy  Duchin, 
no  mean  key  tickler  himself. 

Ingrid  Bergman  and  her  husband  were 
there.  She  had  just  returned  from  Palm 
Springs  and  had  a  divine  suntan.  Ingrid's 
husband.  Dr.  Peter  Lindstrom,  is  sort  of  a 
mystery  man  in  Hollywood — but  he  is  very 
nice,  a  clean-cut  young  Swede  who  works 
very  hard,  and  brilliantly,  I  am  told,  in  his 
profession  of  brain  surgery. 

The  Constellation  crowd,  and  by  that  I 
mean  the  movie  folk  who  went  with  Howard 
Hughes  on  the  initial  trip  of  that  airship, 
was  given  a  cocktail  party  by  Veronica 
Lake  and  her  husband,  Andre  de  Toth. 

Several  months  ago  Veronica  announced 
!  to  the  world  that  she  was  setting  forth  on 
;  her  campaign  to  become  one  of  the  best 
dressed  women  in  Hollywood.  She's  cer- 
tainly living  up  to  that  promise.  Ronnie 
t  wore  a  silver  lame  cocktail  gown  with  a 
small,  matching  hat. 

Betty  Hensel  came  with  Cary  Grant  and 
I,  that  romance,  my  pets,  is  more  serious  than 
-  ever.  Cary  seems  crazy  about  her  and  you 
can't  blame  him — she's  such  a  sweet  girl. 

Danny  Kaye  was  in — and  out — -like  a 
2i8treak.  This  boy  often  comes  to  parties  and 
i other  social  events — but  he  seldom  stays  very 
elong.  But  it's  always  good  to  see  him,  even 
,for  a  little  while. 


t - 


JUNE  IS  BUSTIN'  OUT 
ALL  OVER 

Only  instead  of  bustin'  out  with 
buds,  June's  overflowing  with  five 
dollar  bills  this  month.  How  come? 
Well,  we  want  to  hear  about  your 
star-gazing — whom  you  saw,  what 
you  said,  what  he  said,  and  all  those 
juicy  details  that  we  love  to  read — 
and  publish!  If  you'll  look  at  the 
other  "I  Saw  It  Happens"  in  this 
issue,  you'll  get  an  idea  of  what  we 
want.  Keep  it  short,  type  it  out,  and 
mail  it  off  to  our  "I  Saw  It  Happen" 
Editor,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Mad- 
ison Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  If 
we  accept  it,  there'll  be  a  five  spot 
wending  its  way  to  you!  But  please 
—rgive  us  time  to  answer! 


'\0 


V 


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65 


FLYING  IRISHMAN 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


Kelly  is  without  a  doubt  the  most  ac- 
complished male  dancer  in  the  world  to- 
day. If  he  is  inferior  to  the  very  top  talent 
in  the  ballet  field  at  their  own  specialties, 
he  is  plainly  their  master  in  the  almost  in- 
finite variety  of  his  type  and  the  brilliance 
of  his  inventions.  He  is  also  wonderfully 
resourceful  in  dreaming  up  new  dance 
ideas.  His  duet  with  his  conscience  in 
"Cover  Girl"  and  the  dance  he  did  with 
animated  cartoons  in  "Anchors  Aweigh" 
were  magnificent  pieces  of  inspiration.  In  his 
own  specialty,  which  is  taps,  Kelly  is  just 
about  as  close  to  perfection  as  they  come. 

boosting  the  competition  .  .  . 

With  the  possible  exception  of  Frank 
Sinatra,  he  is  the  only  actor  in  Hollywood 
who  is  as  popular  with  adult  movie-goers 
as  he  is  with  bobby-soxers.  In  person, 
Gene  is  a  plain  and  pleasant  guy.  His  even 
disposition  is  ruffled  only  by  occasional 
brooding  over  the  hardly  noticeable  thin- 
ning of  his  black  hair.  In  an  aggressive 
and  ruthless  profession,  Gene  is  outstand- 
ing for  his  complete  unselfishness  and 
loyalty. 

Although  he  has  written  a  baseball  story 
in  which  he  and  Frank  Sinatra  will  play 
a  Keystone  comedy  combination  with  the 
Brooklyn  Dodgers,  he  went  out  of  his  way  a 
few  weeks  ago  to  help  sell  a  baseball  script 
which  a  friend  of  his  had  prepared  for 
Crosby  and  Hope,  a  pair  who  most  certainly 
come  under  the  head  of  competition. 

As  a  member  of  the  U.  S.  Navy,  Gene 
did  a  fine  job  in  a  position  for  which  he 
was  thoroughly  qualified.    In  February, 


when  he  had  sufficient  points  to  get  out, 
he  refused  to  accept  his  discharge.  "I  got 
some  work  to  finish  here,"  he  told  his 
commanding  officer,  and  went  on  with  the 
job  of  making  a  motion  picture  about  sub- 
marines which  would  provide  Washington 
with  some  much-needed  information.  His 
attitude  toward  his  service  assignments 
was  one  of  unquestioning,  uncomplaining 
loyalty.  Speaking  about  this  not  long  ago, 
a  Navy  man  remarked,  "When  he  went  in, 
they  were  pushing  him  around.  He  stuck 
it  out,  though,  and  didn't  make  a  single 
squawk.  He  earned  the  respect  of  every- 
one from  enlisted  men  to  admirals."  Kelly, 
who  entered  the  Navy  as  a  gob  and  was 
promoted  to  lieutenant  (j.g.),  gave  his  full 
energies  to  his  work.  Probably  the  clearest 
proof  of  this  is  that  he  did  not  even  take 
time  out  to  practice  his  dancing.  "I'm  like 
a  fighter  out  of  condition,"  he  remarked 
one  day  shortly  before  he  was  released. 

At  this  point  an  admiring  listener  sug- 
gested that  with  talent  such  as  his,  Gene 
had  nothing  to  worry  about.  "After  all," 
he  pointed  out,  "Astaire's  retired  and 
there's  no  one  coming  up  who  can  give 
you  any  competition."  Kelly  shook  his 
head.  "I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  said. 
"Some  of  these  kids  are  sensational." 

Someone  then  mentioned  a  young  dancer 
whom,  as  everyone  knew,  Gene  had  helped 
only  to  have  him  steal  one  of  the  Kelly 
routines.  "What  about  him?"  Gene  was 
asked.  "Dynamite!"  he  replied,  without  a 
trace  of  resentment.  "Please  believe  me, 
that  kid's  dynamite." 

Although  he  manages  to  remain  unem- 
bittered  toward  people  who  have  treated 


him  ruthlessly,  Kelly  can  become  blister- 
ingly  articulate  when  he  sees  others  being 
pushed  around.  During  the  filming  of 
"Cover  Girl,"  a  director  who  wanted  to 
make  an  impression  on  Rita  Hayworth  by 
demonstrating  his  authority,  singled  out 
Phil  Silvers  and  called  Viim  down  in  front 
of  the  rest  of  the  cast.  Although  the  situa- 
tion in  no  way  concerned  him,  Kelly  inter- 
rupted the  director  and  gave  him  a  verbal 
lashing.  A  refusal  to  be  anything  but  what 
he  is,  is  probably  his  biggest  charm. 

A  few  months  ago  an  irresponsible  item 
in  a  gossip  column  predicted  that  Kelly 
and  his  wife  were  about  to  separate.  It  was 
completely  off  the  beam,  of  course.  To  say 
the  least,  the  Kellys  are  still  very  happy 
after  five  years  of  marriage. 

love  wears  a  false  face  .  .  . 

They  met  for  the  first  time  while  he  was 
dance  director  at  the  Diamond  Horseshoe 
cabaret  in  N.  Y.  Gene  happened  to  be  sit- 
ting around  the  Horseshoe  unshaven  and  in 
old  clothes  one  afternoon,  when  a  pretty 
redhead  named  Betsy  Blair  came  in  looking 
for  a  job  as  a  dancer.  Allowing  her  to  as- 
sume that  he  was  either  the  janitor  or  a 
stagehand,  he  suggested  that  she  drop 
around  in  the  evening  and  speak  to  the 
dance  director.  That  night  they  started 
going  together.  Betsy,  who  has  been  under- 
studying Julie  Haydon's  role  in  "The 
Glass  Menagerie,"  is  an  uncommonly 
good  young  actress,  but  has  no  burning 
theatrical  ambition.  At  the  moment  she  is 
learning  Russian,  a  language  that,  al- 
(Continued   on   page  68) 


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starring  Cass  Daley,  "Wild  Woman 
of  Song,"  and  famous  Hollywood 
guests  every  Sunday  over  NBC  net- 
work at  7:30  p.  m.  E.  S.  T. 


APPLY  FITCH'S  to  the  hair  and  scalp 
before  water  is  added.  Massage  well,  so 
shampoo  reaches  each   part  of  scalp. 


RINSE 

Since 
after-r 


THOROUGHLY  with  clear  water. 
Fitch's  is  completely  soluble,  no 
nse  is  required.    Set  hair  and  dry. 


ADD  WATER  gradually,  removing  the 
cleansing  lather  as  it  forms.  Then  continue 
to  add  water  until  no  more  lather  forms. 


FINISHED  HAIRSTYLE  is  soft  and  lovely. 
No  trace  of  dandruff  or  dull  soap  film  left 
to  cloud  its  natural,  sparkling  highlights.  ^Kr£nr, 


Dandruff  Remover  Shampoo 


THE  F.  W.  FITCH  COMPANY  •  Des  Moines  6,  Iowa  •  Bayonne.  N. 
Los  Angeles  21,  Calif.  •  Toronto' 2,  Canada 


on  the  lawn  in  back  of  their  apartment 
on  Second  Avenue,  strung  up  blue  lights, 
connected  the  radio  outdoors  for  dancing, 
and  went  shopping  for  goodies.  "This  time," 
June  promised  Ev  solemnly,  "111  invite  a 
boy  for  you  to  have  all  to  yourself.  I'm  in- 
viting three  boys  all  for  myself.  Don't  wor- 
ry. I  won't  take  your  date  away  from  you." 

True  to  her  word,  June  invited  Ev's 
current  crush  from  Central  Junior  High 
School.  True  to  her  word,  she  didn't  take 
him  away  from  Ev.  He  just  wandered  to 
Junie  by  himself  while  Ev  sat  in  a  corner 
with  Junie's  three  cast-offs' 

Ev  didn't  talk  to  Junie  for  a  couple  of 
days.  Then  they  made  up  and  everything 
was  swell  until  the  next  time  one  of  Ev's 
boy  friends  wandered  over  to  Junie. 

Ev  says  she's  getting  over  that  habit  of 
not  talking  for  days  when  she's  mad  "I'm 
getting  to  be  more  like  Junie,"  she  ad- 
mits. "She  gets  miffed,  goes  out  of  the 
room,  and  a  minute  later,  she's  back,  smil- 
ing. She's  forgotten  what  it  was  about." 

Junie  has  always  had  a  passion  for 
birthday  parties.  When  she  was  7  or  8, 
she  threw  parties  for  herself  every  three 
or  four  months,  mostly  to  get  presents,  she 
confesses  now.  "It's  my  birthday  tomor- 
row, I'm  having  a  party  after  school," 
she'd  tell  friends,  and  invite  them  to  come. 
Mrs.  Haver  got  pretty  used  to  Junie,  Ev, 
and  Dorothy  trooping  in  after  school  with 
a  bunch  of  kids  and  Junie  announcing: 
"Can  we  have  some  ice  cream  and  cake? 
I'm  having  a  birthday  party  today." 

"What,  another  one?"  Mrs.  Haver  would 
sigh,  rushing  out  to  buy  nickel  Dixie  cups. 
They'd  all  sit  around  while  Junie  opened 
her  presents,  mostly  toy  watches  from  the 
five-and-ten  cent  store,  or  little  glass  toys 
filled  with  hard  candies. 

Pretty  soon  Junie  would  decide  she 
wanted  to  practice  her  piano  playing.  She 
wished  the  kids  would  leave.  "Let's  play 
hide-and-seek,"  she'd  suggest.  That  was 
Ev  and  Dot's  cue.  The  three  sisters  would 
run  outside  and  get  all  of  the  kids  out. 
Then  they'd  run  back  in  and  bolt  the  door 
so  the  kids  would  have  to  go  home. 

kill  or  cure  .  .  . 

Junie  also  loved  to  play  doctor,  mostly 
at  Ev's  expense.  Mrs.  Haver  was  in  an 
auto  accident  and  Junie  had  seen  the  doc- 
tor giving  her  a  hypodermic  with  a  long 
needle.  One  day  Dot  came  upon  June  with 
a  long  hatpin  ready  to  jab  into  Ev's  chubby 
little  arm.  "What  are  you  doing?"  Dot 
demanded,  grabbing  the  hatpin.  "Ev's  sick. 
I'm  healing  her,"  Junie  protested. 

Another  time,  Mrs.  Haver  heard 
Junie  saying  to  Ev  in  the  next  room: 
"Just  a  little  lower,  Ev,  a  little  lower." 
And  Ev  would  answer,  "Okay,  how's  this?" 
"No,  lower,  Ev."  Attracted  by  this  queer 
dialogue.  Mrs.  Haver  opened  the  door.  Ev- 
vie  was  bent  over,  her  head  down,  and  Junie 
had  a  hammer  poised  over  her  skull  ready 
to  bash  it  in — for  just  what  healing  purpose, 
neither  of  them  could  remember. 

"Ewie  was  always  so  obliging,"  Junie 
laughs. 

It  was  probably  the  memory  of  obliging 
little  Ev  that  kept  Junie  from  getting  an- 
noyed with  her  recently  when  Ev  took 
June's  gray  convertible  and  tried  to  drive  it 
without  ever  having  had  a  lesson.  She 
ran  it  into  a  tree,  got  scared,  and  ran  home, 
sending  Mrs.  Haver  out  to  drive  it  back  to 
the  house. 

Like  all  sisters,  the  Havers  have  pet 
names  for  each  other,  except  Dot,  who 
was  too  grown  up  to  have  a  nickname. 
Ewie's  is  "Trimmytone,"  her  childhood 
pronunciation  for  mercurochrome.  Junie's 
is  "Pencil  Box." 

Once,  at  the  start  of  a  school  term,  Mrs. 
Haver  sent  Junie  to  the  corner  drugstore 
to  buy  pencil  boxes  for  the  three  girls. 
For  Ev  and  Dot,  she  bought  50C  boxes, 


*  *  4 


Let  your  nail  polish 
interpret  every  mood  .  . 
every  occasion!"  SAYS 
MRS.  JESSE  SPALDING  III 

(the  former  Viv't  Gould  Fairchild) 
of  New  York  and  Pafm  Beach 


H^for  cty^al 
P°U  and^ee0' 


It's  charged  with  excitement 

DllKLOSS.. 


Vines 


gertip  Allure 


NEWEST    STRATEGY  OF  ALLURE! 

So  Easy  With  Dura-Gloss  "Quick  Trick"  Technique 


■  ■ 

Ev 


1.  Quick  Trick 

For  crystal-like  lustre  and  sheen, 
use  this  Dura-Gloss  method: 
Apply  one  coat  of  Dura-Coat — 
two  coats  of  Dura-Gloss  polish. 
Quick  dry  with  Dura-Gloss 
Polish  Dryer. 


2.  Double  Quick  Trick 

When  time  is  short,  use  this 
easy  method  for  sparkling  fin- 
gertip beauty:  Apply  one  coat 
of  Dura-Coat — one  coal  of  pol- 
ish. Quick  dry  with  Dura-Gloss 
Polish  Dryer. 


ery  fashionable  shade  of  Nail  Polish  made  is  made  by  Dura-Gloss 

Copr.  1946,  Lorr  Laboratories,  Paterson,  X.  J..  Founded  by  E.  T.  Reynolds 


69 


each  with  one  drawer.  But  for  herself, 
she  got  a  super-dooper  scrumptious  affair 
with  about  six  drawers,  a  compass,  a  map, 
pencil  sharpener,  pen,  pencils,  pen  points, 
pen  wiper,  erasers.  She  brought  her  pur- 
chases home  to  show  to  her  mother. 

"What  did  you  get  for  Dorothy?"  Mrs. 
Haver  asked. 

"This  one." 

"How  much  did  it  cost?" 
"Fifty  cents." 

"And  how  about  for  Ewie?" 
"Here,  this  one." 
"And  what  did  that  cost?" 
"Fifty  cents,  too." 

"And  what's  that  BIG  pencil  box  there? 
Who's  that  for?"  Junie  played  it  dumb, 
knowing  Mom  would  reprimand  her  for 
spending  $1.50  on  a  pencil  box  for  her- 
self when  the  other  girls  only  had  50<}  ones. 
"Pencil  box?   What  pencil  box?" 

Junie  finally  had  to  confess.  But  since 
then,  whenever  Junie  gets  coy,  or  tries  to 
get  out  of  something,  all  the  family  has 
to  do  is  to  say,  "Hello,  pencil  box."  It  al- 
ways makes  Junie  grin. 

the  closet  was  bare  .  .  . 

The  family  S.O.S.,  whenever  anyone 
needs  help,  is  "Get  the  linens."  June  ex- 
plains it: 

"If  anyone  used  to  come  here,  and  say, 
'Gee,  I'd  like  some  ice  cream,'  arid  we 
didn't  have  any  ice  cream  in  the  house, 
I'd  yell  to  Dot  or  Ev,  'Get  the  linens.' " 

They  picked  up  the  phrase  when  Mrs. 
Haver's  mother,  Grandma  Hansen,  was 
ill  and  they  were  all  over  at  their  grand- 
mother's house  helping  Mother  take  care 
of  her.  When  the  night  nurse  came,  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Haver:  "I  think  your  mother 
should  have  a  change  of  linen." 

"Marie,  get  the  linens,"  Mrs.  Hansen 
said. 

Knowing  full  well  that  everything  was 
at  the  laundry  and  there  wasn't  a  single 
clean  sheet  or  pillow  case  left  in  the  house, 
Mrs.  Haver  just  went  and  sat  in  the  linen 
closet  and  looked  at  the  bare  shelves.  At 
last  she  had  to  come  out  and  tell  the  truth. 

Not  long  after  they  moved  to  California, 
June  had  a  date  with  the  captain  of  the 
football  team  at  Beverly  Hills  High,  to 
ride  the  roller  coaster  at  the  Fun  Pier  in 
Venice.  He  came  to  their  four-room  apart- 
ment at  9548  Olympic  Boulevard,  where 
they  were  then  living,  took  one  look  at 
the  thin  coat  June  was  wearing,  and  said: 
"Gonna  be  too  cold  in  that  coat  way  out 
on  the  pier.  You'd  better  get  a  fur  wrap." 

It  must  be  that  boys  around  here  expect 
their  dates  to  own  fur  wraps,  Junie 
thought.  She  was  so  far  removed  from 
owning  a  fur  coat  that  even  the  gabardine 
coat  she  wore  on  dates  was  Dorothy's. 

"Okay,  just  a  minute,"  June  told  him. 
She  went  into  the  bathroom,  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  bathtub,  and  called, 
"Mother,  get  the  linens."  A  few  moments 
later  June  left  with  her  date,  a  fifteen- 
year-old  wrapped  like  a  grande  dame  in 
Mom's  black  persian  lamb  coat! 

Everybody  was  scurrying  around  like 
mad  to  "Get  the  linens"  when  Dot's  hus- 
band, Bill  Flynn,  came  home  last  August 
after  two  years  overseas.  This  time,  "Get 
the  linens"  really  meant  linens,  as  well  as 
food  for  Bill's  breakfast. 

It  was  the  night  they  moved  into  their 
big  white  colonial  house  in  Cheviot  Hills, 
which  Junie  had  to  get  court  permission 
to  buy  for  $25,000  since  she's  still  a  minor. 
A  telegram  came  from  Bill,  saying  he  was 
pulling  into  Union  Station  around  mid- 
night and  could  they  meet  him  there? 

They'd  just  come  from  the  Olympic 
Boulevard  apartment  where  everything, 
including  linens,  was  furnished.  So  there 
had  never  been  any  need  for  them  to  buy 
linens  of  their  own.  Stores  weren't  even 
70  selling   more   than   one   sheet   and  one 


pillow  case  at  a  time  to  a  customer.  By 
waiting  in  line,  Mom  and  Dot  had  man- 
aged to  pick  up  a  couple  of  sheets  and 
pillow  cases.  Till  they  could  buy  more, 
the  three  girls  and  Mom  would  bunk  to- 
gether in  two  double  beds.  The  next  day 
June  had  off  from  work,  and  the  four  of 
them  were  planning  a  big  shopping  spree. 
They'd  had  dinner  out,  so  even  the  larder 
was  bare. 

"Gee,"  Junie  said  to  Dot,  who  had  mar- 
ried Bill  on  September  30,  1943,  "this  is 
practically  your  second  honeymoon.  And 
here  we  have  no  coffee,  no  milk,  no  eggs  for 
Bill's  breakfast,  and  no  linens!" 

The  irony  of  it  struck  them  and  the 
three  gals  collapsed  into  shrieks  of  laugh- 
ter. "Mother,  get  the  linens,"  they  chorused, 
"and  this  time  we  do  mean  linens." 

Junie  decided  that  if  no  other  bed  in 
that  house  had  linens  that  night,  at  least 
Dot's  and  Bill's  would.  She  pulled  off 
the  sheet  from  her  own  bed  and  made  up 
Dot's  bed,  romantically  dousing  it  with 
sachet  powder.  If  Dot  and  Bill  were 
overwhelmed  by  the  odor  of  sachet  that 
night,  they  were  too  polite  ever  to  tell 
Junie  about  it. 

They  were  still  without  food  for  Bill's 
breakfast.  And  he  had  to  leave  the  house 
at  6  a.m.  to  get  to  Fort  MacArthur  to  be 
discharged. 

After  picking  him  up  at  the  station  and 
dropping  him  off  at  the  house,  Junie  and 
Mom  went  shopping  for  food.  By  now 
it  was  2  a.m.!  They  drove  first  to  a  drive- 
in,  but  even  a  beautiful  blonde  and  a 
cute  brunette  couldn't  convince  the  man- 
ager that  he  ought  to  change  the  rules  and 
sell  eggs  to  the  public. 

June  and  her  mother  drove  on.  Every 
restaurant  was  dark.  In  desperation,  they 
pulled  up  to  a  policeman. 

"Where  can  we  buy  some  eggs  and  cof- 
fee now?"  Junie  asked. 

"For  my  son-in-law's  breakfast.  He's 
just  in  from  Europe,"  Mrs.  Haver  added, 
for   purposes  of  persuasion. 

Convinced  that  they  weren't  kidding,  he 
led  them  to  an  all-night  restaurant  run 
by  his  mother  and  got  them  the  precious 
eggs  and  some  coffee.  Then  he  directed 
them  to  an  all-night  doughnut  shop. 

The  next  morning,  due  to  Junie's  frantic 
middle-of-the-night  wanderings,  Dot  fed  Bill 
a  breakfast  of  eggs,  doughnuts,  and  coffee.  - 

On  May  26,  1942  June  was  signed  to  a 
contract  at  Twentieth  whose  talent  scout, 
Ivan  Kahn,  had  seen  her  play  Lucybelle 
Lee,  a  southern  siren,  in  "Ever  Since 
Eve"  at  Beverly  Hills  High  School  just 
two  months  earlier.  Six  months  later,  her 
option  was  dropped.  They  said  she  looked 
too  young  to  play  ingenues  and  too  old  to 
play  children. 

Encouraged  by  Dorothy,  June  decided 
she'd  prove  to  them  that  she  could  play 
ingenues  and  sophisticated  young  ladies, 
too.  Dot  made  several  sketches  of  June's 
face  with  different  sophisticated  "up"  hair- 
dos, and  they  picked  one  they  liked.  Next, 
June  had  to  get  a  slinky  dress,  but  she 
had  no  money.  Dot,  who  was  working  as 
a  secretary,  took  $150  from  her  Christmas 
savings  account  and  they  went  shopping. 
Who  made  the  most  sophisticated  cl6thes 
in  town?  they  asked  each  other.  Adrian. 
So  they  went  to  his  Beverly  Drive  shop 
and  picked  out  the  slinkiest,  most  siren- 
ish  gown  in  the  place — a  long  sleeved 
white  crepe  cut  low  in  the  front,  en- 
crusted with  rhinestones.  June  took  Dot's 
sketch  to  a  beauty  shop  and  ordered  them 
to  do  her  hair  "just  the  way  it  looks 
here."  They  also  bought  a  pair  of  platform 
shoes. 

After  the  studio  executives  got  a  look 
at  June's  new  screen  test,  which  she  wrote 
herself,  she  was  signed  again.  A  while 
later,  she  was  given  the  part  of  Cri-Cri  in 
"Home  in  Indiana." 


Dot  has  been  June's  stand-in  for  the 
past  couple  of  years,  and  Ev  has  been 
her  secretary  since  she  got  out  of  Beverly 
Hills  High  in  June,  1944.  Ev  answers  per- 
sonal letters  from  kids  they  knew  in  Rock 
Island  and  Cincinnati,  where  they  lived 
before  they  moved  to  Hollywood,  and  also 
addresses  envelopes.  June  autographs  her 
own  pictures,  and  Dot  usually  sees  that 
the  mail  gets  to  the  post  office. 

On  the  set,  whenever  June  finishes  a 
scene,  she  looks  over  at  Dot.  If  she's  scowl- 
ing, June  knows  she  hasn't  done  so  well. 
If  she's  smiling,  June  knows  the  take  had 
Dot's  approval.  Every  day,  they  see  the 
previous  day's  rushes  together,  and  after- 
wards they  have  a  gabfest  about  how 
June  looked  and  where  she  might  have 
improved  herseif. 

When  Junie  has  a  day  off  between  pic- 
tures, the  three  Havers  frequently  go  shop- 
ping together.  June  always  knows  ex- 
actly what  she  wants  and  is  the  quickest 


Forget  thot  old  tradition  that  the 
bride's  going-away  suit  has  to  be  beige 
or  a  pastel,  and  try  -this  luscious  melon- 
colored  tropical  worsted  by  Junior  Deb. 
Its  lines  are  soft  as  soft  can  be,  the 
sleeves  are  gracefully  ballooned,  with 
the  very  new  dropped  shoulder  line. 
The  fabric  will  wear  forever,  for  it's  a 
Walther  tropical  wool.  Wear  it  as  we 
show  it  here,  with  lime  gloves,  add  a 
lime  hat  or  lime-colored  flowers  in  your 
hair.  For  real  sophistication,  wear  a 
black  hat,  the  sleeves  pushed  up,  with 
long  black  gloves,  and  sport  your  most 
fragile  black  sandals. 

To  find  out  where  to  buy  this  suit,  as 
well  as  the  other  fashions  in  MODERN 
SCREEN'S  Fashion  pages,  send  a  self- 
addressed  envelope  to:  Toussia  Pines, 
Fashion  Editor,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149 
Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


buyer  of  them  all.  If  she  particularly  likes 
something,  like  a  play  shoe,  she  gets  six 
or  seven  pairs  in  different  color^. 

Although  Mrs.  Haver  used  to  dress 
Junie  and  Ewie  alike  when  they  were 
kids,  their  tastes  in  clothes  are  entirely 
different  now.  June  likes  all  her  clothes 
in  pastels  or  black.  She's  said  to  have  the 
largest  collection  of  pastel  slacks  in  the 
movie  colony.  The  sisters  practically  never 
squabble  over  clothes  nowadays  because 
their  clothes  don't  fit  each  other.  Ev  is  the 
tallest  of  the  three  and  Junie  the  slimmest. 
■  However,  they  can,  and  do,  change  off  belts, 
berets,  costume  jewelry,  gloves,  and  other 
accessories.  Junie  doesn't  mind  anyone  bor- 
rowing her  stuff  if  only  it's  left  in  the 
same  apple-pie  order  in  which  they  find 
it.  Extremely  neat  and  systematic,  she 
hates  open  drawers  and  doors. 

But  June  rarely  has  occasion  to  get 
•  miffed  at  her  sisters.  They  are  so  much 
alike  in  so  many  ways  and  such  good 
pals  that  they  fit  perfectly  the  dictionary 
definition  of  a  "trio" — three  united! 


RIAN  COTTONS 


LEFT:  Airy  dotted  swiss  makes  this  en- 
chantingly  prim  little  number,  with  its  white 
ruffles  outlining  neck  and  armholes,  and 
that  new  dropped  waistline  look.  A  big. 
big  bow  ties  it  at  the  back.  Under  $11.00. 


center:  Feminine  and  fragile  is  the  way 
you  will  look  in  this  bare-shouldered  plaid 
cotton.  It  is  fitted  as  can  be,  and  the  skirt 
is  very  full.  Shoestring  bows  that  you  tie 
yourself  hold  it  up,  and  it's  under  $11.00. 


right:  This  striped  seersucker  is  something 
right  out  of  a  fairy  tale,  with  its  double 
puffed  sleeves,  its  beruffled  skirt.  All  these 
wonderful  dresses  are  by  that  brilliant  de- 
signer, Dorris  Varnum,  of  Jonathan  Logan. 


72 


Left:  Crisply  cool,  this  Gay  Togs  three-piece  play  suit 
will  be  your  summer  standby.  Bra  and  shorts,  about 
$6.00,  the  coat,  about  $8.00.  With  it,  wear  these  hand- 
made Mexican  huaraches,  by  Doray  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

Below  :  This  masterfully  tailored  Gay  Togs  slack  suit, 
with  its  color-contrast  top,  its  arrowhead  trim,  is 
yours  for  only  $9.00.  Wear  the  top  as  a  blouse,  with 
skirts,  wear  the  slacks  with  all  your  own  blouses. 

The  silver  animals  and  birds  perched  on  this  page 
are  members  of  the  Whipoo  family,  made  by  Worthey. 
They  cost  about  $2.00  each — fun  for  your  money! 


3achelors . . .  but  not  for  long!  Nothing  like  American  women.  No  colors  like  Revlon  "American  originals"  to  idealize  American  beautv! 


^ 


NAIL  ENAMEL 


LIPSTICK         FACE  POWDER 


/ 


COPYRIGHT  1946,  REVLON  PRODUCTS  CORPORATION 


"Toast  of  the  town"  packages! 
"Bachelor's  Carnation"  Match  Box  Set  1.75, 
Face  Powder  1.00,  plus  fox 


The  matador  look  is  the 

news  in  play  clothes.  Black  trousers, 

off  just  below  the  knee,  borrowed 

from  the  bull  fighter  by 

Frances  Sider.  Wear  them  if  your 

hips  are  slim,  your  legs  lovely. 

We  like  them  with  a  print  blouse, 

as  shown  here,  or 


with  vour  best  ruffled 

and  bow-tied  white  shirt.    With  the 

print  shirt,  ballet  slippers  are 

just  right,  but  if  you  want  to  be  really 

terrific,  wear  high  wedgies 

with  your  white  blouse  outfit.  The 

price  for  all  this 

chic:  about  twenty  dollars. 


vacation 
sensations 

To  make  you  beautiful 
on  that  two-weeks-with-pay:  Luscious 
play  clothes,  designed  by 
Frances  Slder. 

Beautifully  cut  bra  and  shorts,  made 
of  Everfast  printed  cotton.  Note  the  V- 
top  of  the  bra  repeated  in  the  V-top  of 
the  shorts.    That's  styling!     About  $11.00. 

To  top  the  bra  and  shorts,  there's  a  young 
Victorian  coat,  with  a  bow  neck,  loose  full 
sleeves,  and  elegantly  ruffled  cuffs.  It's  made 
of  the  same  print,  and  it's  under  $11.00. 

For  packing,  for  freshness,  for  fun,  there's 
nothing  like  rayon  jersey.  This  two-piece  play 
suit  is  a  lovely  date  dress  when  its  side- 
wrapped  and  tied  skirt  is  on.    About  $20.00. 


Just  feature  yourself  lolling 
away  the  lazy  hours  in  a  slack 
set  designed  to  be  completely 
decorative  though  comfortable. 
Black  daisies  do  giddy 
cartwheels  over  the  cap-sleeved, 
"hug-me-tight"  waisted 
jacket  of  crisp  cotton.  The 
lithe  limbed  slacks  are  in 
sleek  rayon.  Maize,  Lime  or 
Melon  with  Black;  Copen 
Blue  with  Navy.  Sizes  12-18. 
About  $9  at  your  favorite  store. 


FUN   IN   THE  SUN 


THE 


Interchangeables  are  your  best 
bet  for  Summer  vacation  clothes — 
watch  for  five-  or  six-piece  outfits  in  a 
single  fabric,  or  in  coordinated  colors, 
that  will  give  you  lots  of  attractive  com- 
binations. We've  seen  a  set  made  up 
of  a  two-piece  bra-top  bathing  suit,  a 
one-piece  romper  play  suit,  a  ruffled 
bare-midriff  top,  ruffled  shorts  to  match 
and  a  separate  skirt,  all  in  printed  cot- 
ton. No  end  to  these  possibilities! 

Bare  shoulders,  bare  midriffs 
are  everywhere,  from  two-piece  swim- 
or-play  suits,  to  your  very  dressy  eve- 
ning cottons.  One-strap  bathing  suits 
are  new,  as  are  also  those  luscious 
Grecian-draped  dresses  that  leave  one 
shoulder  bare.  Lots  and  lots  of  evening 
dresses  show  bare  midriffs,  either  in  two- 
piece  styling,  or  peek-a-boo  midriffs 
with  skirts  that  button  on  to  the  tops, 
leaving  just  a  bit  of  you  showing. 

Shorts  go  to  all  lengths,  from 
very  short  ones,  if  your  legs  are  beauti- 
ful, to  the  longish,  boy's  type  of  short, 
and  from  there  to  the  clom-digger  or 
pedal-pusher  slack.  They're  wearing 
those  just-below-the-knee  pants  a  little 
tighter,  showing  them  in  black  with 
dressy  white  blouses,  and  calling  them 
bullfighter  trousers.  They  look  very  new, 
if  they're  your  type,  but  they're  defi- 
nitely not  easy  to  wear. 

Beach  coats  run  the  gamut 
from  modern  to  Victorian,  but  they  have 
one  thing  in  common:  They're  very  short, 
and  very  covered  up  on  top,  and  they 
give  you  that  appealing,  leggy  look. 
Yours  can  be  fitted,  with  a  shirt-type 
collar  and  sleeve,  and  a  set-in  belt, 
but  we  like  the  loose  ones,  with  a  bow 
at  the  neck,  and  full  sleeves,  like  the 
one  we  picture  from  Frances  Sider,  in 
Everfast  cotton. 

The  big  news  in  bathing  suits 
is  that  there  is  some  elasticized  fabric 
around  the  market,  so  that  some  manu- 
facturers will  be  delivering  a  few  of 
those  wonderful,  stretchable  suits.  Other- 
wise, the  story  is  still  cotton  and  jersey, 
and  the  fashions  still  are  bare  as  bare 
can  be.  The  diaper  suits  are  not  so 
much  in  evidence  as  the  newer  bloomer- 
type  pants,  and  there  are  lots  of  suits 
with  brief  pants  and  tiny  separate 
flared  skirts  to  wear  after  your  swim. 


FADS  AND  FANCIES 

Edith  Head  of  Paramount  writes 
us  the  latest  about  gadgets  being  worn 
in  Hollywood.  You  don't  have  to.  be  a 
star  or  a  starlet  to  -follow  these  trends, 
so  see  which  of  these  ideas  you  can 
adopt  for  your  own  wardrobe  needs! 

You  learned  to  braid  in  kinder- 
garten, and  here's  where  you  put  that 
knowledge  to  good  use!  Joan  Caulfield 
shows  off  the  new  braid  influence  with 
her  soft  chemise  dress  of  grey  linen 
which  she  wears  with  a  braided  bandeau 
and  belt  of  yellow,  grey  and  lime. 

Remember  the  arm  bands  that 
men  used  to  wear  to  keep  their  shirt 
sleeves  up?  Well,  next  time  you  wear 
a  plain  white  long-sleeved  blouse,  braid 
narrow  ribbons  in  three  bright  colors, 
and  wear  'em  around  your  arm.  Watch 
oeople  sit  up  and  take  notice! 

©ail  Russell,  whose  favorite 
color  is  white,  is  wearing  wide  braids  of 
scarlet,  chartreuse  and  black  around  the 
waists  of  her  white  dresses,  and  she 
wears  matching  braids  of  narrower  rib- 
bon in  her  hair.  She  says  she  loves  the 
gypsy  look  of  bright  colors  on  white. 

Barbara  Stanwyck  adopts  the 
braided  mode  to  her  own  sophisti- 
cated style  by  wearing  a  belt  of  braided 
copper,  silver  and  gold  beading  around 
the  waist  of  a  simple  white  dinner  dress. 
With  it  she  combines  a  stunning  trio  of 
^raided  cuff  bracelets. 

Braided  belts  of  bright  rib- 
oon  make  a  gay  outfit  of  your  white 
hirt  and  black  shorts.  Braid  just  the 
Dart  that  goes  around  your  waist,  and 
eave  the  ends  that  tie  hanging  free, 
•o  give  that  bold  pirate  air. 

If  the  drawstring  on  your  last 
/ear's  pouch  handbag  has  given  way, 
rake  drawstrings  of  braided  ribbon  to 
ratch  each  of  your  braid-trimmed  out- 
its.  It's  easy  to  lace  the  braid  into  your 
<ag,  so  don't  forget  to  change! 

If  you  have  an  evening  gown 
■ou  want  to  dress  up,  how  about  a 
3raided  coronet  of  velvet  ribbon  in 
lack  and  two  shades  that  match  your 
own?  Wear  it  like  a  real  -crown, 
nack  on  top  of  your  head.  It  looks 
sgal  and  glamorous,  and  that's  the  way 
zu  want  to  look  in  your  evening  gown! 


SEND  FOR  FREE  COPY  of 
Summer  issue  of  "NEWS 
OF  NEW  YORK"  illus- 
trating new  Tommie 
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your  nearest  Tommie  Austin 
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These  natural  color,  hand  decorated  ail- 
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all  summer  long,  indoors  or  oucdoors. 
Soft  and  pliable,  with  firm  leather  sole 
and  heel,  you'll  wear  them  everywhere. 
Remove  the  ankle  strap  and  wear  them 
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if  size  is  not  known.) 


Address. 
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like any  other  bra  support — does 
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fits in  wearing  "Perma-lift"  bras- 
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BRASSIERES 


NOBODY'S  SWEETHEART 

(Continued  from  page  55) 


THE  LIFT  THAT  NEVER  LETS  YOU  DOWN 


82 


"Laugh  while  you  can,"  Diana  said 
grimly.  "It  won't  be  for  long.  Wait  till 
the  reception  committee  gets  you." 

She  was  so  right.  As  they  walked  up 
the  front  steps,  the  door  was  thrown  open. 
Mrs.  and  Mrs.  Loehr  stood  there  accus- 
ingly,  clutching   their  bathrobes. 

"Young  man."  Mr.  Loehr  never  raises 
his  voice,  but  his  tone  was  effective. 
"Didn't  I  say  to  you  as  you  started  out 
that  Dolly  was  to  be  back  by  one?" 

"Yes,  sir."  The  ensign's  young  face  was 
worried.  "It  was  all  my  fault." 

"No,  it  was  mine!"  Diana  insisted. 

"No,  really,  sir,  it  was  mine.  But  it  will 
never  happen  again." 

"It  certainly  won't,"  Mrs.  Loehr  told  him 
coldly,  "because  you're  never  going  to 
take  our  daughter  out  again.  Good  night!" 

curfew  shall  not  ring  .  .  . 

That  put  an  end  to  the  conversation. 
Diana  went  off  to  bed  and  wept  bitter  tears 
of  embarrassment.  How  could  they  have 
made  such  a  scene  in  front  of  that  nice 
boy  over  a  little  thing  like  an  hour? 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  her 
mother  slipped  in.  "Dolly,  are  you  awake?" 

"Yes,  mother." 

"I  thought  I  heard  you  crying.  Look, 
dear,  your  father  and  I  didn't  mean  to  be 
so  cross,  but  we  were  terribly  worried 
about  you.  I  kept  imagining  you  in  an 
auto  accident.  .  .  ."  Her  voice  broke,  and 
Diana  reached  over  and  patted  her  hand. 

"I'm  really  sorry,  mother.  When  I  saw 
how  late  it  was,  I  should  have  called  up  to 
say  we'd  be  delayed.  I'm  not  very  bright." 

Mrs.  Loehr  blew  her  nose.  "We'll  for- 
get about  it,  as  long  as  it  doesn't  happen 
again.  You  know,  I  expect  your  father 
and  I  looked  awfully  funny,  standing  there 
in  bathrobes,  and  me  with  my  hair  every 
which  way.  No  wonder  your  little  ensign 
looked  scared  to  death." 

That  was  a  couple  of  years  ago,  and 
now  the  curfew  in  the  Loehr  household 
has  been  changed  to  two  o'clock,  when 
Diana  isn't  working  on  a  picture.  There 
are  occasions,  too,  when  even  that  isn't 
unalterable.  Like  the  night  Henry  Willson 
was  co-host  at  a  party  with  his  boss,  Mr. 
Selznick.  Henry  is  one  of  Diana's  special 
guys  these  days,  besides  being  a  top  execu- 
tive for  anyone  his  age. 

"Mrs.  Loehr,  I  just  can't  leave  the  party 
in  order  to  get  Diana  home  by  two  to- 
night," he  explained.  "Would  it  be  fatal  if 
it  was  an  hour  or  so  later,  this  once?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,  as  long  as  we  know 
the  reason."  Pretty  Mrs.  Loehr  smiled  at 
him.  "I  don't  want  to  be  too  much  of  a 
stern  parent." 

She  tries  very  hard  to  be  reasonable, 
without  being  "easy,"  but  it's  hard  to  tell 
just  where  to  draw  the  line,  when  you 
have  a  lovely  nineteen-year-old  daughter. 
It  has  been  especially  hard  for  Mrs.  Loehr, 
because  Diana  grew  up  all  of  a  sudden. 
Until  she  was  sixteen,  she  didn't  evince 
the  slightest  interest  in  boys.  She  loathed 
parties,  and  wouldn't  go  to  them  if  she 
could  think  of  any  excuse  to  wiggle  out. 
Mrs.  Loehr  was  worried  about  it. 

"I  think  it's  time  Dolly  started  going 
out  with  boys,"  she  told  her  husband.  "The 
other  girls  her  age  do." 

"She's  got  plenty  of  time."  To  Mr.  Loehr 
Dolly  was  still  a  child. 

But  that  afternoon  when  Diana  got  home 
from  the  private  school  she  attended,  her 
mother  called  her  into  the  living  room. 
"Dolly,  you're  going  to  give  a  party." 

"Give  a  party!"  Diana  looked  as  if  she 
had  just  been  sentenced  to  Alcatraz. 

"Certainly.   It's  time  you  started  going 


out,  and  the  way  to  start  is  to  give  a  party 
yourself  for  all  the  crowd  you  know.  Boys, 
too,"  Mrs.  Loehr  added  firmly. 

Diana  protested  vehemently.  "It'll  be  a 
washout.  I  hate  being  a  hostess.  I  don't 
even  know  how." 

"It's  time  you  learned.  This  will  be  a 
very  informal  affair.  In  fact,  I  think  we'll 
make  it  a  kitchen  party." 

"What's  that?"  Diana  asked  skeptically. 

"I'll  have  salad  and  ice  cream  ready, 
but  we'll  let  the  guests  fix  their  own  ham- 
burgers. Won't  that  be  fun?" 

"No,"  said  Diana  under  her  breath.  But 
as  it  turned  out,  she  was  wrong.  It  was 
fun.  Having  to  cook  the  main  course  them- 
selves put  everyone  in  a  friendly  mood. 
The  boys  kidded  Diana,  and  she  toasted 
rolls  busily,  and  forgot  that  she  hated 
parties.  After  that,  somehow,  boys  kept 
showing  up  at  the  house  with  increasing 
regularity.  By  the  time  Diana  was  seven- 
teen, she  was  really  getting  too  much  of 
a  whirl  to  suit  her  family. 

"You  can't  go  out  so  much  and  still  get 
your  school  work  and  practicing  done, 
even  when  you're  not  making  a  picture." 
Mrs.  Loehr  was  reproving.  "There's  such 
a  thing  as  being  too  popular,  Dolly." 

Diana  smiled  angelically.  "Who  started 
all  this,  anyway?  There  I  was,  minding 
my  own  business,  and  who  was  it  said  I 
should  be  going  out  with  boys?" 

"There  ought  to  be  a  happy  medium." 
But  Mrs.  Loehr  had  lost  the  argument  and 
she  knew  it. 

For  about  a  year,  Diana  was  very  busy 
being  the  belle  of  the  ball.  Of  every  ball. 
The  war  was  still  on,  and  there  was  a 
constant  stream  of  Army  captains,  Naval 
lieutenants,  and  just  plain  GIs,  through 
the  Loehr  household.  "A  different  date 
every  night,"  was  Diana's  slogan  and  she 
was  just  the  girl  that  could  do  it. 

change  of  heart  .  .  . 

"I  suppose  we  shouldn't  mind,"  Mrs 
Loehr  said  to  her  husband,  watching  Di- 
ana go  down  the  steps  with  a  completely 
new  Air  Force  major.  "There's  safety  in 
numbers." 

"In  that  case,  we're  probably  the  safest 
>  parents  on  record.  I  never  can  remember 
these  fellows'  names,  though." 

"They  don't  last  long  enough  for  it  to 
matter.  You  know  Dolly." 

But  next  day,  Diana  seemed  to  react  a 
bit  differently.  She  rushed  to  the  phone 
every  time  it  rang,  and  came  away  with  a 
disappointed  expression  which  she  hastily 
erased  when  she  saw  her  mother  watch 
ing.  At  five  o'clock,  Mrs.  Loehr  said 
casually,  "Who's  your  date  with  tonight, 
dear?" 

"I  think  I'll  stay  home  tonight,  Mother 
I'm  sort  of  tired  of  going  out." 

Her  mother  stared,  but  made  no  com- 
ment. Sometimes  silence  was  golden.  A1 
five-thirty,  a.  boy  delivered  a  box  ol 
flowers.  They  were  delicate,  apricot  col- 
ored roses  and  Diana  read  the  accompany- 
ing card  with  a  gleam  in  her  eye. 

"I  guess  maybe  I  will  go  out  tonigh' 
after  all.  I  mean,  you  never  can  tell  how 
long  the  Major  might  be  around." 

"Who?" 

"The  man  I  dated  last  night.  Didn't  yot 
think  he  was  dreamy,  Mother?" 

"Oh,  very  dreamy."  Mrs.  Loehr  resolvec 
to  take  a  good  close  look  at  him  tonight 

He  was  definitely  the  type  a  17-year 
old  dreams  about.  Tall  and  just  good  look- 
ing enough,  with  the  casual  manner  affectec 
by  the  Air  Force,  and  a  couple  of  rosy  rib 
bons  to  disprove  it.  He  was  very  polite  t< 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Loehr.  in  an  absent  mindet 


1 


Let  Elinet's  meshes  capture 
glamour  for  your  hair,  just 
as  they  do  for  Hollywood. 
Your  new,  extra-special  hair  do 
can  retain  its  fresh  out-of-the- 
bandbox  look  during  hours  of 
work  or  play  when  it  is 
protected  with  Elinet.  Fu 
sized.  Looks  practically  as  fine 
as  real  hair.  Next  time.., every 
time ...  be  sure  you  say  "Elinet* 

mam 


/^Giioia^rfby^N  WOMEN  WEAR 
V^^^y  ELINET  FOR 
THEIR  HAIR. 


IVY  PRODUCTS  CO.,  NEW  YORK,  N.  V. 


Miss  Veronica  Lake, 
starring  in  "The  Blue  Dahlia", 
a  -Paramount  Picture" 


83 


or  double  'teen  .  .  .  young  fig- 


ures choose  a  Wispese  to  style 


their  curves  .  . .  it's  so  soft,  light 


and  easy  to  wear,  so  well 


made,  such  satisfying  value. 


WISPESE,  Inc. 

302  Fifth  Ave.    •   New  York  1 ,  N.  Y. 


way.  Obviously,  he  was  interested  in  Di- 
ana to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 
Mrs.  Loehr  felt  a  queer  little  tug  at  her 
heart  when  she  saw  the  way  he  looked 
at  her  daughter.  She  sighed  with  relief 
when  Diana  said  th«y  we.e  to  pick  up  Mona 
Freeman  and  a  lieutenant  for  a  double  date. 
Somehow,  that  turned  the  whole  thing  into 
just  another  of  Diana's  evenings.  Probably 
they'd  all  go  to  a  movie  and  have  cokes  and 
hamburgers  on  the  way  home.  And  maybe 
in  a  few  days  he  would  be  sent  away. 
She  told  her  husband  that,  hopefully. 

"Seems  like  a  nice  young  man.  Why 
do  you  want  to  send  him  off  in  a  hurry 
to  get  killed?" 

"I  don't!"  Mrs.  Loehr  was  indignant.  "I 
just  don't  want  Dolly  getting  serious  about 
anyone  at  her  age." 

As  usual,  Mrs.  Loehr  didn't  go  to  sleep 
until  Dolly  got  home.  It  was  twelve-thirty 
(curfew  was  earlier  when  Dolly  was 
seventeen)  and  the  girl  walked  upstairs 
as  if  she  was  floating  on  a  pink  cloud. 
Her  blue  eyes  were  enormous  with  ex- 
citement. She  saw  her  mother  in  the 
upper  hall. 

"Oh  Mother.  We've  been  to  a  night 
club.  It  was  wonderful!" 

Mrs.  Loehr's  breath  came  out  in  a  long 
exclamation.  She  didn't  know  what  she'd 
expected,  but  it  wasn't  this.  However, 
night  clubs  had  never  entered  the  picture 
before.  Surely  17-year-old  girls  didn't  go 
to  night  clubs!   She  said  so,  firmly. 

"Oh,  but  Mother,  we  wanted  to  because 
Ciro's  has  the  best  rumba  band.  None 
of  the  hotels  where  we  usually  go  has  a 
band  that  can  play  a  really  smooth  rumba." 

"What's  the  matter  with  a  fox  trot? 
Do  you  have  to  rumba?" 

"Oh  yes,  everyone  does  and  you  know 
how  much  I  love  to  dance." 

Then  Mrs.  Loehr  decided  the  escort  was 
probably  not  as  important  to  Diana  as 
his  dancing.  Mrs.  Loehr  told  herself 
to  remember  her  husband's  words,  "By 
tomorrow  night  it  will  be  someone  else." 

But  by  tomorrow  night  it  was  still  the 
same.  And  the  next  night.  And  the  next. 

"I  thought  you  liked  going  out  with  dif- 
ferent boys  every  night,  Dolly,"  her  mother 
said  at  breakfast  one  day  the  next  week. 

"She's  slipping,"  Mr.  Loehr  observed 
from  behind  his  newspaper.  "Can't  get 
them  any  more." 

"Oh,  I  got  bored,  seeing  different  peo- 
ple all  the  while.  Having  to  adjust  my 
personality  to  a  new  man  every  date.  I 
think  if  you  meet  someone  you  like,  it's 
nicer  to  sort  of  stick  to  them.  If  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

Mrs.  Loehr  was  afraid  she  did.  By  the 
time  Diana's  eighteenth  birthday  came 
along,  her  mother  was  definitely  worried. 
The  officer  wanted  Diana  to  marry  him — 
she  was  sure  of  that. 

Then  with  the  suddenness  of  wartime, 
he  was  gone.  Diana  missed  him,  but  she 
was  evidently  not  broken  hearted. 

"He  certainly  was  the  rumba  prince  of 
all  time,"  she  said  regretfully.  "But  I  met 
a  man  who's  awful  good  at  the  samba." 

ticket  collector  .  .  . 

Of  course  even  at  seventeen,  Diana  had 
other  interests  besides  men.  One  was 
learning  to  drive. 

Diana  never  drove  a  car  until  she  was 
seventeen.  She  didn't  have  the  early  urge 
some  children  do  to  get  their  hands  on 
a  wheel.  Her  mother  usually  drove  her 
to  the  studio,  but  a  little  over  a  year  ago 
Mrs.  Loehr  had  a  serious  illness.  One  of 
the  things  that  worried  her  was  that  she 
wouldn't  be  able  to  drive  Diana  around. 

"Well,  for  heaven  sakes,"  her  daughter 
said  with  some  spirit,  "You  must  think 
I'm  a  dope.  I  can  certainly  learn  to  drive." 

She  learned  very  fast  indeed,  but  she 
has  gotten  three  tickets  in  the  last  year. 
Every  one  of  them  for  the  same  thing. 


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short  or  medium  . . .  there's 
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foremost  women 


Somebody  ahead  of  her  puts  his  brakes 
on  in  a  hurry  and  Diana  runs  smack 
into  his  rear  bumper.  Diana  explained  the 
first  ticket  to  her  father  easily  enough. 

"After  all,  Dad,  I've  only  been  driving 
such  a  little  while." 

"She's  really  a  very  good  driver,"  Mrs. 
Loehr  put  in.  No  more  was  said  about  the 
matter.  Came  ticket  number  two. 

"What's  this  one  for?"  Mr.  Loehr  de- 
manded. 

Diana  looked  appealing.  "Somebody 
ahead  of  me  stopped  all  of  a  sudden." 

"You'd  better  learn  to  slam  on  your  own 
brakes,"  Mr.  Loehr  said  darkly. 

When  ticket  number  three  arrived, 
there  was  a  minor  crisis  in  the  Loehr 
family.  After  that.  Diana  went  back  and 
took  a  couple  more  driving  lessons. 

She's  always  had  her  career  in  pictures, 
her  music,  her  passion  for  clothes,  and 
her  love  of  reading  as  balancing  factors. 
She  did  and  does,  read  everything  omniv- 
crously.  Books,  magazines,  plays.  When 
she  was  a  little  girl,  Sirs.  Loehr  was  very 
busy  giving  music  lessons,  for  she  was 
one  of  the  best  known  teachers  in  the 
city.  When  Diana  would  get  home  from 
school,  she  was  supposed  to  practice  her 
piano  for  an  hour,  then  go  and  play  out- 
doors. .  In  an  ordinary  home,  it's  easy 
enough  for  Mother  to  tell  when  little 
Gertie  is  or  is  not  practicing  the  piano. 
But  in  the  Loehr  household,  there  were 
always  lessons  going  on.  with  their  at- 
tendant sound.  Diana  could,  and  fre- 
quently did,  skip  part  of  her  practicing 
without  her  Mother  knowing  it. 

two  men  to  a  heart  .  .  . 

Of  course,  after  Diana  got  into  pictures 
there  was  much  less  time  for  reading  or 
anything  else,  but  for  several  years  she 
did  keep  up  her  music  industriously.  Then 
at  sixteen  she  developed  this  interest  in 
boys  and  the  music  suffered.  Mrs.  Loehr 
worried.  She'd  had  a  tremendous  ambition 
for  Dolly  to  be  a  concert  pianist.  One  day  a 
friend  came  to  her. 

"Mrs.  Loehr,  I  know  Diana  pretty  well. 
She  really  loves  music,  but  when  you  keep 
nagging  at  her  about  it,  you  just  antagonize 
her.  Don't  mention  it  for  awhile.  She'll 
come  back  to  it." 

The  advice  was  good  and  Mrs.  Loehr 
took  it.  She's  glad  that  she  did.  Diana  is 
back  at  work  on  her  music  now  and  as 
interested  in  it  as  ever.  Pictures,  of  course, 
are  all-important  in  her  life.  Now  that 
Diana  is  a  star,  with  a  very  definite  career, 
her  mother  wonders  sometimes  how  that's 
going  to  mix  with  marriage  when  it  comes. 

Right  now  there  are  two  leading  con- 
tenders for  Diana's  heart.  One  is  young 
Loren  Tindall,  actor,  musician,  ballet  en- 
thusiast. The  other  is  Henry  Willson.  the 
above  mentioned  Selznick  executive.  They 
are  a  complete  contrast.  Loren  is  volatile, 
temperamental,  and  a  little  mad,  in  a 
fascinating  sort  of  way.  Henry  is  suave 
and  balanced  and  dependable.  He  has 
known  Diana  for  some  rime  and  when  she 
first  began  to  mention  Loren  Tindall  fre- 
quently, he  decided  to  find  out  what  it 
was  all  about. 

"I'd  like  to  meet  this  Tindall  guy, 
Diana.   How  about  introducing  us?" 

Diana  agreed  and  Henry  thought  he 
was  a  wonderful  chap.  Diana  was  com- 
pletely baffled.  The  next  time  Henry 
called  her  for  a  date,  she  said,  "I  hear 
you  and  Loren  are  very  buddy-buddy." 

"Why  not?  We're  both  so  fond  of  you." 

Diana  was  in  one  of  what  her  mother 
calls  her  "Scarlett  O'Hara"  moods.  "Maybe 
IH  bring  him  along  on  our  date." 

"Fine!"  Henry  said  heartily. 

Diana  slapped  the  phone  down  with  a 
bang.  This  was  really  ridiculous!  Still, 
it  might  be  interesting.  She  wTore  her  most 
devastating  dress — a  cream  colored  sheer 
wool  that  made  her  look  very  femme  fatale 


FCRSOST  FOUNDATIONS 
New  Yost. 


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For  a  hair-do  that's  radiant,  flattering  and 
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a  Trellis  Lanolated  Cream  Shampoo  (soapless, 
Aimless,  fast  sudsingV  It's  so  quick  and  easy  .  .  . 
just  a  matter  of  minutes  .  .  .  and  your  hair  falls 
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in  a  demure  sort  of  way.  The  three  of 
them  went  to  dinner,  and  Henry  and 
Loren,  instead  of  battling,  talked  to  each 
other  all  the  while  and  left  Diana  biting 
her  rose  colored  nails. 

At  Christmas  time,  came  the  episode  of 
the  cocktail  ring,  which  hit  all  the  columns 
from  coast  to  coast,  to  the  Loehr  family's 
dismay.  What  actually  happened  was  this. 
One  day  the  phone  rang,  and  Mrs.  Loehr 
answered.  It  was  Loren  Tindall. 

"Mrs.  Loehr,  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about 
the  Christmas  present  I  just  bought  Diana." 

"What  is  it,  Loren?" 

"It's  a  jeweled  cocktail  ring,  I  think 
she's  going  to  be  crazy  about  it." 

"Oh,  but  Loren!"  Mrs.  Loehr  was  really 
disturbed.  "That's  awfully  sweet  of  you, 
but  we  couldn't  let  Dolly  accept  such  a 
valuable  present.  Especially  a  ring." 

"But  I've  already  bought  it,"  Loren  pro- 
tested. "I  want  to  give  Diana  something 
really  nice." 

"Why  don't  you  exchange  it  and  get  her 
a  pretty  lapel  pin,  or  earrings.  Couldn't 
you  do  that?" 

Loren  was  annoyed,  and  didn't  try  to 
conceal  it.  He  went  to  Diana,  and  she 
was  very  unhappy  over  the  situation.  She 
knew  how  Loren  felt,  and  she  would  have 
loved  to  have  that  ring.  But  she  saw  the 
force  of  her  mother's  argument. 

"I'm  afraid  she's  right,  Loren,"  she  said 
reluctantly.  "It's  just  not  the  thing  to  do." 

Dolly  was  a  sensible  girl,  who  could  be 
depended  on  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the 
right  time.  It  was  this  conclusion  that 
led  to  Mrs.  Loehr's  letting  Diana  go  to 
New  York  alone  in  February.  Several 
stars  were  going  to  Washington  to  appear 
for  the  March  of  Dimes  campaign.  Diana 
was  asked  to  be  one  of  them.  The  studio 


representative  would  accompany  them  to 
Washington.  Afterward,  the  other  stars 
were  going  on  to  New  York,  for  a  few 
days  of  theater  and  fun. 

Her  mother  hesitated.  Wasn't  nineteen 
too  young  for  a  girl  like  Diana  to  stay  in 
New  York  unchaperoned? 

"Alexis  Smith  is  going,"  Diana  said 
calmly  without  much  hope.  She  was  so 
sure  her  mother  wouldn't  let  her  go.  "We 
could  room  together." 

"I  think  that  would  be  very  nice,"  Mrs. 
Loehr  said  briskly.  "When  do  you  start?" 

Diana's  lovely  mouth  fell  open.  She 
couldn't  believe  it!  Then  she  let  out  a 
warwhoop  completely  unsuited  to  the  dig- 
nified age  of  nineteen,  and  screamed  hap- 
pily, "I'm  going  to  New  York  by  myself!" 

While  Diana  was  in  New  York,  Henry, 
by  an  odd  coincidence,  had  to  attend  to 
some  business  there.  He  called  Mrs.  Loehr 
before  he  left  and  explained. 

He  didn't  want  her  to  think  he  was 
trying  to  put  anything  over.  He  really  did 
have  business  in  New  York,  but  of  course 
he  wanted  to  see  Diana,  too. 

Mrs.  Loehr  laughed  "Don't  apologize, 
Henry.  I'm  sure  she  wants  to  see  you,  too." 

So  Henry  was  around  to  take  Diana  to 
the  theater  and  the  Stork  Club  and  El  Mo- 
rocco, and  it  was  all  very  gay.  And  very 
harmless,  as  Mrs.  Loehr  knew  it  would 
be.  Because  she's  sure  now  that  Diana 
isn't  really  in  love  with  anyone  yet.  Not 
the  way  she  wants  love  to  be.  And  since 
Diana's  a  smart  girl,  she'll  go  along  awhile, 
working  hard  at  her  career,  having  fun 
with  the  people  she  likes  best,  but  not 
marrying  anyone.  Not  until  she's  really 
sure.  And  when  the  right  guy  comes  along, 
no  one  will  be  happier  about  it  than 
Diana's  mother. 


ESTHER  WILLIAMS 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


and  the  blast  was  felt  'round  the  globe. 
It  portended  many  dark  and  bloody  events 
for  an  anxious  world,  but  for  Esther, 
wrapped  up  in  athletics,  it  wiped  out  the 
goal  of  her  young  life.  And  Esther  Wil- 
liams always  had  to  have  a  goal. 

The  Olympic  Games  were  cancelled.  That 
meant  four  years  at  least  before  another 
chance  at  the  world  crown.  But  even  in 
four  years  Esther  would  be  too  old.  The 
fire  inside  her,  the  will  to  win,  flickered  for 
want  of  fuel.  And  there  were  a  couple  of 
other  dampers  that  turned  her  competitive 
flame  to  soggy  ashes.  One  was  physical,  the 
other  psychological. 

She  was  swimming  in  the  ocean  one  day 
and  running  back  up  on  the  beach,  she 
felt  a  searing  pain  in  her  foot.  Blood 
poured  from  the  wound  a  hidden  piece 
of  jagged  glass  had  cut.  Luckily,  no  ten- 
dons were  severed,  but  her  sole  was  laid 
wide  open.  She  had  to  stop  swimming; 
for  a  while  she  couldn't  even  walk.  That 
took  off  some  of  the  edge.  The  other  ex- 
perience was  even  more  deadly,  because 
it  was  disillusioning  to  a  girl  of  Esther 
Williams'  forthright,  trusting  honesty. 

Her  LAAC  coach  came  up  to  her  one 
day  and  remarked  casually,  "Oh,  by  the 
way,  I  had  a  wire  from  the  AAU.  They're 
interested  in  your  joining  an  exhibition 
team  for  a  South  American  tour." 

Esther's  heart  bounced  back  into  stride. 
She  didn't  ask  to  see  the  wire;  she  took 
it  for  granted  she'd  be  asked,  all  right. 
But  time  went  on  and  there  was  no  further 
word.  One  day  she  picked  up  the  paper 
and  read  where  the  South  American  troupe 
had  sailed.  Esther  was  dismayed.  She 
rushed  down  to  the  club.  "Oh,"  said  her 
coach,  "they  decided  you  weren't  quite 
good  enough."  That  baffled  Esther.  Not 
good  enough?  She  was  the  national  champ. 
"They  thought  you  weren't  a  versatile 
enough  swimmer,"  explained  the  coach. 
Not  versatile?  Esther  had  placed  in  three 
winning  events.  She  squelched  her  disap- 
pointment, and  worked  to  prepare  for  the 
Indoor  Nationals  in  Florida  that  April.  But 
her  heart  wasn't  really  in  it.  She  didn't 
know  that  her  coach  had  taken  it  on  her- 
self to  discourage  the  South  American  trip 
because  she  wanted  the  team  intact  for 
the  Florida  meet.  But  Esther  was  no  fool, 
and  it  didn't  make  sense  to  her  that  a  girl 
who  had  placed  sixth  at  Des  Moines  sailed 
with  the  exhibition  team. 

The  payoff  came  when  the  South  Ameri- 
can tour  boat  docked  in  Florida.  Off 
poured  Esther's  lucky  colleagues,  tanned, 
laughing  over  a  swell  pack  of  memories, 
trained  sharp  as  tacks  from  the  constant 
winter  outdoor  swimming.  Esther  looked 
at  them  enviously.  Then  one  of  the  boys  on 
the  team  she  knew  spied  her. 

she  wuz  robbed  .  .  . 

"Hey,  Williams,"  he  called,  "what  hap- 
pened to  you?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why  didn't  you  join  us?" 

"I  wasn't  asked.  I  wasn't  good  enough." 

"Are  you  kidding?"  he  choked.  "Say, 
we  held  off  sailing  two  weeks  waiting  for 
you,  and  then  the  wire  came  saying  you 
couldn't  go!" 

Esther's  world  dropped  away  from  her 
feet.  She  was  hurt  to  her  very  depths. 
Naive,  maybe,  certainly  straightforward 
and  frank,  she  had  never  been  deceived 
before.  Whether  her  coach  was  justified  or 
not  was  beside  the  point.  She  felt  cheated. 
She  stalked  in  and  confronted  her  mentor. 

"Yes,"  the  coach  admitted.  "They  wanted 
you.  But  I  didn't  think  it  would  be  good 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

There's  still  time  for  you  to  win  a  FREE  SUBSCRIPTION  to  MODERN  SCREEN,  if  you 
ACT  IMMEDIATELY!  Here's  what  to  do:  Simply  fill  in  your  answers  to  the  QUESTION- 
NAIRE below,  clip  this  coupon,  and  mail  it  to  us  AT  ONCE.  You  may  be  one  of  this 
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movie  magazine.  Then,  instead  of  haunting  your  poor  news  dealer,  just  sit  back  during 
JULY,  AUGUST,  SEPTEMBER  and  OCTOBER  and  let  US  send  YOU  your  copies  of  M.S.! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  June  issue?  Write  I,  2,  3  at 
the  right  of  your  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  choices. 


Stranger  in  Town  (Van  Johnson)  □ 
Three  Little  Sisters  (June  Haver)  .  D 
Since  He  Went  Away  (Jerome 

Courtland)   O 

Watch  Barbara  Hale.'  by  Hedda 

Hopper   □ 

Esther  Williams'  Life  Story 

(  Conclusion  )   □ 

Flying  Irishman  (Gene  Kelly)  .  .  .  .  □ 
Nancy  With  the  Laughing  Face 

(Frank  Sinatra)   □ 


Intime  and  On  the  Beam  (Kurt 

Kreuger)    □ 

The  Power  and  the  Glory  ( Tyrone 

Power)   □ 

A  Can  of  Beans  and  You  (Dane 

Clark)   □ 

He's  My  Guy  (Bob  Mitchum)  □ 

Nobody's  Sweetheart  (Diana 

Lynn)   □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 

Ed  Sullivan  Speaking  O 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them  I,  2,  3,  in  order 
of  preference  


My  name  is  

My  address  is  City. 

I  am   years  old. 


.Zone ! 


. .State. . 


ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


GO  TO 


In  Hollywood  as  everywhere  Orange  Blossom  rings  are  tops,  and 
Orange  Blossom  matched  sets  are  tops  from  coast  to  coast  with 
"brides-to-be"  who  appreciate  the  finer  things  and  the  assurance  of 
unquestionable  superiority  that  this  name  represents. 

Each  exquisite  Orange  Blossom  design  is  painstakingly  handwrought 
in  precious  metals  by  craftsmen  of  great  skill  and  artistic  ability. 

There  is  an  Orange  Blossom  ring  to  complement  your  personality — 
priced  to  fit  "his"  purse.  You  may  see  them,  without  obligation,  at 
better  jewelers  everywhere,     (write  for  illustrated  folder) 


Gail  Russell,  star- 
ring in  "Our  Hearts 
Were  Growing  Up", 
a  Paramount  picture. 


87 


1930  McGraw  Avenue     TRAUB  MANUFACTURING  CO.     Detroit  8.  Mich. 


Wings  for  on  angel 


m 

Louis  Philippe's  new  lipstick 


Subtle  as  a  shadow  —  tumultuous  as  thunder, 
. . .  Louis  Philippe's  new  Sunbird  lipstick 
of  high-flying  red.  In  a  golden-colored  metal 
case  of  jeweler  design  *1.  .  .  Matching  Sunbird 
rouge,  cake  or  creme  49*.  Plus  tax. 


for  you,  Esther.  You  wouldn't  be  in  condi- 
tion for  the  Florida  Nationals." 

'Don't  you  think  myself  or  my  mother 
ought  to  be  the  judge  of  what's  good  for 
me?''  Esther  came  back,  white  faced. 

"You'll  have  to  trust  me  where  your 
swimming  is  concerned,  Esther." 

But  Esther  Williams  couldn't— not  after 
that.  She  couldn't  trust  anyone  and  the 
organized,  commercial  side  of  champion- 
ship swimming  hit  her  tummy  and  sick- 
ened her  all  at  once.  She  was  through  with 
competitive  swimming  right  there.  The  Na- 
tional meet  had  to  be  held,  but  Esther 
didn't  want  to  win.  Her  apathy  spread  to 
the  LAAC  team.  She  didn't  win  a  race 
in  Florida.  Nobody  on  the  Los  Angeles 
team  did.  The  South  American  tour  kids 
swept  every  event.  Esther  traveled  back 
to  California.  The  first  thing  she  did  when 
she  got  home  was  to  quit  the  LAAC  team. 
She  hung  up  her  suit  out  in  the  garage  at 
home. 

to  swim  or  not  to  swim  ...  . 

That  was  the  background  of  an  im- 
portant decision  Esther  would  soon  have 
to  make — whether  to  keep  herself  "simon- 
pure"  in  the  cradle  of  amateur  sport,  or 
turn  professional,  or  give  up  entirely  the 
swimming  she  loved.  But  first  she  took 
a  job.  Money  was  still  scarce  around 
the  Williams  house  on  Orchard  Street  and 
Esther  needed  a  stake  to  start  U.S.C.  with 
next  term,  which  was  then  her  plan.  She 
walked  into  a  swank  Los  Angeles  women's 
store,  Magnin's,  and  asked  for  a  job  mod- 
elling clothes.  One  look  at  her  face  and 
figure  and  she  was  hired. 

At  first  she  was  a  regular  stock  model, 
standing  by  to  display  a  dress  a  customer 
fancied.  She  learned  to  wear  clothes  ex- 
pertly— something  she  had  never  really 
been  interested  in  before.  She  caught  on 
quickly  to  all  the  little  artifices  of  the 
trade:  When  to  smile,  how  to  walk,  what 
to  stress,  how  to  impress.  Her  natural 
sunny  charm  and  beauty  started  her  right 
up.  But  Fate  interrupted.  It  was  a  telephone 
call  one  day  right  while  she  was  changing 
from  one  dress  to  another.  The  voice  on 
the  wire  was  imperious. 

"This  Esther  Williams?"  said  Billy  Rose 
brusquely.  "I  want  you  to  try  out  for 
my  San  Francisco  Aquacade  show.  Be 
over  at  the  Ambassador  Hotel  pool  in 
fifteen  minutes  to  swim  for  me." 

That  was  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. Esther  still  had  two  hours  of  work 
ahead  of  her. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Rose,"  she  said,  politely, 
"but  I  have  a  job.  I  can't  walk  away 
from  it." 

"Listen,"  said  Billy.  "This  is  the  star's 
part  I'm  talking  about.  The  same  thing  in 
the  San  Francisco  Fair  that  my  wife,  Elea- 
nor Holm,  did  in  the  New  York  Fair. 
And  I  have  to  catch  a  plane  at  five." 

"I'm  sorry,"  repeated  Esther. 

"What  time  you  get  off?"  Esther  said 
five  o'clock.  "Okay,  then,"  growled  Billy. 
"I'll  wait." 

At  five-fifteen  Esther  was  in  the  water 
of  the  familiar  pool  where  she  had  swum 
so  many  exhibitions.  It  felt  good  to  be 
back  in  the  water  again.  She  didn't  ex- 
actly know  whether  she  wanted  to  be  a 
star  of  any  Acquacade  or  anything,  but  it 
was  fun  again  to  show  what  she  could  do 
and  she  was  only  human. 

"Swim  four  laps  free  style"  he  was  say- 
ing, "now  four  laps  backstroke — uh-huh" 
and  "now  four  laps  breast  stroke."  He 
puffed  away  at  a  big  black  cigar. 

Esther  popped  out  of  the  water,  grin- 
ning.  "What's  next?"  she  asked. 

"You're  not  tired?"  Esther  shook  her 
head.  She  was  never  tired — not  when 
she  was  interested.  "My  gosh!"  heaved 
Rose,  mopping  his  hair.  "I'm  tired  just 
watching  you!"  Then  he  came  to  the 
point.    "You're  okay.    Forty  a  week." 


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Dept.  SF-59,  693  Fifth  Ave. 
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"I  get  forty-five  now,"  replied  Esther 
coolly.  Besides,  she  didn't  really  think 
then  she  wanted  to  swim  in  Billy  Rose's 
Acquacade.  That  was  show  business.  She 
was  no  entertainer.  In  the  water  or  out. 
She  swam  fast,  not  fancy.  She  still  had  no 
idea  she  was  any  kind  of  a  feminine  dream 
dish,  in  spite  of  the  sport  page  photos.  She 
liked  her  modelling  job. 

"Fifty,"  said  Billy  Rose. 

"I'll  let  you  know,"  said  Esther,  and 
that's  what  she  meant. 

There  were  flocks  of  wires  from  San 
Francisco  after  that.  Each  one  went  up 
ten  or  twenty  dollars.  Magnin's  matched 
some  of  them  because  they  liked  Esther. 
But  soon  it  got  into  show  business  money. 
"$125  a  week."  That  seemed  like  all  the 
money  in  the  world  to  Esther  Williams. 
She  was  very  tempted.  After  all,  she  was 
doing  her  job  to  pile  up  an  educational- 
stake.  She  could  pile  it  up  pretty  fast  at 
that  rate.  But  like  all  amateurs,  Esther 
didn't  like  the  idea  of  swimming  for 
money.  Whenever  a  dilemma  like  that 
arose,  there  was  only  one  place  for  Esther 
Williams  to  take  it.  She  went  into  a  huddle 
with  Mama. 

"I  don't  see  any  point  to  your  going 
on  with  your  amateur  standing,"  Bula 
Williams  advised  Esther.  "In  fact,  I  think 
you  might  enjoy  topping  off  your  swim- 
ming career  by  making  some  money  with 
your  talent.  After  all,"  she  smiled,  "you 
can't  eat  medals." 

As  usual,  Esther  thought  all  these  things 
herself.  She  just  wanted  the  family  okay. 
She  wired  Bill  Rose  her  "yes"  at  last. 

The  family  saw  Esther  off  on  the  train 
to  San  Francisco.  She  left  two  weeks 
before  the  Acquacade  was  to  open  on 
Treasure  Island  in  San  Francisco  Bay.  She 
felt  a  little  wobbly.  Esther  wasn't  used 
to  being  scared  much  of  anything,  but 
this  time  she  felt  uncertain.  She'd  been 
on  lots  of  trips  before,  but  always  with  a 
gang  of  athletes  her  age,  and  always  with 
a  definite  job  to  do.  This  time  she  was 
going  it  alone — by  choice — and  what  she 
was  going  to  do  was  a  mystery,  really,  to 
her.  She  was  like  a  puppy  who  strays  out 
of  his  own'  yard  for  the  first  time — eager 
but  nervous. 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  go  up  there 
with  you,  Esther?"  her  mother  offered. 
"Maybe  you'd  feel  more  at  home." 

Esther's  lips  tightened.  "No,  Mommie," 
she  said.  "I'm  eighteen.  I'm  a  woman.  It's 
mv  party  from  now  on,  thanks  just  the 
same."  She  knew  what  whether  she  loved 
or  loathed  her  new  life  it  was  her  problem 
and  she  had  to  face  it.  But  the  locomotive's 
whistle  was  lonely  in  the  night. 

the  first  day  .  .  . 

Her  first  day  as  a  paid  swimmer  was 
the  tip-off.  Esther  knew  right  away  she 
wasn't  going  to  like  this,  but  her  usual 
courage  rallied.  In  fact,  the  experiences  of 
Esther  Williams'  first  encounters  with  show 
business  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  her 
becoming  Hollywood's  prize  "No"  girl  and 
putting  off  a  career  which  was  right  for 
her  for  over  a  year. 

She  knew  she  was  on  the  spot  when 
she  walked  out  on  the  rim  of  the  public 
pool  in  San  Francisco  where  Billy  Rose 
was  putting  the  show  together.  It  was 
lined  with  dozens  of  girl  swimmers,  most 
of  whom  had  made  wa'ter  ballet  their 
specialty.  Every  one  had  bid  keenly  for 
the  very  star  spot  Esther  had  captured, 
almost  against  her  will.  She  could  feel 
their  resentment,  imagined  she  could  hear 
cutting  remarks  and  titters  as  they  sized 
her  up  and  asked,  "Migosh,  what  has  she 
got?"  Her  bathing  suit  was  a  plain  racing 
rig.  She  pulled  on  her  rubber  cap  and 
waited,  thinking  that  it  certainly  was  a 
laugh  that  all  eyes  were  on  her — the  star — 
and  she  didn't  know  beans  about  what  she 
was  supposed  to  do. 


"Well,"  she  reasoned  to  herself,  "they 
hired  me  knowing  I'm  no  ballet  beauty. 
I'm  a  racer.  That's  what  I'll  have  to  show 
them — speed." 

Billy  Rose  used  a  public  address  system 
to  direct  the  troupe.  "All  right,  Miss 
Williams,"  his  voice  boomed  out. 

Esther  dived  in  and  split  the  water.  She 
shot  the  length  of  the  pool  and  back  again, 
and  if  a  stop-watch  had  been  on  her  then 
she  thinks  she  probably  would  have  busted 
a  world's  record  wide  open.  Every  eye 
was  on  her  and  that  made  her  arms  dig 
in  more  savagely.  She'd  show  'em.  The 
water  boiled  behind  her.  When  she  pulled 
her  body  out  she  was  greeted  by  an  aching 
silence. 

racing  fans!  .  .  . 

Then  Billy  Rose's  voice  came  over  the 
speaker.  "Miss  Williams."  There  was  a 
pause,  and  the  words  came  slow  and  sharp 
with  sarcasm.  "I'm  sure,"  he  said,  "you 
can  swim  very  fast.  Yes — very  fast.  But 
.  .- ."  and  then  he  waited  for  the  effect  with 
a  showman's  timing,  "we  just  aren't  in- 
terested in  that  type  of  swimming.  This 
is  a  show,  not  a  race." 

The  girls  lining  the  pool  giggled.  Esther's 
face  burned,  right  through  her  wet  cheeks. 

"First  of  all,"  barked  Billy,  "take  off  that 
bathing  cap."  Esther  took  it  off. 

"That's  better,"  said  Billy,  "but  not 
much.  My  wife,  Eleanor,  always  wears  a 
bow  in  the  water.  You  might  try  it.  Now, 
I  see  we've  got  to  teach  you  how  to  swim. 
That  looked  like  amateur  night  in  Dixie!" 

Esther  flared  inside,  but  outside  she  tried 
to  keep  calm.  Still,  her  voice  trembled  with 
anger  as  she  tried  to  make  her  reply  level. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Rose,"  she  shouted  back 
so  everyone  could  hear.  "You're  paying 
me  for  this,  so  I'll  learn  to  swim  any  way 
you  want  me  to.  I'll  guarantee  complete 
satisfaction."  And  although  Esther's  tone 
was  defiant  because  she  had  been  hurt, 
that's  just  what  she  meant.  She'd  deliver. 
She  was  even  more  determined  to  now  that 
they'd  made  fun  of  her. 

So  she  kept  in  the  pool  every  day  and 
every  night  learning  to  swim  the  way  they 
wanted.  She  mastered  it,  of  course,  and 
with  her  beauty,  her  trim  body  and  her 
untiring  swimming  power,  Esther  Williams 
more  than  measured  up  to  what  Billy  Rose 
had  bargained  for  and  more  than  earned 
her  salary  as  star  of  the  pack-'em-in  show. 
But  Esther  was  never  happy. 

It  was  nice  enough  when  the  colored 
spots  were  on,  the  music  playing  and  the 
rhythmic  water  performance  in  full  flow. 
That  was  doing  something  and  it  was  a 
life  saver  to  Esther.  Because  the  rest  of 
the  deal  was  pretty  grim.  The  tiny  dress- 
ing room  with  the  forlorn  light  bulb 
dangling  down  before  the  cracked  mirror. 
The  musty,  damp  smell  of  wet  suits  and 
makeup  and  backstage  cigar  smoke.  The 
perpetually  wet  hair,  the  sputtery  gas 
heater.  Four  shows  a  day,  every  day.  It 
got  monotonous.  But  she  got  used  to  that. 

But  the  rough  and  tumble,  often  vulgar 
show  business  world,  Esther  never  got 
used  to  that.  The  salty  wisecracks  of  the 
backstage  hands.  The  nice,  fresh  college 
kids  she  saw,  recruited  from  athletics  like 
herself,  turning  tough  and  brittle  and  wise. 

"That  will  never  happen  to  me — never!" 
swore  Esther. 

Naturally,  this  decision  only  added  to 
her  loneliness.  Esther's  resolve  to  go  it 
alone  when  she  left  Los  Angeles  was  all 
very  well.  She  thought  then,  she'd  make 
lots  of  new  friends  at  once  as  she  always 
had.  But  she  didn't  click  with  these  char- 
acters, and  vice-versa. 

This  depressed  state  of  mind  was  di- 
rectly responsible  for  two  of  Esther  Wil- 
liams' major  decisions  while  she  starred 
in  Billy  Rose's  Aquacade  in  San  Francisco. 
It  made  her  say  "Yes"  to  marriage,  and 
"No"  to  Hollywood.  The  offers  arrived  in 


MRS.   CHARLES  BOYER  - 

glamorous  wife  of  the  screen's 
leading  romantic  actor. 


says  Mrs.  Charles  Boyer, 

"\o  wonder  TAXi EE  SATIN- FINISH 
Lipstick  is  a  Hollywood  sensation.'* 


Glamorous  colors?  Of  course!  But  that  alone  doesn't 
explain  the  popularity  of  Tangee  Lipstick  in  Holly- 
wood. There's  another  reason  —  SATIN-FINISH !  This 
amazing  development  gives  a  lipstick  wonderful  '"stay- 
ing power". . .  so  that  you  aren't  constantly  taking  time 
out  for  "repairs".  And  even  on  a  hot  day,  Satin-Finish  ' 
doesn't  get  soft— does  not  run  or  smear.  Remember, 
only  Tangee  has  Satin-Finish. 

HIT  COLORS  OF  HOLLY  WOOD 

TANGEE  GAY-RED— "to  make  your  lips  look  young  and 
gay"— a  favorite  of  Mrs.  Robert  Montgomery  and 
Mrs.  Gary  Cooper. 

TANGEE  RED-RED — a  clear  vivid  shade  — first  choice  of 
Mrs.  Charles  Boyer,  Mrs.  George  Murphy  and 
many  others.  Other  popular  Tangee  shades  are : 

THEATRICAL  RED-MEDIUM  RED— TANGEE  NATURAL 


CONSTANCE    LUFT  HUHN, 

Head  of  the  House  of  Tangee 
and  creator  of  the  ivorld  fa- 
mous Satin-Finish  Lipstick 
and  Petal-Finish  Cake 
Make-Up. 


Use  /Ci44G££/. . . 

and  see  iow  beautiful  you  can  he 


??I  like  to 
curl  up  with  a 
good  book" 


KEEP  FRESH !  Shower  your  body 
with  Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc.  Like  a 
cooling  caress  it  sweetens  your  skin  and 
leaves  you  fresh  all  over; 


FEEL.  SMOOTH!  Before  you  dress 
smooth  Cashmere  Bouquet  Talc  over 
chafable  places.  For  hours  your  body 
benefits  from  its  pearly  smooth  sheath 
of  protection; 

STAY  DAINTY!  Use  Cashmere  Bouquet 
Talc  at  least  twice  a  day,  for  coolness,  for 
comfort  and  for  the  heavenly  scent  it  gives 
your  skin.  It's  the  fragrance  men  love. 


f*Ow.  * 


92 


In  lOc.  20l 

and  :»5c  sizes 

For  the  luxury  size 
with  velour  puff  ask  for 
Cashmere  Bouquet 
Dusting  Powder  65i 


reverse    order,    Hollywood    calling  first. 

She  was  in  her  tiny  dressing  room  one 
evening  when  Jack  Cummings  of  Metro- 
Goldwyn-Mayer  (who  later  on  was  to  pro- 
duce her  first  starring  picture,  "Bathing 
Beauty,"  "Easy  to  Wed"  and  her  latest, 
"Fiesta")  came  backstage. 

"Metro,"  bubbled  Cummings,  "has  been 
looking  everywhere  for  a  girl  to  star  in  a 
big  swimming  picture — and  you're  it!" 
Esther  just  stared.  "Yes,"  he  went  on, 
"M-G-M's  crazy  about  you.  Several  execs 
have  seen  you  at  the  Aquacade  and  I'm 
getting  the  picture  together  and  you're  my 
choice,  too.  You're  a  mighty  lucky  girl. 
You'll  be  a  star  overnight.  You'll  have 
everything  you  want.  .  .  ." 

ya-ta-ta  ya-ta-ta  .  .  . 

He  rattled  on,  talking  a  blue  streak. 
Esther  didn't  have  a  chance  to  say  a  word. 
'  "Now,  let's  see — the  script's  being  writ- 
ten now  and  the  scenes  designed.  You'll 
finish  here  in  September.  Then  you'll  come 
right  down  to  Hollywood  and  out  to 
M-G-M  for  color  tests  and  fittings — 
and  .  .  ." 

Esther  let  him  carry  on.  She  couldn't 
have  stopped  him  anyway.  When  he  ran 
out  of  breath,  she  said: 

"But  I'm  not  interested  in  pictures." 

Jack  Cummings  did  what  they  call  in 
Hollywood  a  "double-take" — and  a  real 
one.  He  looked  like  someone  had  sud- 
denly knifed  him. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  gasped. 

"I  mean  'no,' "  explained  Esther.  "I've 
found  out  what  show  business  is  like — 
and  I  don't  like  it." 

Jack  Cummings  made  a  few  remarks 
and  then  walked  out,  stunned.  He  just 
didn't  get  it.  After  he  got  back  to  Holly- 
wood he  came  to  and  a  barrage  of  studio 
offers  started  peppering  Esther.  But  they 
didn't  understand:  Esther  Williams  meant 
what  she  said.  But  she  was  lonely,  too. 
So  when  Leonard  Kovner  came  to  San 
Francisco  and  said,  "Let's  get  married,'" 
that  made  sense  to  Esther. 

She'd  known  Leonard  and  gone  with  him 
for  a  year  or  more,  down  home.  He  was  a 
young  medical  student  making  up  his  pre- 
med  credits  at  Los  Angeles  City  College 
when  Esther  was  there.  They  both  planned 
to  go  on  to  USC  and  Leonard  did.  Leonard 
was  going  to  be  a  doctor  and  that  was  a 
goal  Esther  admired.  She  could  see  her- 
self part  of  a  useful  and  real  future  with 
Dr.  Kovner.  She  thought  she  was  in  love. 

Anyway,  Leonard's  weekend  visits  came 
oftener  and  oftener  and  one  day  they  went 
to  a  preacher.  Esther's  family  wasn't  there. 
They  didn't  get  along  with  Leonard  and 
he  didn't  like  them.  That  was  a  wedge 
and  an  unnatural  one  that  could  never 
have  allowed  any  marriage  of  Esther  Wil- 
liams to  win  out  in  the  long  run.  But  she 
was  resolved  to  make  her  marriage  a 
success.  And  that  was  another  reason 
why  she  kept  shying  from  Hollywood,  in 
spite  of  the  wires  and  phone  calls  and  the 
visits  of  Johnny  Hyde,  the  agent  who  took 
on  the  "Get  Esther  Williams  Into  Pictures" 
campaign.  Johnny  was  persuasive  and 
aggressive  and  he  never  gave  up.  She  be- 
gan her  series  of  "No's"  that  lasted  a  year 
after  the  Aquacade  closed. 

husband's  helper  .  .  . 

When  that  happened,  Esther  breathed  a 
sigh  of  relief  and  moved  back  down  to 
Los  Angeles.  The  Kovners  found  a  funny 
little  apartment  in  the  city  and  Esther 
found  her  old  job  waiting  for  her  at 
Magnin's.  Leonard  entered  USC  and 
Esther  went  to  work.  She  was  glad  to  do 
this,  because  it  helped  her  husband  to- 
ward his  medical  goal,  and  because  she 
had  always  liked  modeling.  Soon  she  was 
head  model  and  trusted  with  staging 
fashion  shows  and  exhibits  all  over  the 
town. 


There's  not  much  doubt  that  Esther 
Williams  could  have  gone  right  to  the  top 
as  a  fashion  expert.  Magnin's  had  their 
eye  on  her  as  a  prospective  buyer.  She 
was  happy  in  her  job  and  she  forgot  swim- 
ming. She  had  no  idea  anything  was  going 
to  happen  that  hot  August  day  which  would 
change  her  life  and  let  Fate  catch  up  with 
her,  right  over  her  own  objections. 

Johnny  Hyde  had  kept  calling  up  regu- 
larly, once  a  month  or  oftener.  And  when 
he  said,  "Haven't  changed  your  mind  yet, 
have  you?"  Esther  would  answer  honestly, 
"No.  It's  still  no.  I'm  just  not  interested." 

Well,  this  day  was  sweltering  and  the 
customers  were  staying  away  in  droves. 
Sitting  around  the  store,  idle  and  a  little 
bored,  Esther  heard  the  phone  ring.  "I'll 
get  it,"  she  said,  hopping  up,  glad  for 
anything  to  bust  the  monotony. 

"Hello,  Esther,  this  is  Johnny  Hyde." 

"I  asked  you  not  to  call  me  at  work, 
Johnny." 

"I  know — but,  look.  Louis  B.  Mayer's  in 
town  and  he'd  like  to  meet  you.  He's  an 
awfully  nice  man.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
meet  him  and  say  hello?" 

"Yes,"  said  Esther.  "Of  course,  I'd  like 
to  meet  Mr.  Mayer,  but  .  .  ." 

"But  what?" 

Esther  fell  back  on  the  best  argument 
she  could  think  of.  "But  I've  got  a  job. 
I'm  not  off  until  five."  Johnny  said  five 
was  fine.  A  car  and  chauffeur  would  call. 
Maybe  that  did  it  with  Esther.  She  was 
only  human;  she  couldn't  resist  the  tempt- 
ing vision  of  a  big,  shiny  limousine  draw- 
ing up  especially  for  her.  She  weakened. 
"Okay,"  she  said,  "I'll  be  ready." 

Then  she  let  the  rest  of  the  girls  in  on 
the  news.  That  was  just  the  thing  to 
brighten  up  a  dull  day.  "Boy,  will  we 
send  you  off  in  style!"  they  said.  Esther  was 
dressed,  undressed  and  dressed  again  with 
stock  merchandise  until  she  felt  like  a  win- 
dow dummy — but  everybody,  even  the  floor 
boss,  had  the  time  of  her  life.  By  five,  Wil- 
liams was  really  a  dish  that  she  could  ap- 
prove of  in  the  mirror.  The  whole  crew 
hung  out  the  window  and  waved  her  off 
with  cheers  as  the  chauffeur  pulled  away 
from  the  curb.  "I  won't  sign  any  contract 
or  anything,  no  matter  what,"  Esther  as- 
sured herself.  But  little  did  she  know  Mr. 
Mayer. 

she  didn't  say  no  .  .  . 

He's  an  ace  diplomat  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  put  Esther  at  her  ease.  His 
aide,  Sam  Katz,  was  with  him.  They  told 
Esther,  "Miss  Williams,  we're  not  boogie 
men.  We  aren't  out  to  ruin  your  life  or 
anything.  We  just  think  you  have  ability 
r.nd  we'd  like  to  put  you  in  pictures — that's 
all.  Now,  what's  wrong  with  that?" 

Esther  wanted  them  to  know  where  she 
stood,  too.  It  sort  of  embarrassed  her  to 
get  all  this  attention  and  keep  saying  "No." 
They  must  think  she  was  a  swell  headed 
little  brat,  or  else  a  sharp  bargainer.  So 
she  said, 

"Please — I'm  not  trying  to  be  hard  to  get. 
I'm  really  not  at  all.  It's  just  that  I  don't 
think  I  have  any  talent.  I  can  swim,  sure, 
but  I  can't  act.  I'm  not  very  pretty,  I'm — 
I'm — "  she  fumbled  for  the  right  phrase, 
"well,  I'm  just  like  everybody  else!" 

Mr.  Mayer  smiled.  "That's  just  what  we 
want,"  he  told  her,  "believe  me."  Then  he 
answered  every  doubt  she  brought  up. 

.  .  Soon  as  you  find  out  how  awful 
I  am,  I'll  be  out  again  in  six  months  .  .  ." 

"You'll  have  yearly  options." 

".  .  .  I'll  never  pass  a  screen  test.  .  .  ." 

"There  won't  be  any  screen  test.  We'll 
sign  you  right  now."  And  all  prepared  and 
perfect  the  contract  slid  magically  out  of 
L.  B.  Mayer's  desk  drawer.  Esther  found 
herself  signing. 

So  Esther  was  in  pictures  at  last.  Her 
mother  approved,  but  she  wasn't  impressed. 
Nobody  in  the  Williams  house  was.  It  made 


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little  difference  in  Esther's  home  life,  either. 

She  started  from  scratch.  Lillian  Burns, 
M-G-M's  drama  coach,  grabbed  her  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning  for  an  hour.  From 
there  she  hustled  over  to  the  dance  school. 
A  half  hour  of  ballet,  another  half  hour 
of  ballroom.  After  lunch,  back  to  Miss 
Burns,  and  then  on  to  an  hour  of  diction 
and  voice  culture,  another  hour  of  walking 
with  books  on  her  head,  sessions  with 
makeup  and  wardrobe.  And  at  the  day's 
end,  an  hour  of  singing  lessons. 

In  what  spare  moments  there  were  she 
sat  quietly  on  sets  and  watched.  Everybody 
was  swell  to  her.  She  had  free  run  of  the  lot, 
authority  to  run  off  a  picture  in  a  projec- 
tion booth.  She  didn't  have  to  go  to 
"command"  parties,  meet  visiting  Elks,  pay 
any  mind  whatever  to  anything  she  didn't 
want  to.  And  she  swam  every  day,  too. 

Esther  had  been  letting  her  swimming 
slip  at  Magnin's.  There  hadn't  been  time. 
But  now  swimming  was  a  big  item  on  her 
Star-Is-Born  schedule.  A  good  pool  is  one 
thing  M-G-M  doesn't  own — so  she  had 
free  access  to  all  the  glamorous  ponds 
around  Beverly  Hills  and  Hollywood. 
While  she  was  paddling  luxuriously  at  the 
Beverly  Hills'  Hotel  crystal  pool  one  after- 
noon, Esther  got  her  first  studio  scare  and 
biggest  thrill  all  wrapped  up  in  one. 

It  was  just  two  months  after  she'd  started 
on  her  M-G-M  training  program  and 
Esther  hadn't  yet  shaken  a  guilty  feeling 
that  she  was  getting  paid  for  producing 
absolutely  nothing. 

So  when  they  called  her  to  the  telephone 
at  the  pool  and  L.B.  Mayer's  private  secre- 
tary said  Mr-  Mayer  would  like  to  see  her 
in  his  office  right  away,  Esther  thought, 
"Well,  they've  come  to  their  senses  at  last. 
They  know  I'm  no  good  and  they're  going 
to  end  this  foolishness.  I'm  fired." 

She  was  fully  resigned  to  that  sad  fact 
when  she  walked  into  the  sanctum  sanc- 
torum at  M-G-M.  Esther  was  wearing 
slacks  and  a  sport  blouse.  Her  hair  was 
wet  and  shapeless.  Her  makeup  was  washed 
off  and  her  nose  gleaming. 

When  she  walked  in  the  inner  office,  she 
couldn't  have  looked  less  glamorous.  And 
she  couldn't  have  guessed  worse. 

"We  have  something  in  mind  for  you," 
L.B.  was  saying.  "But  first,  there's  a  young 
man  outside  I  want  you  to  meet." 

just  a  nice  young  man  .  .  . 

He  got  up  from  his  desk,  smiling,  walked 
out  of  the  office  and  when  he  came  back 
Esther  felt  her  spine  turn  to  solid  ice  and 
then  prickle  like  a  cactus  stick.  Mr.  Mayer 
was  leading  in  Clark  Gable! 

Esther  still  wonders  how  she  managed 
to  shake  Clark's  hand.  Van  Johnson  wouldn't 
have  thrilled  her  or  Bob  Taylor  or  anyone 
else.  But  Gable — he  was  just  in  tune  with 
her  age  bracket  to  be  the  idol  of  her  girl- 
hood and  of  course  he  still  was. 

And  she  actually  heard  Mr.  Mayer  say- 
ing, "Mr.  Gable  would  like  to  make  a  screen 
test  with  you."  All  she  could  think  of 
was  "Oh,  I've  never  been  so  unattractive. 
I'm  such  a  mess.  This  is  awful!"  (Clark 
Gable  told  her  later  he  found  her  so 
refreshing!)  She  tried  to  say  something. 
But  all  she  could  squeak  out  was: 

"A  test?    But,  why?" 

"I  think  you  two  might  be  good  in  a 
picture  sometime,"  explained  Mr.  Mayer. 
"And  I  think  a  test  with  Clark  will  be  good 
for  you.  Give  you  confidence." 

Esther  thought,  "Confidence?  If  you  only 
knew  how  that  guy  gives  me  the  shakes 
and  shivers!"  But  she  had  self-control 
enough  to  keep  quiet  and  play  dumb. 

It  was  some  screen  test.  Clark  picked  a 
love  scene  from  one  of  his  current  pictures. 
Esther  studied  the  lines  until  she  could  say 
them  almost  without  thinking.  But  Clark 
read  his  lines  off  sheets  on  a  table,  and 
when  he'd  miss  one,  he'd  just  go  into 
a    clinch,    like    a    boxer.     That  raised 


the  average.  After  each  smack  Esther 
would  gulp  and  carry  on.  She  tottered  off 
the  test  stage  in  a  daze,  and  even  later, 
when  she  ran  the  film  so  much  that  it  got 
frayed  at  the  edges,  she  couldn't  study 
herself  with  any  concentration.  All  she 
could  see  was  Clark  Gable  kissing  her. 

But  the  studio  tagged  it  a  big  success 
and  from  then  on  Esther  plunged  into  a 
series  of  tests.  She  was  always  the  girl 
partner  for  every  new  young  man  M-G-M 
tried  out. 

One  day  she  was  summoned  into  casting. 
"You're  scheduled  for  a  test  with  Mickey 
Rooney,"  they  told  her. 

"But,"  she  said  now,  "Mickey  already 
has  a  contract."  She  didn't  get  it.  She  was 
always  making  a  test  with  somebody  else, 
but  also  for  somebody  else. 

"This  time  the  test's  for  you." 

She  made  that  test  in  a  bathing  suit.  Ten 
other  girls  tested,  too.  So  she  was  still  in 
a  race,  of  a  sort.  Six  months  after  she  first 
put  her  signature  on  the  M-G-M  contract, 
Esther  had  her  first  part  in  a  picture,  "Andy 
Hardy's  Double  Life." 

mama  knows  best  .  .  . 

Frankly,  the  only  scene  where  Esther  felt 
at  home  was  the  scene  under  water  where 
she  and  Mickey  pull  off  a  submarine  kdss. 
Before  the  preview  she  told  her  mother, 
"Now,  Mama,  you've  got  to  look  at  this 
objectively.  Don't  soft  soap  me  (as  if 
she  didn't  know  better  than  that).  If  I 
haven't  a  spark  of  talent  I  want  you  to  tell 
me — promise?"  Bula  Williams  promised. 

They  sat  in  separate  seats.  After  the  pic- 
ture they  met  outside.  A  first  look  at 
yourself  on  film  is  a  pretty  horrible  ex- 
perience anyway.  But  to  hypersensitive 
Esther  Williams  it  was  slow  death. 

"Well,  Mommy?" 

Mrs.  Williams  took  a  long  time  answer- 
ing and  Esther's  tummy  sank  and  sank. 

"That's  not  my  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Williams, 
letting  her  have  it.  "That's  not  Esther. 
Honey,  you  were  trying  to  do  a  job  so 
hard  you  couldn't  think  of  anything  else. 
That  works  in  swimming,  Wut  not  in  acting." 

After  that  she  burned  up  for  experience. 
She  wanted  to  be  in  every  picture  made 
at  M-G-M.  Just  as  an  extra,  a  walk-on, 
anything.  She  pestered  everyone  at  the 
studio,  big  and  little — directors,  producers, 
executives,  even  assistant  directors.  If  she 
could  only  learn  by  doing,  it  would  help. 

"Listen,"  they  told  her.  "We  know  bet- 
ter. Our  plans  are  too  big  for  you.  Your 
next  picture  is  going  to  be  'Bathing 
Beauty' — and  you're  going  to  be  the  star!" 

"Oh,  no!"  protested  Esther.  Now  that 
she  was  inside  a  studio  and  knew  what 
talent  movies  demanded,  she  was  horrified 
at  actually  doing  the  thing  she  had  ob- 
viously been  signed  for  in  the  first  place. 

Esther's  campaign  to  land  another  part 
paid  off  just  once  before  she  was  thrust, 
as  she  thought,  like  a  lamb  to  the  lions,  in 
"Bathing  Beauty."  She  talked  herself  into  a 
tiny  bit  in  "A  Guy  Named  Joe."  She  danced 
with  Van  Johnson  in  a  scene,  had  four  or 
five  pages  of  dialogue,  and  then  put  in  more 
months  of  hard  licks  until  at  last  "Bathing 
Beauty"  rolled  around. 

She  asked  the  same  question  of  her 
favorite  critic  after  the  preview  of  "Bath- 
ing Beauty"— "Well,  Mom?" 

"It's  a  wonderful,  beautiful  picture,"  her 
Mama  told  her  after  the  show.  "You've 
gained  confidence.  And  there's  one  scene 
at  the  end  of  the  picture  where  your  real 
humor,  warmth  and  sincerity  come  through, 
Esther  That  scene  proves  to  me  that  you 
can  be  an  actress  if  you  want  to." 

And  so  Esther  went  on,  always  won- 
dering, "Why  are  they  putting  me  in 
another  picture?  Why  are  they  wasting 
their  money?"  It  wasn't  until  she'd  finished 
"Easy  to  Wed"  and  it  was  previewed  that 
her  question,  "Well,  Mom?"  brought  final 
confidence  to  Esther  Williams.  After  that 


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one,  Bula  Williams  sent  a  wire  to  Esther 
in  New  York. 

She  wired  simply,  "My  Esther  is  on  the 
screen  at  last." 

It  was  the  greatest  accolade  Esther  ever 
got  or  ever  will  get. 

At  the  time  when  the  world  was  dis- 
covering Esther  Williams,  when  she  was 
basking  in  the  first  full  rays  of  fame, 
Esther,  true  to  form,  courageously  faced 
up  to  her  private  life  and  did  what  she 
knew  had  to  be  done.  In  1944,  just  before 
"Bathing  Beauty"  opened  in  New  York, 
Esther  separated  from  her  husband, 
Leonard  Kovner. 

It  was  the  worst  time  she  could  have 
picked,  if  she  had  been  picking  it  with 
publicity  consequences  in  mind. 

to  thine  own  self  be  true  .  .  . 

But  Esther's  marriage  had  been  wrong 
from  the  start  and  she  had  given  it  four 
long  years  that  weren't  happy  ones  for  her. 
Instead  of  being  false  to  herself  and  keep- 
ing it  alive,  she  showed  again  the  stuff 
she  was  made  of  by  braving  divorce. 

When  the  break  came,  she  didn't  know 
Cupid  was  lying  in  wait  right  around  the 
corner.  Esther  had  never  heard  of  one 
Sergeant  Ben  Gage  when  she  cut  the  badly 
tangled  knot  of  her  marriage  to  Leonard 
Kovner.  But  only  a  few  weeks  after  her 
divorce  he  walked  right  into  her  life — and 
Big  Ben  has  never  left. 

They  met  at  a  benefit  party  at  Earl 
Carroll's.  All  Hollywood  had  turned  out 
and  Esther  was  peddling  cigarettes  for 
sweet  charity.  She  was  dressed  formal 
because  this  particular  affair — the  Jewish 
Old  Age  Benefit — is  quite  an  event  in 
Movieland.  But  although  Esther  glittered 
glamorously  she  was  as  low  inside  as  a 
snake  in  a  swamp.  The  hangover  of  her 
wrecked  marriage  depressed  her. 

This  tall  guy  with  the  golden  crinkles  in 
his  hair  had  loomed  on  Esther's  horizon 
off  and  on  all  night,  and  somehow  she 
couldn't  get  him  out  of  her  mind,  even 
though  they  hadn't  even  said  "Hello." 
Esther  had  to  grin  to  herself,  and  as  she 
was  looking  right  at  this  man  he  grinned 
right  back.  So  she  wiped  hers  off  and 
said  "Cigarettes?"  to  a  passing  party. 

Then  when  her  chore  was  over  and  she'd 
turned  in  her  cigarette  tray  and  the  pro- 
ceeds, she  started  out  to  get  her  car  and 
go  home  and  drown  her  sorrows  in  a  soft 
pillow.  And  then  —  nuts  —  the  Heavens 
started  bucketing  down  and  her  car  would 
be  miles  away  in  the  maze  of  the  dripping 
parking  lot. 

That's  when  the  voice  behind  her  said, 

"Having  trouble,  little  girl?" 

"Little  Girl"— Esther's  heart  did  that 
double-time  routine  again,  because  she 
knew  who  it  was  before  she  turned  around. 

"Am  I  having  trouble?"  sighed  Esther. 
"I  am.   My  car,  I  .  .  ." 

"I'll  get  it  for  you,"  said  the  tree- top 
tall  sergeant.  He  brought  the  buggy 
'round  and  Esther  drove  him  across  the 
street  to  his  car  and  that  was  all. 

Esther's  romance  with  Ben  Gage  was  on 
the  cautious  side  at  the  start.  She  wasn't 
letting  the  big  soldier  sweep  her  off  her  feet 
because  that  had  happened  the  first  time 
and  it  hadn't  worked.  And  this  time,  too, 
she  was  going  to  be  dead  certain  that  any- 
body who  came  a-courtin'  knew  her  family, 
and  liked  them,  and  vice-versa,  because 
Esther  knew  by  now  she  could  never  be 
happy  in  any  stand-offish  domestic  rela- 
tionship with  her  folks.  They  were  too 
dear  to  her.  And  so  when  Ben  Gage  called, 
Esther  came  right  out  with: 

"Would  you  like  to  come  to  Mama's 
house  for  dinner?" 

"Would  I!"  said  the  Sergeant.  "After 
this  army  chow?  Look — can  she  cook?" 

"If  she  can't,  I  can,"  laughed  Esther, 
"but  she  taught  me  how." 

Well,  that  night  Ben  and  Bula  Williams 


got  along  like  a  couple  of  country  cousins. 
In  fact  they  talked  and  jabbered  away 
so  long  and  exclusively  that  Esther 
finally  gave  up  and  went  to  sleep  on 
the  couch! 

All  the  summer  that  followed  that  spring 
of  1944,  while  Esther  made  "Thrill  of  a 
Romance"  on  an  M-G-M  set,  a  real  life 
romance  of  the  same  name  progressed  in 
her  private  life,  unspectacularly  but  solidly. 
It  was  quite  a  spell  before  Esther  could 
trust  her  feelings  for  Ben.  She'd  been  hurt, 
but  Ben  passed  all  the  tests — Esther's  own 
and  Mama's  too— with  flying  colors,  and 
then  Esther  began  to  let  out  the  strings 
of  her  heart. 

And  to  tuck  up  a  long  and  fairly  fa- 
miliar Hollywood  love  story — well — Esther 
Williams  turned  into  Mrs.  Ben  Gage  in 
a  candlelit  church  in  Westwood  last  No- 
vember, with  bridesmaids  and  ushers  and 
rice  and  tears  and  double  rings — all  the 
trimmings  of  a  girl's  dreams. 

Privately  Esther  Williams  couldn't  be 
happier  than  she  is  with  her  husband,  Ben, 
in  the  little  redwood  house  they've  set  up 
housekeeping  in — high  on  a  mesa  with  a 
view  sweeping  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

When  Christmas  rolled  around  this  past 
year,  Esther  was  down  in  Mexico  in 
"Fiesta"  and  Ben  flew  down  to  see  her. 
It  was  the  first  Christmas  Esther  had  ever 
spent  away  from  home  and  in  a  foreign 
land,  to  boot.  But  she  thought  with  Ben 
there  they  could  make  it  real. 

a  southern  Christmas  .  .  . 

So  they  tramped  off  to  a  little  side  alley 
market  in  Puebla  and  picked  up  all  the 
Yuletide  decorations  and  trinkets  they 
could  find.  They  even  dug  up  a  tree  and 
lugged  all  the  Santa  Claus  loot  back  to 
the  hotel  room.  Esther  explained  in  her 
limping  Spanish  to  the  Mexican  cook  just 
how  she  wanted  everything  fixed — how 
you  made  cranberry  sauce  and  chestnut 
dressing  and  how  you  roasted  a  turkey, 
Norte  America  style.  The  picture  crew 
was  invited,  and  on  Christmas  Day  thirty 
people  made  with  cheer  and  feasting,  sang 
carols  and  everything. 

It  was  okay — but,  darn  it,  it  just  wasn't 
real.  Both  Ben  and  Esther  tried  hard  but 
they  finally  had  to  confess  to  each  other 
that  Christmas  just  wasn't  Christmas 
away  from  the  folks.  The  only  thing 
to  do,  they  decided,  was  to  hold  back 
the  calendar  and  do  it  right  when  they 
got  home. 

So  they  set  about  their  Christmas  shop- 
ping. They  cleaned  out  the  Mexican  shops 
with  presents  for  every  member  of  both 
families  and  Esther  had  to  come  back  to  the 
United  States  with  practically  no  ward- 
robe at  all  because  every  bag  was  crammed 
with  gifts.  The  minute  she  got  home  she 
started  things  going.  It  was  February  by 
then  but  what  she  was  up  to  was  a  family 
Christmas  dinner. 

So  Esther  tied  on  her  kitchen  apron  and 
went  to  work.  Soon  the  family  started 
trouping  in  until  the  walls  of  her  honey- 
moon cottage  bulged  to  busting. 

She  was  there  with  her  family,  not  one  of 
whom  was  the  least  impressed  with  the 
fact  that  she  was  a  Hollywood  star.  What 
counted  with  them  was  that  she  was  still 
Sister  Essie  and  that  she  could  get  up  a 
family  Christmas  Day  like  this  with  a 
Christmas  dinner  like  this. 

Because  Esther  had  cooked  the  whole 
dinner  herself  and  if  her  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  shiny  flush,  it  was  not  all  because 
of  the  hot  kitchen.  But  because  of  a 
couple  of  compliments  from  a  couple  of 
people  who  counted. 

It  was  her  Dad  who  said,  "Esther,  I 
wouldn't  care  if  you  were  the  greatest 
actress  in  the  world  if  you  couldn't  cook!" 

And  it  was  Ben  who  cracked  proudly, 
"That's  no  actress — that's  my  wife!" 


3e  hwfy*%  two 


Make  the  famous  Fresh  test.    See  why 
more  women  are  switching  to  Fresh 
than  to  any  other  deodorant. 

Fresh  stops  perspiration  worries 
completely.    Fresh  contains  the  most 
effective  perspiration- stopping 
ingredient  known  to  science. 

Fresh  stays  smooth. . .never  sticky  or 
gritty... .doesn't  dry  out  in  the  jar. 


WHO  WOULDN'T  BE  A 


WHEN  IT  COSTS  SO  LITTLE? 


After  each  bath,  pat  yourself  all  over 
with  Mavis  Talc.  You're  dainty,  sweet — 
surrounded  with  lasting  fragrance! 
Discover  these  Mavis  Glamour  Aids,  too 


for  Body  Beauty 


Talcum  Powder  59c,  39c,  23c,  !0c 


Body  Beauty  Powder  $1,00  (wilh  puff) 
Dusting  Powder  59c  (with  puff) 
Body  Powder  Mil  $l.00;  Talc  Mil  69c 
V.VIVAUDOU.  INC.,  Distr.,  New  York 


P  A  R  F  U  M 


The 

devil-may-care 
fragrance ! 

Parfum  $1  to  $1 5  ... 
Toilet  Water  $1,  2.50,  4.50 
Bubble  Foam,  Bath  Pow- 
der, Sachet,  Face  Powder, 
each  $1  ...  Talc  554  ■  ■■■ 
At  your  favorite  drug  and 
department  store. 

(all  prices  plus  taxes) 

Also  in  lasting, 
lasting  "Follow  Me" 


Varva,  Empire  State  Bid*. 
New  York  1.  N.  Y. 


HE  ADMIRES  YOUR  HAIR 

(Continued  jrom  page  67) 


the  hair,  itself,  is  soft,  gleaming,  healthy, 
alive.  Helmut  said  that  when  he  was,  over 
seven  years  ago,  coming  over  on  the  boat 
as  an  Austrian  refugee,  one  of  the  first 
characteristics  he  noted  about  the  Ameri- 
can girl  was  her  free-flowing,  well- 
brushed,  sparkling  hair.  So  do  live  up  to 
the  American  tradition  by  always  having 
your  hair  at  its  best.  Wield  that  brush 
every  night.  Shampoo  regularly.  And  pro- 
tect your  hair  from  the  searing  summer 
sun,  unless  you  think  the  boys  might  like 
a  crisped  straw  effect!  To  help  you  out. 
here,  a  firm  known  for  its  fine  hair-beauty 
aids,  has  concocted  "protecsun"  which  is  a 
very  helpful  oil  product  that  does  such  a 
good  job  of  warding  off  the  sun's  burning 
rays  that  you  can  even  use  it  as  a  sun 
lotion! 

Helmut  wanted  to  be  quoted  as  most 
definitely  "not  favoring  any  particular 
shade  of  hair."  Of  course,  it  would  be 
awkward  for  MODERN  SCREEN  to  print 
that  he  liked  brunettes  on  the  very  day 
that  he  had  a  date  with  a  blonde!  But 
there  is  even  more  wisdom  in  his  state- 
ment. That  all-important  "he"  in  your 
life  will  admire  the  color  of  your  hair  .  .  . 
as  long  as  that  color  is  looking  its  very 
best.  Not  drab,  not  dingy,  not  dull.  So, 
be  you  blonde,  brunette  or  redhead,  it  be- 
hooves you  to  finish  off  your  shampoo  with 
a  special  rinse.  There  is  a  large  selection 
of  shades  from  which  to  choose.  Just  dis- 
solve a  package  of  the  rinse  in  warm  water 
and  brush  or  pour  it  through  your  hair. 
Almost  instantly,  all  trace  of  soap  film 
vanishes.  Your  hair  gleams  with  dancing 
highlights  ...  no  matter  what  the  color. 

Men  like  your  hair  clean.  So  let's 
squelch,  once  and  forever,  the  persistent 
rumor  that  it's  harmful  to  wash  your  hair 
often.  It  isn't  so.  Look  closely  at  your 
film  pet  the  next  time  you  are  at  the 
movies.  Doesn't  her  hair  look  soft  and 
clean  and  shimmering?  And  you  should 
know  by  this  time  that  those  movie  girls 
have  their  hair  washed  anywhere  from 
twice  a  week  to  once  every  day. 

Your  hair  doesn't  require  a  daily  dunk- 
ing, because  it  escapes  the  close  inspection 
of  the  camera's  eye.  The  frequency  of 
your  own  washings,  therefore,  depends  on 
whether  you  live  in  dusty  city  or  clean 
country,  whether  you're  addicted  to  hats 
or  love  to  go  bare-headed.  Also,  hair  that 
is  heavy  and  oily  catches  more  dirt  than 
fine,  dry  hair,  and  blond  ringlets  show  soil 
quicker  than  dark  hair. 

Summing  up  what  we  learned  from 
Helmut,  we  find  that  our  men  like  us  girls 
with  individually  styled  hair  .  .  .  and  with 
clean,  clean  hair;  But  Mr.  Dantine  has  one 
more  message  for  you:  He  feels  very  strong- 
ly about  the  unattractiveness  and  bad  taste 
of  hair  combing  in  public.  It's  absolutely 
shattering  to  any  illusions  of  feminine 
daintiness.  So  let's  all  try  to  have  the  men 
in  our  lives  admire  both  our  pretty  curls 
and  our  pretty  manners! 


CLAMOROUSLY  YOURS 

"Glamor  For  The  Teens"'  is  back 
and  M.S.  has  it!  Jean  Kinkead 
has  re-glamorized  our  most-re- 
quested teen  chart  and  crammed 
it  full  of  up-to-date  info,  frankly 
designed  to  make  you  young- 
'uns  purtier  than  ever.  See 
Super  Coupon,  page  22. 


THE  POWER  AND  THE  GLORY 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


below.    Then  he  jumped. 

Some  character  on  the  boat  yelled  "Ge- 
ronimo!",  which  is  the  paratrooper's  cry. 

If  Ty  had  been  a  baseball  and  Anna- 
liella  a  right  fielder,  she  would  have  caught 
him  just  before  the  fence.  As  it  was,  she 
-.vas  in  his  arms  before  he  had  quite  caught 
his  balance,  which  was  unimportant,  as  her 
kiss  sent  him  spinning  anyway. 

A  mighty  roar  of  approval  went  up  from 
:he  men  on  the  ship.  "Kiss  her  for  me,  Ty," 
somebody  shouted.  "Best  scene  you've 
ever  played,"  someone  else  kidded. 

As  soon  as  Ty  could  get  through  the 
red  tape,  he  and  Annabella  rushed  to  the 
airport  where  the  soon-to-be  Mister  Power 
made  his  first  postwar  purchase:  A  pair 
of  airline  tickets  for  Los  Angeles. 

During  the  war,  while  Annabella  had 
appeared  in  New  York  in  "Jacobowsky 
And  The  Colonel,"  then  had  gone  to 
France  to  appear  in  U.S.O.  shows  for 
troops,  and  while  Ty  had  been  working  for 
Uncle  Sugar  in  the  Marine  Corps,  Ty's 
sister,  Anne  Hardenberg,  had  occupied  the 
Powers'  Brentwood  house  with  her  small 
daughter,  Neeltje.  (Don't  try  to  pronounce 
it;  just  call  her  Pixie,  as  the  family  does.) 

overseas  yens  .  . . 

Pixie  was  three-and-one-half-years  old 
and  garrulous  for  her  age.  Said  Mrs.  Har- 
denberg to  her  daughter,  "This  is  your 
Uncle  Ty  and  your  Aunt  Annabella." 

Pixie  fixed  a  long  look  on  her  Uncle 
Tyrone.  Having  never  heard  the  old  saw 
about  the  pot  calling  the  kettle  black,  she 
observed,  "That  name's  too  hard  for  me." 

Also  waiting  at  the  house,  in  addition  to 
Mrs.  Hardenberg  and  Pixie,  was  Tyrone's 
mother.  "Darling!"  she  said,  taking  her  son 
into  her  arms  and  bursting  into  the  tears 
that  mothers  must  shed  in  gladness.  After 
a  few  moments  she  backed  away  and 
studied  the  hard-sinewed,  tanned  man  with 
the  steady  dark  eyes.  Almost  accusingly 
she  said,  "But  you  look  wonderful!" 

This  sort  of  thing  went  on  for  several 
days.  Ty  was  interested  in  very  little  food 
other  than  milk  and  green  salads.  If  Pixie 
had  been  a  little  older  she  could  have 
earned  her  college  money  simply  by  fol- 
lowing her  Uncle  Ty  around  and  return- 
ing his  empty  milk  bottles. 

"If  atabrine  turned  you  yellow,  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  amount  of  lettuce  you've 
been  eating  is  going  to  turn  you  green," 
observed  Annabella.  "Isn't  there  some- 
thing else  you'd  like  to  eat? 

Ty's  answer  was  prompt.  "Caviar,"  he 
said,  rolling  his  eyes. 

It  took  Annabella  several  days  to  find  a 
small  cache  of  prewar,  cold  water,  small- 
size  caviar.  Then  she  and  Tyrone  sat  be- 
fore their  bar,  perched  on  high  stools,  ate 
crackers  spread  with  the  precious  stuff  .  .  . 
and  drank  milk.  That  is,  Tyrone  did.  Anna- 
bella shuddered,  sipping  her  red  wine. 

Eyes  twinkling,  voice  soft,  Annabella  said 
after  a  bit,  "Aside  from  certain  peculiar 
eating  habits,  j  ou  are  a  very  nice  hus- 
band, but  I  must  say  that  at  times  you 
present  a  problem." 

"Only  one?"  asked  the  head  of  the  house. 

"At  the  moment — one.  The  property 
next  door  has  been  sold." 

"Oh.    To  anyone  we  know?"  asked  Ty. 

"To  the  operators  of  a  girls'  school,"  said 
Annabella. 

Ty  clutched  the  bar  to  prevent  himself 
from  falling  off  the  stool.  "No!"  he  yelled. 

Annabella  only  nodded,  spread  another 
cracker  with  caviar  and  handed  it  to  her 
husband  to  placate  him. 

All  of  which  will  explain  Mr.  Power's 


MILLER   BREWING   COMPANY,  MILWAUKEE,  WISCONSIN 


99 


Here's  a  happy  woman, 

Active,  poised  and  free- 
Safe  with  Meds'  protection, 
Meds'  security! 

Have  a  grand  and  carefree  summer ! 
Enjoy  convenience  and  comfort, 
extra-security  and  an  easy  mind— 
with  Meds  internal  protection.  Meds 
can  be  changed  in  a  moment,  dis- 
posed of  easily  and  a  day's  supply 
carried  in  your  handbag. 

•  Meds  alone  have  the  "SAFETY- 
WELL"— designed  for  your  extra 
protection. 

•  Meds  are  made  of  real  COTTON  — 
soft  and  super-absorbent  for  extra 
comfort. 

•  Meds  expand  quickly  and  adapt  them- 
selves easily  to  individual  needs. 


FOR  10  IN  APPLICATORS 


'■V 


Note  special  design  of  Meds  applicators.  Firm, 
smooth,  easy  to  use,  completely  disposable. 


next  activity:  He  and  the  gardener  spent 
days  reinforcing  the  hedge  around  the 
Power  property,  and  planting  thick  new 
bushes  in  any  portions  of  the  greenery 
which  might  have  worn  thin. 

In  addition  to  his  horticulture,  Ty  had 
other  business  to  attend  to;  there  was  the 
accumulation  of  income  tax  to  be  paid, 
there  was  insurance  to  be  brought  up  to 
date,  and  there  was  work  to  be  done  on 
the  script  of  "The  Razor's  Edge." 

One  afternoon  he  asked  Annabella  to 
look  up  some  receipts  for  him,  and  when 
he  returned  to  the  library,  he  found  her 
glancing  through  a  stack  of  yellow  enve- 
lopes. Smiling  up  at  him,  she  said,  "These 
are  all  the  cables  you  sent  when  you  were 
away.  I'm  going  to  keep  them  always." 
operation  incomplete  .  .  . 

Vividly,  for  a  moment,  he  remembered 
Guam.  When  the  telegraph  office  had 
been  opened  there  he  had  flown  up  once 
a  week — on  routine  flight,  of  course — and 
had  cabled  Annabella,  wherever  she  was. 
Through  the  heat,  the  soggy  weather,  the 
homesickness,  he  had  planned  his  brief 
communications,  making  every  word  count. 

Remembering  the  circumstances  sur- 
rounding the  sending  of  the  cables — these 
many  months  and  thousands  of  miles  later 
— Ty  rested  his  hand  on  his  wife's  shoul- 
der and  smiled  into  her  eyes.  The  Powers 
are  not  prodigal  conversationalists;  an  ex- 
changed glance,  a  smile,  a  phrase,  suffice 
to  convey  their  thoughts.  Annabella  said 
softly,  "They  were  nice  messages." 

And  Tyrone  said,  "To  a  nice  girl." 

After  Christmas  Ty  and  Annabella  went 
to  New  York  where  they  were  wined  and 
dined  and  gala-ed. 

After  having  seen  dozens  of  plays  and 
having  checked  up  on  the  brightest  New 
York  spots,  Ty  and  Annabella  scooted  off 
to  Mont  Tremblant  for  some  skiing.  Anna- 
beUa  had  never  been  in  eastern  Canada 
before  and  she  was  overpowered  by  the 
scenery,  the  charm  of  the  Inn,  and  the  fun 
of  a  snow  outing. 

Ty  had  learned  the  proper  stance,  had 
grown  accustomed  enough  to  alpenstocks 
to  keep  from  knitting  the  nearby  shrubbery 
with  them,  and  had  learned  a  fairly  de- 
cent "Stem  Christy.'-  However,  he  was  still 
several  winters  away  from  a  slalom  race. 
On  a  distant  slope  he  caught  occasional 
glimpses  of  Annabella  unscrambling  her- 
self; he  always  managed — on  his  own 
slope — to  get  the  snow  brushed  off  his 
back  before  she  straightened  to  see  how 
he  was  getting  along. 

On  the  third  night  Annabella  said  dis- 
mally, "I  don't  think  I  am  ever  going  to 
learn  to  ski.  I  have  no  balance;  I  have 
no  assurance;  I  have  no  grace.  Ten  per- 
cent of  the  time  I  spend  in  picking  myself 
up.   Now  you  .  .  .  you  are  good." 

Ty  grinned  at  her.  "My  percentage  is 
better,"  he  admitted.  "I'm  now  about  fifty- 
fifty.  Fifty  percent  on  my  feet  and  fifty 
percent  on  my  fanny.  There's  no  doubt 
about  it — I'm  good!" 

When  they  were  in  Montreal  the  tele- 
phone rang  in  their  hotel  suite  one  night 
and  a  jovial  voice  said,  "Hi,  Ty — read  in 
the  paper  that  you  and  Annabella  were  in 
town.    This  is  Marion  McKeen!" 

You  could  have  heard  Ty's  jubilant 
shout  all  the  way  to  Klondike.  Mr.  McKeen 
had  taught  Ty  to  fly  in  the  bygone  days 
when  Mac  was  running  a  flying  school  at 
Clover  Field,  near  Los  Angeles.  A  fast 
resume  revealed  the  fact  that  Mr.  McKeen 
and  his  wife  now  owned  and  operated  Ski 
Hills  Inn,  near  Montreal. 

"Come  on  up  and  spend  as  much  time 
with  us  as  you  can,"  he  urged. 

That  was  all  the  Powers  needed.  They 
moved  to  Ski  Hills  Inn  for  a  few  additional 
days  of  skiing  (still  on  a  fifty-fifty  basis) 
and  they  spent  the  rest  of  their  time  remi- 
niscing about  Ty's  early  flight  experiences. 


"Remember  that  guy  who  used  to  take 
off  like  a  harpooned  goose?"  Mac  asked. 
"Well,  he  spent  two  years  flying  The 
Hump,  Gosh,  I  NEVER  thought  that  char- 
acter was  going  to  learn  to  fly.  I  used  to 
say  to  him,  'Watch  Power  take  off  .  .  . 
see  how  much  of  the  runway  he  uses.  You 
never  see  him  hang  a  plane  on  its  props.' " 

Afterward,  Annabella  said,  "Mac  really 
thinks  a  lot  of  you,  Tyrone." 

And  Tyrone  answered,  "That  makes  it 
mutual.  There  is  one  of  the  swellest  guys 
in  the  world." 

Back  in  Los  Angeles,  Ty  reported  to  the 
studio.  His  secretary,  Bill  Gallagher,  was 
out  of  service,  newly-married,  and  eager 
to  get  back  to  work.  Said  Bill,  "I'm  sure 
glad  to  see  you  back,  Ty.  Gosh — how  my 
stamp  collection  has  languished!  Now 
that  your  fan  mail  is  coming  in  from 
everywhere  in  the  world  again,  I'll  be 
able  to  fill  volumes  with  rare  specimens." 

Ty  had  planned  to  buy  a  car,  but  when 
he  investigated  the  used  car  market  his 
sales  resistance  became  stratospheric.  The 
prices  wer*  immense.  And  the  delay  in 
getting  a  new  car  would  be  great  unless 
he  wanted  to  pay  a  premium;  having  just 
come  from  service,  where  black  market 
operations  were  looked  upon  askance,  Ty 
simply  decided  to  continue  to  use  his 
sister's  car  until  1947  or  1948  if  necessary. 
His  sister  had  joined  her  husband  in  Hono- 
lulu, so  she  wrote  that  she  would  ap- 
preciate Ty's  taking  care  of  the  bus. 

Someone  at  the  studio  said,  "What  about 
your  motorcycle?    Wouldn't  that  do?" 

Answered  Ty,  "I've  now  been  through 
the  motorcycling  phase  of  my  career.  After 
getting  back  from  the  Pacific  in  one  piece, 
I  don't  want  to  make  one  of  those  oddity 
notices  in  a  newspaper  by  entwining  a 
civilian  telephone  pole." 

At  the  time  he  sold  his  motorcycle,  he 
had  also  given  away  his  two  dogs.  Natu- 
rally, the  people  who  had  taken  them  had 
grown  fond  of  the  mutts  and  didn't  want 
to  give  them  up.  Not  that  Ty  would  ex- 
pect them  to,  of  course. 

He  returned  to  the  house  late  one  after- 
noon, grinning.  "Where  have  you  been?" 
his  wife  wanted  to  know. 

"Down  to  the  city  pound.  They  don't 
have  a  dog  there  who  is  strictly  my  type, 
but  I'll  go  down  again  in  a  week  or  so." 

20th  century  sport  .  .  . 

This  hound,  when  he  is  added  to  the 
Power  household,  will  have  to  wait  a  bit 
before  he  is  taught  tricks,  because  Ty  is 
deeply  engrossed  in  another  hobby  at 
present.  Better  sit  down  for  this  one.  be- 
cause it  will  jar  you:  The  motion  picture 
colony — at  least  the  20th  Century-Fox 
division — has  taken  up  croquet. 

The  game  is  not,  however,  the  mild- 
mannered  tourney  played  by  children  at 
garden  parties.  This  game  is  played  with 
an  English  set,  imported  by  Mr.  Zanuck, 
including  striped  and  peaked  caps  which 
the  players  wear.  The  English  wickets  are 
tall  and  narrow — allowing  barely  enough 
room  for  the  ball  to  pass  through — so  the 
players  have  to  be  accurate  shots. 

At  Palm  Springs  one  Sunday,  Tyrone, 
Mr.  Zanuck.  Clifton  Webb,  Gene  Markey 
and  Henry  Hathaway  played  for  seven 
hours,  taking  time  out  only  for  luncheon. 
So  far  Tyrone  and  Mr.  Zanuck,  play- 
ing as  a  team,  have  licked  all  con- 
tenders. In  describing  the  games  to  Anna- 
bella, Ty  produced  a  nice  pun:  "In  our 
games,  every  stroke  is  made  with  mallet 
aforethought,"  he  said. 

Answered  Annabella,  "No  wonder  you 
win.  You've  got  all  the  Power  on  your 
side." 

No  matter  on  whose  side  Power  is,  it  is 
apparent  that  everyone  from  Mr.  Zanuck 
to  the  only  picture  fan  in  Trembling  Leaf, 
Maine,  is  on  the  side  of  Power — and  is 
glad  to  have  him  back  in  picture  business. 


Know  the  joy  of  natural  looking  curls  and  waves  by  tonight. 
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beauty  salons  giving  Cold  Waves  costing  up  to  $15.00  or  more.  A 
famous  beauty  editor  says:  "Some  of  the  loveliest  Cold  Wave 
permanents  are  not  done  in  beauty  shops,  because  more  and 
more  glamour-gitted  girls  are  doing  their  own  permanents 
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5 

BETTER  TH 


u 

nETTER  UVIN©  •■•  THROUGH  CHEAMSTRY 
INGS  FOR  BETTER  UlVHNw.. 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 


A  welcome  back  is 
in  order  for  RICH- 
ARD WARING,  who 
scored  as  Bette 
Davis'  brother  in 
"Mr.  Skeffington." 
He  was  set  for  the 
picture,  "Corn  is 
Green,"  xohen  the 
Army  stepped  in, 
forcing  him  to  re- 
linquish the  role  of 
Morgan  Evans  which  he  had  created 
on  the  stage,  to  John  Dall.  Born  in 
England,  on  May  27,  1911,  he's  6'  tall, 
155  lbs.,  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair. 
Write  to  him  at  Berg-Allenberg,  121 
S.  Beverly  Drive,  Beverly  Hills,  Calif. 

Another  Britisher, 
rising  fast  in  Amer- 
ican popularity,  is 
dynamic  JAMES 
MASON,  who  was 
born  May  15,  1909. 
He  has  brown  eyes 
and  black  hair,  is 
6'  tall,  160  lbs.,  and 
married  to  Pam 
Kellino.  Pix  include 
"Seventh  Veil," 
"Hotel  Reserve,"  and  "Man  in  Grey." 
Will  be  in  the  U.  S.  come  October, 
and  intends  to  gorge  on  Hershey  Bars 
which  he  loves.  Address:  Gainsbor- 
ough Films,  142-150  W ardour  St., 
London,  Eng. 

Of  English  descent, 
but  Hawaiian-born, 
is  LESLIE  VIN- 
CENT, who  was 
Nicholas  in  "Pur- 
suit to  A  Igiers." 
He's  in  his  early 
twenties,  6'  tall,  and 
has  sandy  hair  and 
blue  eyes.  Unmar- 
ried .  .  .  and  at  Uni- 
versal Pictures.  Fan 
club:  Leona  Rosenthal,  1285  St.  John's 
Place,  Brooklyn,  New  York. 

B.T.,  IOWA:  MAY  I  HAVE  DATA 
ON  STARTING  A  FAN  CLUB  OF 
MY  OWN  .  .  .  AND  ALSO  AD- 
DRESSES OF  SOME  NEW  CLUBS? 
.  .  .  Anyone  wanting  a  club  of  their  own, 
send  me  a  self-addressed,  stamped  en- 
velope for  info.  New  clubs:  SCOTT 
ELLIOTT  (Lenny  in  "Kiss  and  Tell"): 
Doris  Berman,  797  Empire  Avenue, 
Far  Rockaway,  N.  Y.,  JOHN  HEATH: 
Edythe  Rojan,  40-05  12th  St.,  L.  I.  C, 
DANNY  KAYE:  Virginia  Vickery,  Box 
219,  Madison  Sq.  P.  O.  N.  Y.  and 
RORY  CALHOUN:  Leila  Leibowitz, 
1105  Boynton  Avenue,  Bronx,  N.  Y. 

I  look  forward  to  your  questions,  so 
send  them  along  to  Beverly  Linet,  In- 
formation Desk,  MODERN  SCREEN, 
149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y. 
And  please  don't  forget  that  SELF- 
ADDRESSED,  STAMPED  EN- 
VELOPE. 


CO-ED  LETTERBOX 

(Continued  from  page  26) 


Ask  him  for  a  second  chance,  even 
though  you'll  have  to  swallow  your  pride 
to  do  that.  Tell  him  that  while  you're  prov- 
ing to  him  that  he's  mistaken  about  you, 
that  you'll  have  your  dates  at  home  with 
him  present  as  a  chaperene.  He  certainly 
can't  refuse  you  dates  on  that  basis,  and 
once  you've  re-established  his  good  faith  in 
you,  he'll  be  glad  enough  to  let  you  go 
your  way  and  have  the  living  room  in 
peace  again. 

I  am  twenty  years  old  and  most  of  the 
boys  I've  just  started  to  go  with  like  to 
stop  for  a  drink  or  two  after  the  movies. 
They  kid  me  because  I  don't  touch  the 
stuff.  Do  you  think  they'll  drop  me  for  a 
more  sophisticated  gal?  E.  K.,  Red  Lion, 
Penna. 

The  guys  worth  bothering  about  won't. 
It's  funny,  but  we  think  most  lads  sort  of 
like  a  non-drinking  gal.  It  gets  them 
thinking  in  terms  of  pedestals  and  purity 
and  stuff,  which  is  how  they  like  to  think 
of  girls. 

Some  girls  have  to  fight  off  the  wolves,  but 
they  give  me  no  trouble  at  all.  Darn  it! 
How  can  I  get  out  of  the  sister  act  and  into 
something  more  romantic?  S.  K.,  Taos, 
New  Mexico. 

Dollars  to  doughnuts  you're  a  perfectly 
wonderful  sport.  You'll  sit  in  the  rumble 
seat  when  the  other  babes  are  afraid 
they'll  muss  their  hair,  you  open  all  doors 
for  yourself,  grin  when  you've  all  but 
broken  your  leg  falling  off  your  bike. 
You're  just  too  good  an  egg  for  your  own 
good.  Begin  to  let  the  boys  wait  on  you  a 
bit.  Take  their  arm  crossing  the  street, 
fumble  with  your  door  key  so  that  they 
can  come  to  your  rescue,  ask  their  advice 
about  gardening  and  dogs  and  outdoor 
things.  Without  sacrificing  any  of  your 
particular  brand  of  wholesome  charm,  you 
can  make  yourself  subtly  more  feminine, 
more  of  a  clinging  vine.  And  wait'll  you 
see  what  fun  it  is! 


CO-ED 

(Continued  from  page  2G) 


the  same  guy,  and  you'll  drive  everyone 
crazy.  Including  yourselves,  in  due  time. 

The  Family:  Home,  whether  we  realize 
it  or  not,  is  just  about  the  best  proving 
ground  for  charm  that  there  is.  If  you 
can  woo  your  pop,  captivate  your  mom 
and  keep  your  small  brother  entranced, 
sister,  you're  going  to  be  a  Success.  If 
your  family  just  tolerates  you  in  a  tight- 
lipped,  clenched-fist  way,  it's  time  you 
did  something  about  it.  As  a  starter,  how 
about  looking  better  around  the  house? 
Take  a  few  seconds  to  comb  your  hair 
and  climb  into  a  new  face  before  dinner. 
Glamor  up  slightly  when  your  mom  and 
dad  are  entertaining,  by  way  of  making 
them  ever  so  proud  of  you.  Having  perked 
up  your  exterior,  work  on  your  interior. 
You're  a  charmer  with  your  pals,  but  with 
the  family  aren't  you  a  bit  of  a  rain-in- 
the-face?  Try  laughing  at  your  dad's 
jokes,  occasionally  telling  mom  when  you 
think  she  looks  swoony.  Without  turning 
into  a  sweetness  and  light  job  and  getting 
them  terrified  over  what  ails  you,  spread 
some  of  your  good  humor  around  the 
(Continued  on  page  106) 


Great  natural  dignity  and  an  infallible  style  sense  make  Mrs. 
Vanderbilt's  handsomeness  unforgettable.  For  a  quick  complexion 
're-styling,"  she  has  a  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream. 

"It  makes  my  skin  feel  softer  .  .  .  look 
brighter  and  clearer,"  she  says. 


_so  quick... 
so  easy 

..so  refreshing V 


Mrs.  Vanderbilt  has  a 
1-Minute  Mask  3  or  4  times  weekly. 


Make  your  completion  look  clearer  .  .  • 
more  radiant  •  .  .  smootber ! 

Mask  your  face  with  a  satiny  white  coat  of  Pond's  Vanishing 
Cream,  covering  everything  but  your  eyes.  One  minute  later — 
tissue  off!  "Keratolytic"  action  of  the  Cream  loosens  particles 
of  chapped  skin  and  imbedded  dirt.  It  dissolves  them! 

After  the  Mask,  your  skin 
looks  brighter,  finer -textured, 
even  lighter!  It  feels  fresher  and 
softer  —  all  "smoothed-up"  for 
a  perfect  make-up  job! 


'Delightful  powder  base!" 

Mrs.  Vanderbilt  finds  "Pond's  Vanish  ing 
Cream  a  delightful  powder  base,  too!" 
Smooth  on  a  light  film  —  and  leave  it  on. 
Keeps  make-up  fresh  for  hours! 


Get  a  BIG  jar  of  glam  our-making  Masks!  103 


A  TRIP  TO 
THE  "TROPICS" 


1:4 


WHERE  YOU'LL  FIND   NATIVES   LIKE   BEY,  LAW- 


FORD,  DRAKE,  DeHAVEN,  PAYNE,  AND  BERGMAN 


HAVING  A  MARVELOUS  TIME!  •  BY  NANCY  WOOD 


■  If  the  movie  star  patrons  of  the  Beverly  Hills 
Tropics  could  be  persuaded  to  show  up  for  dinner 
wearing  sarongs  and  carrying  baskets  of  pineapples 
and  bananas  on  their  beautiful  heads,  the  South  Sea 
Island  illusion  would  be  perfect!  "People  go  for 
atmosphere,"  declares  Harry  M.  Sugarman,  and 
'Sugie,"  Tropics  owner,  sees  that  they  get  it. 

The  Pago-Pago  effect  is  created  by  a  palm- 
shadowed  patio,  drinks  with  terrific  names  like 
"Missionary's  Downfall,"  "Untamed"  and  "Lapu- 
Lapu,"  and,  of  course,  bamboo  walls  wherever  you 
look.  Lighting  is  dim  and  from  softly  burning  hur- 
ricane lamps — this  flatters  women's  faces,  says  the 
astute  Sugie.  He  plans,  however,  to  have  one  room 
done  over  with  mirrors,  elegance  and  lots  of  lights 
— "For  the  girls  who  want  a  swank  background 
for  their  mink  coats!" 

Confidante  of  a  smart  half  of  the  darlings  of  the 
cinema,  Sugie  gets  Hollywood  vital  statistics  on  his 
own  special  grapevine.  He  is  often  the  first  to 
know  of  an  engagement,  marriage  or  divorce.  Shir- 
ley Temple  and  Jack  Agar  spent  a  good  part  of 
their  time  at  the  Tropics  during  their  courtship. 

Walls  of  the  Tropics  are  historic  with  pictures  of 
twosomes  in  loving  poses  dating  back  so  far  that 
customers  are  frequently  somewhat  embarrassed 
when  they  come  in  with  their  current  better  halves. 
Sugie  maintains  this  art  work  adds  interest  to  the 
restaurant. 


Sugie  gives  ladies  much  good  advice  along  with 
key  rings  inscribed  "Stolen  from  Sugie!"  Here 
Rosemary  Ames  gets  his  opinion  on  a  new  script. 


Don't  you  feel  like  you  ought  to  be  chewing 
betel  nuts  when  you  see  all  that  bamboo? 
Here's  friendly  Sugie  with   movie  star  friends. 


104 


You  gather  that  Sugie  is  a  personality! 
His  picture  decorates  the  menus,  the  walls, 
the  wine  list  and  the  paper  place  mats  used 
during  the  acute  laundry  shortage.  Then 
Jack  Oakie  cracked,  ''This  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  went  to  a  restaurant  and  almost 
ordered  the  manager!" 

The  cuisine  runs  largely  to  very  good 
Chinese  and  American  dishes.  We're  giv- 
ing you  several  recipes  of  the  kind  that 
makes  the  Tropics  a  favorite  eating  place. 

CHICKEN  FRICASSEE 

1  stewing  chicken  (5  lbs.)  cut  up 

3  cups  water,  or  just  to  cover  chicken 

1  medium  onion,  sliced 

3  stalks  celery  and  leaves,  chopped 

2  diced  carrots 
IV2  teaspoons  salt 

1  tablespoon  vinegar,  optional 

3  tablespoons  fat 
cup  flour 

%  cup  rich  milk 

Sprinkle  pieces  of  chicken  with  flour 
seasoned  with  salt  and  pepper.  Brown  in 
hot  fat  in  skillet.  (Use  any  fat  from 
chicken  for  frying.)  Remove  to  kettle  and 
just  cover  with  water.  Add  onion,  celery, 
carrots,  salt  and  vinegar.  Cover  and  cook 
over  low  heat  for  1%  to  2  hours,  or  until 
tender.  Remove  chicken  from  broth  and 
keep  hot.  Skim  any  excess  fat  from  broth. 
Heat  3  tablespoons  of  this  or  other  fat  in 
pan.  Stir  in  flour.  Add  broth  from  chicken 
gradually,  stirring  smooth.  Add  rich  milk 
and,  if  broth  has  eooked  down  a  lot, 
enough  water  to  make  medium  thiek 
gravy.  Cook,  stirring  constantly  until  gravy 
bubbles  gently.  Season  to  taste  with  salt 
and  pepper.  Pour  over  chicken  in  serving 
dish.  Garnish- with  finely  chopped  parsley. 
Serve  hot  with  baking  powder  biscuits  or 
noodles.  Serves  6. 

CHINESE  ROAST  PORK 

4  teaspoons  sugar 
1  teaspoon  salt 

4  teaspoons  honey 

1  tablespoon  soy  sauce 

2  tablespoons  catsup 

3  tablespoons  chicken  bouillon 

2  lbs.  fresh  pork  butt  or  shoulder 

Mix  thoroughly  all-  ingredients  except 
pork.  Cut  pork  lengthwise  in  3  pieces, 
add  to  soy  mixture  and  let  it  soak  45 
minutes,  turning  it  now  and  then  so  all 
sides  of  meat  are  exposed  to  sauce.  Place 
pork  on  rack  in  roasting  pan  and  add  a 
little  water  to  keep  any  sauce  that  drips 
off  from  smoking.  Roast  1%  hours  in  a 
moderate  oven  (350°  F.),  turning  occa- 
sionally. Baste  with  remaining  soy  mix- 
ture. When  done,  slice  pork  and  serve 
immediately  with  hot  mustard.   Serves  6. 

STRAWBERRY  CREAM  PIE 

1  can  (15  oz.)  sweetened  condensed  milk 
% 'cup  lemon  juice 

2  eggs,  yolks  and  whites  separated 

1  cup  sliced  strawberries 

2  tablespoons  sugar 

1  (9-inch)  crumb  crust 

Blend  together  sweetened  condensed 
milk  and  lemon  juice.  Stir  until  mixture 
thickens.  Add  slightly  beaten  egg  yolks 
and  strawberries.  Pour  into  baked  pie  shell 
or  crumb  crust.  Cover  with  meringue 
made  by  beating  egg  whites  until,  just  stiff 
and  shiny  and  adding  sugar  gradually. 
Bake  in  moderate  oven  350°  F.)  until 
brown.  Chill  before  serving. 

To  make  Crumb  Crust:  Roll  enough 
graham  crackers  to  crumbs  to  make  1  cup. 
Add  Y4  cup  melted  butter.  Blend.  Pat 
on  bottom  and  sides  of  pie  pan. 


We  could  be  wrong  ! 

A  great  many  women  agree  that  Fels-Naptha  is  an  extra 
fine  laundry  soap.  They  tell  us  it  makes  washing 

easier.  That  it  turns  out  whiter,  sweeter-smelling  clothes. 

That  it's  the  best  laundry  soap  they  ever  used. 

Naturally,  we  think  Fels-Naptha  Soap  should  be  used 
in  every  home — but  we  could  be  wrong. 

You  might  find  that  the  Fels  combination  of  good 
mild  soap  and  gentle,  dirt-loosening  naptha  doesn't 
give  you  the  extra  washing  help  other  women 
have  discovered.  You  might  want  to 
tell  us  why.  But  before  you  make 
up  your  mind — won't  you  give 
Fels-Naptha  Soap  a  trial? 


Fels-Naptha  Soap 

BAN/SHE S  Ya  TTLE-TA LE  GR.A  Y  "  105 


Stops 

perSpiration  Troubles 
JFaster 

THAN  YOU  SLIP  INTO  YOUR  SWIM  SUIT 


106 


Get  in  the  swim !  Get  next  to  this  new  post-war,  super-fast 
deodorant.  Ask  for  new  odorono  Cream  Deodorant . . . 
stops  perspiration  faster  than  you  slip  into 
your  swim  suit.  Because  it  contains  science's  most  effective 
perspiration  stopper. 

Works  wonders  when  you  work  or  play  hardest.  Really  protects 
up  to  3  days.  Will  not  irritate  your  skin  ...  or  harm 
fine  fabrics  ...  or  turn  gritty  in  the  jar. 

Change  to  new  super-fast  odorono  Cream  Deodorant— 
super-modern,  super-efficient,  super-safe. 

0D0R0-D0 

CREAM  DEODORANT 

39*  Also  590  and  1 00  Plus  Federal  Tax 

ODORONO  ICE  is  back  from  the  wars  ...39* 


house.  Assume  a  few  responsibilities. 
F'rinstance,  if  you're  earning  some  money, 
chip  in  occasionally  on  the  buying  of  party 
groceries,  of  which  you  and  your  chums 
are  the  star  devourers.  Take  on  volun- 
tarily the  chore  of  dishes  or  of  getting 
breakfast,  of  darning  socks  or  mowing  the 
lawn.  Take  charge  of  your  own  room, 
your  own  clothes,  your  own  life.  Enjoy 
your  family.  Now  and  then  take  the 
younger  kids  to  the  beach,  to  the  zoo,  to 
the  local  cokery.  Get  to  know  them  give 
them  a  hand  with  their  pint-sized  dilem- 
mas, act  as  an  interpreter  between  them 
and  your  parents.  Set  aside  a  Saturday 
once  in  a  while  to  go  somewhere  with  your 
pop.  Get  his  ideas  on  things,  and  see 
him  as  a  guy  instead  of  simply  as  a  father. 
Talk  things  over  with  your  mother.  Listen 
to  her  advice  and  have  heart-to-heart 
discussions  when  your  views  don't  mesh. 
Profit  by  her  wisdom  and  experience,  and 
let  her  profit  by  your  bright  new  ideas  on 
fashion,  makeup,  entertainment  and  such. 

People  in  General:  What  do  the  people 
who  don't  know  you  intimately  think 
about  you?  Your  teachers,  the  storekeep- 
ers, all  your  various  acquaintances  around 
town?  Appearance,  again,  is  one  of  the  first 
things  they  judge  you  by,  so  when  you're 
out  in  the  wide  world,  be  sure  that  your 
slip  doesn't  show,  that  your  stockings 
aren't  run  and  that  whatever  you  have  on 
is  clean.  Consideration  is  as  attractive  a 
quality  as  we  can  think  of,  and  terribly 
pleasing  to  the  people  you  rim  into  casually 
in  a  day.  If  you  practise  it,  you  don't 
rehash  last  night's  movie  when  Teacher 
is  trying  to  tell  you  about  atomic  energy, 
you  don't  wax  boisterous  on  a  crowded 
bus,  or  walk  four  abreast  when  you're 
downtown.  You  don't  take  over  a  booth 
at  Joe's  by  the  hour  when  there  are  people 
waiting  to  sit  down,  or  whisper  in  the 
movies,  or  giggle  at  the  soda  jerk  with 
the  foreign  accent.  You're  very  sure  you're 
not  guilty  of  B.O.  or  halitosis,  either  of 
which  can  annoy  dozens  of  people  in  a 
day.  If  you're  anxious  to  be  well  thought 
of  by  your  acquaintances,  you'll  pay  your 
bills  promptly,  follow  through  when  you 
undertake  a  job,  be  friendly  without  being 
gushy  and  interested  without  being  curi- 
ous. Is  being  nice  worth  it?  Try  it — we 
kind  of  think  you'll  think  so! 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

As  I  was  enroute 
home  from  the  Pa- 
cific, I  had  occa- 
sion to  stop  at 
Oceanside,  Cali- 
fornia, as  the  first 
leg  of  my  journey 
from  the  Marianas 
home.  It  was  the 
day  before  Christ- 
mas, and  two  bud- 
dies and  I  were 
stretching  our  sea  legs,  walking  around 
town.  They  stopped  to  look  in  a 
store  window,  and  I  walked  on  ahead, 
spying  Henry  Fonda  about  to  cross 
the  street.  "There  goes  Henry  Fonda!" 
I  exclaimed.  My  buddies  stared  at  the 
dungaree-clad  figure  carrying  bun- 
dles, and  shook  their  heads  at  me. 
"You're  crazy,"  they  said.  "It  is  so," 
I  insisted.  "I'll  bet  you  $10."  Just 
then  a  lady  passed  by,  smiled  at  me, 
and  said,  "You're  right!  I'm  Mrs. 
Henry  Fonda.  Pay  the  man!"  And 
she  stood  by,  smiling  mischievously 
while  they  paid  off. 

Jack  Watson,  CSKU 
St.  Albans'  Hospital,  N.  Y. 


STRANGER  IN  TOWN 

(Continued  -from  page  33) 


"Let's  get  out  of  here,  Dad,"  was  the 
first  thing  Van  said,  and  they  were  just 
about  to  duck  out  through  the  side  door 
when  someone  spied  him.  It  was  kind  of 
a  stampede  after  that  with  dozens  of 
high  voices  shrieking  "Van  Johnson!"  and 
youngsters  yanking  buttons  off  that  famous 
black  and  white  checked  sports  coat. 

Afterwards,  driving  south  through  the 
cool  New  England  evening,  Van's  dad  said 
wonderingly,  "You  don't  get  mad  when 
those  kids  pull  you  apart.  I  sure  would." 
And  Van  said, 

"Yeah — you  big  softie.  Like  heck  you 
would.''  The  two  men  kind  of  looked  at 
each  other  in  the  flickering  dusk,  and  then 
Van  laughed  and  his  dad  laughed.  Then 
it  was  just  like  old  times,  driving  along. 
Like  coming  home  from  a  baseball  game 
or  something.  The  talk  was  easy  and  warm. 

"Had  a  phone  call  from  a  kid  in  Fall 
River  today,"  Charlie  Johnson  told  him. 

"Your  public?" 

"Gosh,  no.  Yours.  I  get  a  couple  of  calls 
a  day  about  you.  And  mail!  Sixty-two 
letters  one  day  last  week." 

"Hey,  pretty  sharp  stuff.  Hope  you  an- 
swer 'em  all."  A  second  of  shocked  silence, 
then  they  both  burst  out  laughing.  Van's 
dad  is  possibly  the  world's  worst  corre- 
spondent. He  and  Van  have  kind  of  a  gen- 
tlemen's agreement  about  it.  They  phone 
or  wire,  but  almost  never  write, 
old  haunts,  good  memories  .  .  . 

There  was  no  discussion  about  where 
they'd  have  dinner.  The  Ford  practically 
took  them  there  automatically.  It  was 
MacComber's  in  Tiverton,  of  course,  for 
wonderful  food  and  a  look  at  Vic,  the 
proprietress,  who  is  one  of  the  Johnsons' 
favorite  people.  They  drove  in  the  back 
way  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  there 
were  all  the  good,  remembered  smells. 

"How  about  a  good,  thick  slice  of  ham?" 
Vic  asked  him,  and  he  grinned  at  her 
because  she  hadn't  forgotten.  Ham  and 
potatoes  and  a  tossed  green  salad.  Milk 
and  hot  rolls  and  fresh  butter.  His  fa- 
vorite food. 

"Gee,  Vic,"  he  said,  and  he  took  off  his 
jacket  and  rocked  back  in  his  chair. 
"  'Sgood  to  be  home,  you  know?" 

It  was  nine  o'clock  before  they'd  finished 
eating  and  talking.  There  was  so  ntuch  to 
say.  Vic  wanted  to  know  if  the  stars  were 
really  that  beautiful,  and  Van  said  most 
of  'em  were  even  better.  And  she  wanted 
to  know  who  were  the  nicest  ones.  That 
kind  of  stopped  Van  because  he  likes  so 
many.  Keenan  Wynn  and  June  Allyson 
and  Bob  Walker,  Irene  Dunne,  and  of 
course,  his  idol,  Spencer  Tracy. 

"How  about  this  guy,  Sinatra?"  That 
was  Van's  dad,  who  is  strictly  a  Johnson 
fan  himself. 

"There  couldn't  be  a  nicer  gent,"  Van 
said.  "No  kidding,  he's  swell."  (So  now 
Sinatra's  got  a  new  praise  agent,  Charles 
Johnson.  Anyone  Van's  sold  on  is  tops. 
"That  Sinatra's  a  right  guy,"  he'll  tell  you, 
"Van  likes  him.")  And  of  course,  Vic 
wanted  to  know  about  his  love  life.  She'd 
seen  his  picture  with  Sonja  Henie.  They 
looked  cute  together.  Van  had  an  answer 
for  that. 

"Vic,  I  want  to  marry  a  good  cook.  Pref- 
erably a  whiz  at  the  Swedish  stuff."  Vic 
said  she  guessed  she  was  born  too  soon, 
and  they  all  laughed  at  that;  and  pretty 
soon  they  said  goodnight,  and  the  John- 
sons started  home.  When  they  came  into 
Newport,  Van  said,  "How  about  driving 
along  Thames  Street  sort  of  slowly?" 
Thames  Street  was  the  Great  White  Way 
of  his  childhood. 


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"Oh,  Thames  Street,"  his  dad's  voice  was 
gently  scoffing.  After  Hollywood  and  Vine, 
Broadway  and  Forty-Second  Street — 
Thames  Street.  "How  does  it  look,  Red?" 

"Funny,  it  packs  the  same  old  kick," 
Van  told  him  quietly,  and  he  almost  broke 
his  neck  rubbernecking  at  Rugen's  and 
Waldron's,  at  Christie's  and  the  Chinese 
Restaurant.  They  took  it  twice  around  Mar- 
ket Square  and  Van  looked  at  what  was 
playing  at  the  movies,  and  then  they  went 
home. 

They  didn't  talk  much  going  into  the 
house.  Mr.  Johnson  was  busy  wondering 
how  it  would  look  to  Van  after  all  the 
places  he'd  seen,  and  Van  was  busy  swal- 
lowing the  golf  ball  in  his  throat,  because 
it  looked  so  darned  dear  arid  good  and 
solid,  and  there  were  so  many  memories 
in  every  corner  of  the  place.  Then  Charlie 
switched  on  the  dining  room  light  and 
said,  "Like  my  new  floor?"  And  Van  said, 
"Hey,  yeah!"  and  gave  his  dad  another 
hug  for  no  particular  reason. 

worry  wart  .  .  . 

They  got  started  on  a  box  of  chocolates 
and  talked  a  while  about  Russia  and  the 
British  loan,  about  Nashes  vs.  Fords,  and 
about  how  each  other  looked.  Van  thought 
his  father  looked  fine.  Fit  and  strong  and 
without  a  single  gray  hair.  Mr.  Johnson 
thought  Van  looked  strapping  and  well, 
but  he  didn't  like  that  scar  on  his  forehead. 

"It's  practically  gone,"  Van  told  him. 
"You  ain't  seen  nothing.  Why,  I  don't  even 
have  to  wear  very  heavy  grease  paint  to 
hide  it  for  photographs  any  more." 

"I  still  don't  like  it." 

"Worry  wart." 

They  sat  and  sat,  discussing  at  length 
the  state  of  the  nation,  the  waterfront 
property  Van  wants  to  buy  in  Newport, 
his  proposed  trip  to  England  for  his  next 
picture,  and  the  state  of  the  nation  all 
over  again.  Finally,  yawning  in  each 
other's  faces,  they  went  to  bed. 

Van's  dad  is  an  early  bird.  He's  up  and 
at  'em  at  seven  o'clock  most  days,  seven- 
fifteen  the  latest — and  Sunday's  no  excep- 
tion. Van  would  just  as  soon  stay  in  bed, 
usually,  but  this  Sunday  was  different. 
He  sat  up  on  his  elbow,  getting  his  bear- 
ings for  a  minute,  and  his  dad  appeared 
with  a  tall  glass  of  orange  juice. 

"How  do  you  like  your  eggs?"  he  asked 
him,  and  Van  said, 

"You  should  slave  over  a  hot  stove, 
Mr.  J.,  and  me  with  four  bits  in  my 
pocket?  Let's  have  breakfast  at  Martel- 
lino's."  They  got  dressed  then,  conversing 
in  shouts  from  one  room  to  the  other,  just 
the  way  they  always  had. 

"What's  all  this  stuff  in  my  dresser?" 
"Presents  from  fans.   I  told  you  about 
them." 

"Hey,  nice  ties." 

"Yeah,  I've  been  wearing  'em." 
"Ever  see  the  sweater  Keenan  Wynn 
sent  me?"  That  was  Van's  father  again. 
Van  sauntered  into  his  room  in  a  white 
shirt  and  gray  slacks,  tieing  his  black 
knitted  tie. 

"Let's  see  it."   The  sweater  is  a  good- 
looking  heavy  maroon  job. 
"Nice  sweater,"  Charlie  said. 
"Nice  guy." 

Charlie  showed  off  the  plaid  bathrobe 
MODERN  SCREEN  gave  him  last  year, 
dragged  out  some  old  snapshots  of  himself 
in  a  baseball  suit  and  of  Van,  aged  three, 
with  a  Buster  Brown  haircut,  got  Van 
to  give  him  his  exact  statistics.  (He's  six- 
feet-three,  weighs  two  hundred  pounds.) 
They  laughed  about  the  great  big  charcoal 
drawing  Van,  aged  twelve,  had  done  on 
his  closet  door.  And  presently  it  was  nine 
o'clock,  and  they  went  down  to  the  drug- 
store, pretty  sure  that  no  one  much  would 
be  there  because  it  was  right  between 
church  services.   But  people  noticed  him 


crossing  the  street,  and  cars  honked,  and 
busses  stopped.  They  sat  down  in  Martel- 
lino's  and  half  of  Newport  crowded  in. 
Martellino's  thereafter  became  a  shrine  for 
the  bobby-soxers.  "What  did  he  eat?"  they 
wanted  to  know,  and  "Exactly  word  for 
word  what  did  he  say?"  And  they  all  take 
turns  sitting  on  Van  Johnson's  chair. 

Strolling  home  again,  Van  and  his  father 
saw  lots  of  people  they  knew,  and  now  and 
then  Van  would  remember  some  other 
names  and  ask  what  had  become  of  them. 

''How's  Mrs.  Applegren?"  he  asked  once. 
She  was  a  dear  friend  of  his  little  Swedish 
grandmother  whom  he'd  adored.  His  father 
told  him  that  she  hadn't  been  too  well. 

•"Supposing,"  Van  said,  "I  pick  up  a  | 
flower  and  take  it  over  to  her."  The  next 
day,  her  daughter  called  Van's  dad  and 
told  Viim  that  Van's  call  had  done  more 
for  her  than  a  visit  from  a  New  York 
specialist. 

local  boy  makes  good  .  .  . 

Back  on  their  own  Ayrault  Street  there 
were  other  old  friends  to  see.  The  Speck- 
mans  next  door  whom  Van  has  known 
all  his  life,  and  their  children  and  grand- 
children. He  let  the  three  little  boys  climb 
ail  over  him,  and  when  he  was  going,  he 
gave  their  mom — Rita  McCarthy,  who  had 
been  one  of  his  early  gals — a  big  kiss 
goodbye.  There  were  more  visits  after 
that.  To  the  Meikles  across  the  street  and 
the  Otrilges.  To  Mrs.  Crosby  and  Mrs. 
Irish  and  the  Sullivans  in  Middletowne 
and  lots  of  others.  And  everywhere  it  was  I 
the  same. 

"You  look  wonderful,  Van,  and  you're 
just  the  same,  aren't  you?" 

Whereupon  his  father  would  say  some- 
thing like,  "No,  he's  changed,  all  right.  He 
hangs  up  his  clothes  now.  He's  gotten 
neat."  And  they'd  all  laugh  and  wham 
Van  on  the  back. 

It  was  around  noon  time  wThen  the 
phone  rang,  and  the  bad  news  came.  Van 
had  to  go  back  to  New  York.  There  was 
to  be  a  press  conference  that  evening  for 
Cary  Grant,  Frank  Sinatra  and  Van,  and 
M-G-M  had  been  trying  to  catch  him  all 
morning  to  tell  him  about  it.  He'd  have  to 
get  the  very  next  train. 

His  dad  helped  him  pack,  and  then  they 
picked  up  two  of  the  Cutter  youngsters 
and  drove  into  Providence.  There  was 
time  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  once  again 
there  was  a  crush  of  fans.  Van  signed 
autograph  after  autograph,  and  once  he 
said,  "Times  like  this  I'm  sure  glad  my 
name's  not  Margaret  O'Brien,"  and  then  he 
went  on  scrawling  "Van,"  "Van,"  "Van." 
And  finally  he  was  on  the  train  platform 
and  the  train  was  moving.  "I  had  a  swell 
rime,  Dad,"  he  called,  and  his  dad  nodded, 
and  they  stood  waving  and  looking  for  a 
long  while. 

nothing  sacred  .  .  . 

Home  again.  The  old  house  seemed  aw- 
fully empty,  awfully  still.  Mr.  Johnson 
wandered  around  a  while  flicking  imag- 
inary dust  off  the  tables,  pulling  shades 
up  and  down.  He  fixed  himself  a  bite  to 
eat  and  then  sat  down  and  went  to  work 
on  his  account  books.  It  was  about  seven 
o'clock  when  Van  called. 

"Hi,  Dad—" 

"Van?  Where  are  you?" 

"On  the  30th  floor  of  the  Waldorf.  Gee. 
you  ought  to  see  the  lights  out  of  my 
window." 

'Better  than  Thames  Street?" 

"Are  you  kidding!" 

There  were  a  series  of  clicks  on  the  line, 
and  Mr.  Johnson  said,  "Operator?"  A 
small  feminine  voice  said, 

"Yes,  sir — " 

"Are  you  listening  in,  operator?" 
"Sometimes  we  do,  sir,  when  he's  on 
the  line." 


ONE  MOTHER  TO  MOTHER 

Traveling  around  the  countryside  near  my  home, 
I  can  see  the  farmers  busy  in  the  fields.  It 
gives  me  deep  satisfaction  that  many  of  these 
crops  in  the  form  of  prepared  baby  foods  will 
help  to  feed  America's  babies!  $4Un~  "^t-^&t-. 


He//o,  Mom...7?me  to  eat? 

Every  mother  knows  that  newly  waked  look 
just  before  feeding  time!  Yes,  eating  can  be  the 
greatest  pleasure  your  baby  knows.  You  can  be  sure 
baby  will  enjoy  every  spoonful  of  Gerber's.  For 
Gerber's  Baby  Foods  are  made  to  taste  extra  good,  with 
smooth,  uniform  texture  just  right  for  easy  digestion.  The 
selected  vegetables  and  fruits  are  first  carefully  washed  in 
pure,  artesian  water,  then  cooked  the  Gerber  way  by  steam 
...  to  retain  precious  minerals  and  vitamins.  Be  sure  to  get 
Gerber's— with  "America's  Best-Known  Baby"  on  the  label! 

Two  Excellent  Starting  Cereals 

Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and  Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal  are 
made  to  suit  babies'  needs  as  starting  cereals,  and  all 
through  babyhood.  Both  mix  to  a  creamy,  smooth  con- 
sistency: both  have  generous  amounts  of  added  iron  and 
B-complex  vitamins  needed  by  most  .babies.  Serve  by 
adding  milk  or  formula— no  cooking. 


erber's 


FREMONT,  MICH. 


OAKLAND,  CA1. 


J/iee  sample . 


Cereals       Strained"  Foods      Chopped  Foods 
Address:  Gerber  Products  Co..  Depr.  DE  6-6 


Remember,  it  is 
wise  to  check 
baby's  feeding 
program  u  ith 
your  doctor. 


©  1946.  G.  P.  C. 

Fremont,  Mich. 


My  baby  is  now   months 

old;  please  send  me  samples  of  Same 
Gerber's  Cereal  Food  and 
Gerber's  Strained  Oatmeal. 

Address  -  City  and  State.. 


109 


Know  this  trick? 


VING 


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Van  and  his  father  roared  with  laughter. 
Then  Van  said,  "I've  got  to  go  now,  Dad, 
but  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  swell  it  was. 
Gee,  really.  Every  bit  of  it." 

"Pretty  strenuous,  though — " 

Van  chuckled.  "Yeah." 

"Lots  of  night  life." 

"Just  enough." 

"Come  again,  Red." 

"Sure  thing,  Dad." 

And  that  was  the  end  of  Van's  visit 
home.  But  after  he  called,  the  house 
wasn't  lonely  any  more.  Mr.  Johnson  re- 
membered that  Van  was  as  close  as  his 
telephone,  as  close  as  his  neighborhood 
movie.  He  could  see  him  and  hear  him 
any  old  time.  At  peace  with  the  world, 
he  finished  up  his  books  and  walked 
downtown. 

Folks  crowded  around  him.  "How's  the 
j  boy?  Have  a  good  visit?"  And  Charlie 
Johnson  said,  "Wonderful,  wonderful. 
Couldn't  have  been  finer."  TheR  he  was 
embarrassed  because  he  sounded  dating. 
He  shoved  all  the  words  back  into  his 
heart  where  they  belonged  and  changed 
the  subject. 

"Anyone  want  to  shoot  a  little  golf  next 
Sunday?" 


NANCY  WITH  THE  LAUGHING 
FACE 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


numbers.  "What'll  it  be,  fellas?" 

Twenty  thousand  guys  yell:  "Nancy  with 
the  Laughing  Face—" 

Frank  looks  at  Phil  and  Phil  looks  at 
Frank  and  they're  both  thinking:  "Wise 
guy!  You  put  'em  up  to  this — "  But  it 
wasn't  a  rib.  The  Armed  Forces  Radio 
Service  had  taken  the  song  off  the  air  and 
recorded  it  on  V-discs.  It  was  No.  1  on 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  Hit  Parade. 

Those  guys  are  America,  Frank  figured. 
If  they  like  it,  so  will  the  folks  back  home. 
That's  why  he  took  it  out  of  retirement, 
plugged  it,  recorded  it,  had  it  published. 

Little  Nancy  doesn't  say  much  about  the 
song.  Ask  her  if  she  likes  it,  and  the  most 
you'll  get  is  a  shy  smile.  Offer  to  play 
the  record  and  she'll  shake  her  head — 

"No,  let's  play  the  other  side — "  It's 
Brahms'  Lullaby. 

She  never  sings  it  herself  and  rarely 
asks  Frank  to  sing  it.  When  he  does  it 
on  the  air,  she  listens  gravely,  her  face 
quiet  and  withdrawn  as  if  she'd  pulled 
down  a  curtain  and  were  hiding  behind  it. 
Only  she  can't  hide  the  shine  in  her  brown 
eyes.  Not  quite  six,  Nancy's  a  woman  of 
delicate  sensibilities.  She  knows  that  in 
some  lovely  way,  the  song's  just  between 
herself  and  her  daddy. 

doll  baby  .  .  . 

Frank  adores  her  with  the  special  ten- 
derness men  keep  for  their  daughters. 
Let  anything  go  wrong  with  her,  and  he's 
lost.  One  day  she  had  a  severe  nosebleed, 
and  the  doctor  said  to  keep  her  on  her 
back.  He  carried  her  to  a  couch  in  the 
living  room,  covered  her  up  and  spent  the 
day  with  her.  He  read,  he  conversed,  he  sang, 
he  played  records,  he  colored  pictures  in 
her  drawing  book  and  would  have  turned 
himself  inside  out  with  pleasure  to  keep 
her  nose  from  bleeding  again. 

Nancy's  sure  Frank  wanted  their  first 
child  to  be  a  boy.  He  didn't  say  so  and  she 
never  asked  him,  but  you  can  feel  those 
things.  She  remembers  the  day  she  lectured 
herself  about  it.  Frank  was  working  with 
Harry  James  in  Los  Angeles,  but  The 
Horn's  salary  was  being  attached  in  some 
legal  action,  and  for  four  weeks  there 
hadn't  been  any  dough.  The  Sinatras  had 


taken  a  small  apartment  with  two  boys  in 
the  band,  and  Nancy  was  trying  57  ways 
to  make  hamburger  taste  different. 

One  morning  she  woke  with  a  still,  small 
sigh.  "Fd  give  anything  for  a  ham  sand- 
wich and  a  piece  of  apple  pie — " 

That  worried  Frank.  He'd  heard  about 
prospective  mothers  who  got  a  yen  for 
pickles  and  how  their  husbands  ran  miles 
to  get  just  the  kind  of  pickle  they  craved. 
What  Nancy  wanted  was  simple,  except 
there  wasn't  a  dime  in  the  house.  He 
managed,  though — found  some  empty  coke 
bottles  and  turned  them  in  for  cash. 

On  the  dinette  table,  after  the  boys  had 
left  for  rehearsal,  she  found  a  ham  sandwich 
in  wax  paper,  and  a  piece  of  apple  pie 
under  a  paper  napkin  marked,  "with  love, 
for  Nancy — " 

"The  least  you  can  do  after  that,"  she 
told  herself  "is  to  give  him  a  son — " 

proud  poppa  .  .  . 

Well,  she  gave  him  a  daughter  first  and 
now  he  shudders  to  think  that  she  could 
have  been  anything  but  exactly  what  she 
is.  The  day  she  was  born,  he  came  shoul- 
dering his  way  through  the  hospital  door 
with  a  pail  and  shovel,  a  teddy  bear  and 
a  huge  doll.  Nancy  laughed  out  loud  and 
Frank  grinned  back.  Sure,  he  knew  the 
kid  couldn't  play  with  'em  yet,  but  you 
can't  come  empty-handed  to  see  your  own 
daughter.  Then  they  took  him  to  the 
nursery,  and  when  he  came  back,  Nancy 
saw  that  look  on  his  face  for  the  first  time. 

Pretty  soon  it  was  mutual.  On  the  whole, 
little  Nancy's  not  a  demonstrative  child, 
but  you'd  never  guess  it  to  see  her  hurl 
herself  at  her  daddy  and  kiss  wherever  her 
face  happens  to  reach — his  ear,  his  eyelash 
or  the  back  of  his  coat.  Not  long  ago,  Frank 
had  to  go  to  New  York.  He  and  little 
Nancy  said  their  goodbyes  in  the  morning 
because  she'd  be  at  school  when  the  plane 


left  and,  in  the  Sinatra  family,  you  don't 
ditch  school  except  for  an  emergency.  .  .  . 

But  the  plane  was  delayed.  Frank  kept 
looking  at  his  watch.  "I  could  have  seen 
Nancy."  You'd  have  thought  he  was  go- 
ing for  five  months  instead  of  five  days. 
"Maybe  I  can  still  see  her.  Maybe  there's 
time  to  run  out  and  catch  her  at  school — " 

Instead,  they  phoned  the  house  and 
asked  big  Nancy's  sister,  Tina,  to  pick  her 
niece  up  at  school  and  drive  out  to  the 
airport.  As  the  car  pulled  up,  Frank 
grabbed  little  Nancy  and  ran  for  the  plane. 
By  the  time  the  others  caught  up  with  them, 
father  and  daughter  were  under  the  belly 
of  the  big  Constellation,  engrossed  in  the 
landing  gear — 

"See  those  wheels,  honey?  Well,  you 
know  when  a  bird  takes  flight,  how  he 
tucks  his  feet  under  him?  Same  way  with 
this  bird — the  wheels  are  its  feet — " 

First  thing  Frank  packs  for  a  trip  are 
the  family  pictures.  He  has  them  in  leather 
folders  of  all  sizes — big  ones  for  long  trips 
and  graduating  on  down.  First  thing  to 
go  up  on  his  theater  dressing  table  are 
young  Frank  and  the  two  Nancys.  The 
longer  he's  been  away,  the  more  he  talks 
about  them — and  to  them — 

There's  another  sign  by  which  you  can 
tell  that  Frank's  getting  to  be  a  pretty 
lonesome  guy — "Let's  go  get  some  spa- 
ghetti," he  says. 

You  go  get  some  spaghetti,  he  eats  it, 
even  seems  to  enjoy  it,  then  pushes  the 
plate  away  with  an  air  of  gloom.  "Nancy 
still  tops  them  all — " 

That  means  it's  high  time  for  Frank  to 
be  going  home. 

They've  never  had  a  nurse  for  the 
youngsters,  and  that's  deliberate.  Both  feel 
you  lose  half  the  joy  of  children  unless 
you  stay  close  to  them.  Big  Nancy  looks 
after  them  herself.  Unless  he's  broadcast- 
ing, or  away  on  business,  Frank  never 


misses  their  bedtime.  Little  Nancy  says 
her  prayers  and  snuggles  under  the  covers 
with  Gooch — a  once  respectable  doll  who's 
now  a  disgrace,  but  Nancy  loves  her. 
Daddy  sings  her  a  lullaby.  Then 
she  asks  for  a  story.  Mother's  a  little 
stricter  than  Daddy.  She's  more  likely  to 
say  no  story,  it's  time  to  sleep,  you've  got 
to  be  up  early  in  the  morning.  Daddy's 
more  likely  to  read  her  a  story. 

Once  in  a  blue  moon  he's  got  to  discipline 
her  and  it  kills  him.  The  only  trouble  they 
ever  have  with  Nancy  is  at  meal  times. 
She  can't  sit  still  long  enough  to  eat.  Big 
Nancy  doesn't  bother  Frank  much  with 
behavior  problems,  that's  her  department. 
But  when  he's  around  and  sees  things  for 
himself,  he  can't  ignore  them — 

"All  right,"  he  says,  "you'll  have  to  stay 
home  next  time  I  go  to  town — "  I  won't 
say  it  hurts  one  more  than  the  other. 
They're  both  crushed.  But  for  good  or  bad, 
he's  never  broken  his  word  to  her. 

happy  birthday  .  .  . 

She  had  a  birthday  while  he  was  mak- 
ing "Anchors  Aweigh."  and  her  gift  was 
to  be  a  lawn  swing.  On  the  morning  of 
the  great  day,  it  still  hadn't  come.  Phone 
calls  zipped  back  and  forth.  The  shop 
finally  came  clean — the  swing  was  still  in 
the  warehouse,  they'd  deliver  it  tomorrow. 
But  the  birthday  was  today.  Sorry,  tomor- 
row was  the  best  they  could  do. 

Never  tell  Frank  a  thing  can't  be  done, 
it's  like  giving  him  the  hotfoot.  He  had 
to  work  till  five.  A  pal  met  him  at  the 
studio  gate  in  his  station  wagon. 

Luckily,  they  made  the  warehouse  just 
before  closing  time,  got  the  swing  lashed 
to  the  roof  of  the  car,  hauled  it  home  and 
set  it  up  on  the  lawn  before  Nancy  went  to 
bed.  If  it  hadn't  come,  they  could  have  ex- 
plained it  to  her.  Of  course  she'd  have  been 
disappointed,  but  she's  a  reasonable  child, 


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listen  to  LEAF'S 
"Tin  Pan  Alley  of  the  Air" 
Every  Saturday— 
a  Coast  to  Coast. 


r 


unspoiled  and — according  to  several  ac- 
counts— unspoilable.  But  for  Frank,  that 
wasn't  the  point.  The  point  was  you  don't 
break  faith  with  a  kid  who  trusts  you. 

When  he's  not  working  and  she's  home 
from  school,  the  chances  are  you'll  find  them 
in  the  tool  shop.  Frank's  a  frustrated  handy- 
man. All  the  minor  repair  jobs  round  the 
house  have  to  be  saved  for  him.  Nancy's 
his  assistant.  "Hand  me  a  screwdriver, 
honey — " 

"What  size,  daddy?" 

'  'Middle  -size — " 

"Like  the  mamma  bear?  Does  that  mean 
it's  a  mamma  screwdriver?" 

They've  been  known  to  spend  whole 
Saturday  afternoons  companionably  clean- 
ing fireside  brass.  They  never  seem  to  run 
out  of  conversation.  With  the  present  and 
past  taken  care  of,  they  turn  to  the  future — 

"When  the  little  guy  grows  up,  we're 
going  to  get  a  lot  of  work  done  around 
here,  the  three  of  us — " 

"What'U  Brother  do,  Daddy?" 

"Oh,  the  heavy  jobs,  I  guess.  We'll  let 
him  jack  up  the  car — " 

She  giggles,  but  just  the  same  she  wishes 
Brother'd  hurry  a  little  with  his  growing 
up,  because  look  at  all  the  fun  he's  miss- 
ing. Brother's  her  darling,  and  she's  the 
light  of  his  life.  She  superintends  his 
bathing  and  feeding,  and  he  paces  the 
floor  till  she  gets  back  from  school.  Last 
Christmas  she  asked  Santa  Claus  for  a 
sister  "just  as  cute  as  Brother,  only  with 
blue  eyes  like  Daddy's,"  There  she  takes 
after  her  mother.  Big  Nancy  didn't  care 
whether  they  came  up  boys  or  girls,  so 
long  as  they  were  blue-eyed.  So  she's  got 
two  brown-eyed  children. 

story  book  daughter  .  .  . 

Frank's  the  typical  father.  You  can't 
talk  to  him  ten  minutes  before  little  Nancy 
pops  into  the  conversation.  The  baby  too, 
but  there's  less  to  tell  about  a  two-year- 
old.  Nancy,  with  pigtails  and  dreaming  eyes, 
looks  like  a  story  book  child.  The  boy  he 
roughs  up,  tumbles  him,  throws  him  around. 
No  sissy  stuff  for  his  son,  no  baby  talk, 
seldom  even  the  diminutive  Frankie.  "Hey! 
Frank!"  he  yells,  and  the  little  fellow  yells 
back:  "Hi!" 

At  a  year  old  he  was  about  to  be  taken 
to  the  barber's  for  his  first  haircut — 

"Nothing  doing!"  said  Frank.  "My  dad 
gave  me  my  first  haircut.  I'm  giving  my 
kid  his." 

So  he  climbed  into  coveralls,  stuck  his 
son  between  his  knees  and,  with  big  Nancy 
holding  the  small  hands  out  of  harm's  way, 
did  a  pretty  good  job. 

"But  if  you'd  asked  him  to  cut  little 
Nancy's  hair,"  says  her  mother,  "he'd  have 
turned  white — " 

That's  different.  Little  girls  should  be 
handled  gently,  especially  little  girls  like 
Miss  Sinatra,  who  have  nothing  of  the 
tomboy  in  their  makeup.  She's  the  fem- 
inine type — very  fastidious  about  her  per- 
son and  belongings,  which  is  how  Frank 
likes  his  women.  He  loves  buying  clothes 
for  her — starchy  little  pinafores  with  hair 
ribbons  and  socks  to  match. 

But  the  giving's  far  from  one-sided.  She 
presents  him  with  her  best  horses  and 
cows.  "Here's  what  I  drew  for  you, 
Daddy — "  On  Valentine's  Day  she  made 
him  a  beautiful  heart  with  I  LOVE  YOU, 
DADDY  inside,  and  don't  think  he'd  take 
a  couple  of  gold  mines  for  that. 

Not  long  ago  she  heard  talk  about  a 
party  because  Mother  and  Daddy'd  been 
married  seven  years.  So  she  took  her 
bank  to  Aunt  Tina.  "I  want  to  buy  them  a 
present  for  a  surprise — "  They  decided 
that  she  and  Brother  should  go  halves. 

Nancy  has  her  own  charming  way  of 
presenting  things.  She's  a  little  shy  and 
terribly  happy  and  keeps  the  thing  hidden 
behind  her  back  till  she's  close  up  to  you. 


Then  she  says,  "I  have  something  for  you," 
and  hands  it  over. 

That  day  she  and  Brother  came  down 
the  stairs  hand  in  hand.  Her  eyes  blazed 
with  excitement;  he  was  unperturbed. 
Mother  and  Daddy  waited  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  where  Aunt  Tina  had  planted 
them.  On  the  bottom  step,  Nancy's  other 
hand  came  out  from  behind  her  back. 
"We  have  something  for  you,"  and  she 
gave  Mother  the  package  with  the  jeweled 
Juliet  cap. 

"For  you,"  echoed  Brother,  smiling  like 
a  Delia  Robbia  angel  and  hanging  on  to 
Daddy's  cuff  links  for  dear  life. 

Sister  had  to  pry  the  box  gently  out  of 
his  fist.  As  she  did  so,  she  sent  a  swift 
upward  glance  toward  her  parents.  "Don't 
mind  him,"  she  murmured.  "He's  too  little 
to  understand." 

Unless  you're  both  a  fervent  music  lover 
and  a  parent,  you  won't  understand  what 
it  means  to  Frank  that  his  children  should 
care  about  music.  He  didn't  have  to  wait 
long  to  find  out.  At  a  year,  little  Nancy 
was  almost  too  sensitive  to  melody.  If  he 
sang  something  sad  like  "I'll  Never  Smile 
Again,"  she'd  start  whimpering.  If  he 
stopped  in  the  middle  and  changed  to  a 
happy  song,  she'd  break  into  gurgles  with 
the  tears  still  wet  on  her  cheeks. 

musical  moppet  ... 

One  day  she  told  Mother  she'd  like  to 
take  piano  lessons.  On  Daddy's  calendar 
that  day  is  ringed  in  red. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  he  asked. 

Big  Nancy  couldn't  help  laughing.  He 
sounded  as  if  he  were  treading  on  holy 
ground. 

"The  way  it  generally  happens.  One  of 
her  little  friends  is  taking  lessons,  so  she 
wants  them,  too — " 

She  was  five  then.  Now  she  plays  well 
enough  to  accompany  Brother,  who  has 
quite  a  repertoire,  including  the  Brahms 
"Lullaby."  The  lyrics  don't  fall  too  trip- 
pingly from  his  tongue,  since  he's  only 
now  beginning  to  put  sentences  together, 
but  he  hums  in  perfect  pitch.  Meantime, 
Frank  sees  visions.  He's  crazy  about  the 
harp  as  an  instrument.  He  thinks  that  for 
poetry  and  grace,  few  things  are  lovelier 
than  a  girl  at  a  harp.  He  hopes  maybe 
Nancy  will  study  the  harp  next. 

But  that's  as  may  be.  What  really  mat- 
ters to  Frank  is  that  her  ears  and  heart 
should  be  open  to  music.  Once  he  went 
down  to  Palm  Springs  for  a  few  days. 
Other  men,  off  to  Palm  Springs  for  a  few 
days,  chuck  a  toothbrush,  shaving  kit, 
slacks  into  a  suitcase  and  that's  it.  Frank 
lugs   an   automatic   record-player  along. 

In  his  room  one  night  he  listened  to  a 
Mozart  Concerto,  while  a  friend  read  a 
book.  Presently  the  other  guy  looked  up. 
Frank's  eyes  were  fixed  on  little  Nancy's 
picture,  and  his  pal  could  have  sworn 
that  they  weren't  dry.  He  dropped  his  own 
hastily.  Quite  a  while  after  the  concert 
ended,  Frank  broke  the  silence.  .  .  . 

"Music  like  that,"  he  said.  "If  you  don't 
love  it,  it's  like  being  shut  out  of  a  whole 
beautiful  world — it's  -like  fairyland,  and 
you  can't  go  in — "  He  brushed  his  hand 
across  his  forehead.  "I'm  sure  glad  little 
Nancy's  going  to  love  it — " 

The  fact  that  her  father's  in  the  lime- 
light means  nothing  to  her.  This  is  some- 
thing that  Frank  and  big  Nancy  haven't 
left  to  chance.  Children  easily  get  a  dis- 
torted sense  of  values — 

"If  they  do,  it'll  be  our  fault,  not  theirs," 
the  Sinatras  agreed. 

So  they've  tried  to  provide  the  normal 
healthy  American  background.  There's 
been  no  radical  change  for  little  Nancy. 
She's  moved  to  another  house,  but  Mother 
still  buttons  her,  sees  that  she  eats,  puts 
her  to  bed,  lends  a  hand  in  the  kitchen 
as  she  always  did.  Frank  spends  as  much 
time  with  his  kids  as  any  man  who  has 


WHY  DO  AMERICAN  GIRLS 

RATE  FIRST  FOR  CHARM? 


Take-it-easy  clothes.  Skylarking  comfort 
— that's  for  you !  Easy-shouldered  suits, 
good-to-walk-in  shoes.  And  comfort-insur- 
ance for  "difficult"  days.  So,  the  smart  gals 
choose  the  sanitary  napkin  that's  first  for 
softness — Modess!  3  out  of  4  voted  it  softer 
to  the  touch,  in  a  nation  poll. 


Social  Security.  Poise?  You've  plenty! 
Growing  up  with  boys,  dancing  lessons, 
have  taught  you  how  to  forget  yourself,  have 
fun!  Poise-polisher — the  napkin  that's  first 
for  safety!  Hospital-tested  Modess,  which 
209  nurses  found  less  likely  to  strike  through 
than  leading  layer-type  napkins. 


That  scrubbed  look.  Scads  of  soap-and- 

water — every  day!  You're  always  spring- 
breeze  dainty  in  every  detail!  So  again  it's 


Modess  for  you.  First  napkin  to  bring  you 
this  priceless  daintiness  aid — a  unique,  triple- 
proved  deodorant  sealed  right  in. 


Those  artful  extras.  You're  a  smoothie 
with  the  powder  puff,  lipstick  brush — all  the 
"pluses"  of  super-grooming.  And  when  it 
comes  to  comfort-extras,  at  no  extra  cost — 


Modess  gives  them  to  you.  And  does  it  first! 
No  wonder  more  and  more  girls  are  saying, 
"I'll  take  Modess!"  Box  of  12,  full-size  or 
Junior  size,  only  22£. 


First  for  softness 

MODESS 


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Here's  a  real  discovery !— a  colorful  lamp 
that  copies  the  old-time  charm  of  an 
Early  American  antique.  You'll  like  the 
gay  way  it  brightens  any  room. 
Your  choice  of  four  fragrant  oils:  (blue) 
honeysuckle,  (green)  gardenia,  (yellow) 
chypre,  (pink)  apple  blossom.  Bright 
shades  in  matching  colors. 
A  handy  emergency  light ...  an  ideal 
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114 


EMPIRE  STATE  BUILDING 
FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


to  work  for  a  living — probably  more  than 
most,  not  because  he  has  more  time,  but 
because  he  makes  it.  Their  home  is  gay 
and  friendly.  You'll  get  no  formal  invita- 
tions to  dinner,  but  theirs  is  probably  the 
openest  door  in  Hollywood,  and  Nancy 
the  readiest  hostess. 

It's  a  cliche  in  Hollywood  that,  if  you 
make  five  thousand  a  week  and  I  make  a 
measly  grand,  we  don't  get  invited  to  the 
same  parties.  That  may  sound  like  a  joke 
to  you,  but  in  filmdom's  statelier  circles, 
it's  an  ironclad  law.  The  Sinatras  don't 
move  in  stately  circles,  they  just  walk 
around  plain  like  you  and  me.  The  people 
who  come  to  their  house  are  people  they 
like — song  pluggers,  relatives,  movie  stars, 
buddies  from  back  in  Jersey  or  a  garage 
mechanic  Frank  made  friends  with — as  he 
made  friends  with  Simon  in  New  York. 

Simon's  a  taxi  driver  in  his  middle 
fifties  with  a  grown  son.  Whenever  the 
Voice  comes  to  town,  Simon  drops  his 
regular  route  and  totes  Frank  around. 
There's  a  bond  between  them.  There's 
something  in  Simon's  mental  and  spiritual 
makeup  that  appeals  to  Frank,  and  the 
other  way  round.  Frank  doesn't  write  let- 
ters, he's  too  restless  for  that,  but  when 
he  gets  a  letter  from  Simon,  he  sits  him- 
self down  and  answers  his  friend's  letter. 

that's  my  pop!  .  .  . 

Children  absorb  their  atmosphere.  In 
little  Nancy's  home,  there's  no  atmosphere 
of  hero  worship.  Ask,  "What's  your 
name?"  and  she'll  say:  "Nancy."  The 
Sinatra's  not  important.  She  knows  her 
daddy  sings  and  makes  records,  she  knows 
he  makes  movies  and  at  first  she  didn't 
like  it  at  all — 

"Oh,  my  poor  daddy!"  she  wept  when 
they  tried  to  stuff  the  medicine  down  his 
throat  in  "Higher  and  Higher." 

"Honey,"  whispered  Mother.  "If  you 
carry  on  like  this,  I'll  have  to  take  you 
home — " 

"Yes,  I  want  to  go  home,  but  I  want  my 
daddy  to  come  with  me — " 

Now  she's  grown  up  and  knows  it's  all 
make-believe.  So  she  goes  to  see  "Anchors 
Aweigh,"  and  never  stops  talking  about 
how  Gene  Kelly  danced  with  the  mouse. 
Daddy?   Uh-huh.  Daddy  was  in  it,  too — 

Frank  and  Nancy  worry  less  than  they 
used  to.  Their  daughter's  own  good  sense 
seems  to  keep  her  on  an  even  keel.  Once 
an  admirer  swooped  down  with: 

"Gee,  is  Frank  Sinatra  really  your  fa- 
ther? Boy,  I  wish  he  were  mine — " 

"Why?  don't  you  have  your  own  daddy?" 

"Oh  sure — " 

"Well,  aren't  you  glad  you've  got  your 
own  daddy?  I'm  glad  I've  got  mine — " 

There's  one  story  which  seems  to  me 
to  hold  the  essence  of  the  feeling  between 
Frank  and  his  little  girl — 

It  happened  later  in  the  evening  of  that 
same  wedding  anniversary.  Friends  had 
come  in  to  help  celebrate,  and  of  course, 
there  was  music.  As  a  rule,  little  Nancy- 
sleeps  soundly  in  her  quiet  room.  But 
she'd  probably  been  overstimulated  by  the 
presentation  ceremonies  and  what  not.  In 
any  case,  she  suddenly  appeared  on  the 
landing  in  robe  and  pajamas,  her  eyes  very 
bright  and  her  cheeks  very  pink.  .  .  . 

"I  want  to  hear  the  music — " 

Nancy  let  Frank  handle  it.  Maybe  the 
child  training  books  wouldn't  have  ap- 
proved. Maybe  he  should  have  taken  her 
straight  to  bed,  covered  her  up,  turned 
out  the  light  and  said  goodnight,  darling, 
go  to  sleep.  Well,  he  didn't.  He  carried 
her  off  to  a  side  room  where  you  could 
hear  the  music  faintly,  wrapped  her  up 
warm,  found  one  of  her  favorite  stories 
and  read  till  the  tense  little  body  relaxed 
and  the  head  drooped  contentedly  against 
his  shoulder.  .  .  . 

When  I  hear  him  sing  "Nancy  with  the 
Laughing  Face,"  that's  the  picture  I  see. 


HE'S  MY  GUY 

(Continued  from  page  57) 


hardly  believe  it!" 

Bob  stretched  again,  looking  brawny 
and  solid  and — let's  face  it — pretty  pleased 
with  himself.  Because  of  course,  he  was 
excited.  He  loves  to  seem  very  cynical 
and  casual,  but  don't  let  that  fool  you. 

The  telephone  started  ringing  like  mad 
then.  Most  of  Hollywood  seemed  to  have 
been  listening  to  that  broadcast,  and 
wanted  to  tell  us  how  pleased  they  were. 
Cars  started  driving  up  to  the  Mitchum 
door,  and  before  long  the  room  was  filled 
with  laughter  and  congratulations.  All 
of  a  sudden  somebody  said,  "Hey,  I  smell 
something  burning." 

"Oh,  gosh!  The  roast!"  I  headed  for 
the  kitchen,  and  my  face  must  have  been 
something  to  see.  Clouds  of  smoke  were 
pouring  from  the  oven.  The  roast  was 
definitely  a  thing  of  the  past. 

"Probably  wouldn't  have  been  any  good 
anyway,"  Bob  said  helpfully.  He  had 
ambled  out  after  me  to  see  what  the 
damage  was. 

"It  would,  too!  This  one  was  going  to 
be  different." 

"Never  mind.  I  didn't  marry  you  for 
your  cooking.  I  married  you  for  your 
money,  remember?" 

"I  remember.  The  Girl  Reserves  Club." 

embezzled  love  .  .  . 

We  laughed,  the  way  we  do  over  things 
that  go  a  long  way  back.  Bob  and  I  have 
a  lot  of  jokes  like  that  because  we've 
known  each  other  ever  since  we  were 
kids  in  school.  The  Girl  Reserves  was  a 
high  school  organization  which  was  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  have  me  for  its  treasurer. 

Bob,  broke  as  usual,  would  come  up  to 
me.  "Hey,  Dot,  lend  me  a  buck  and  I'll 
take  you  to  the  movies  tonight." 

"I  haven't  got  a  buck.  I  just  bought  a 
sweater." 

"How  about  the  Girl  Reserves  dough?" 
He'd  raise  a  quizzical  eyebrow. 

That  eyebrow  always  got  me.  I  would 
embezzle  a  dollar  from  the  treasury,  sub- 
stituting an  I.O.U.  The  winter  that  Bob 
started  to  drink  beer,  I  got  so  far  in  debt 
that  I  had  to  go  to  work  at  Woolworth's 
after  school  hours  to  pay  it  back. 

"I  hope  you  appreciate  what  I  do  for 
you,"  I  used  to  tell  him  resignedly.  "I  go 
into  debt,  I  steal,  I  work  sixteen  hours  a 
day.  .  .  ." 

"I  know,  you're  giving  me  the  best  years 
of  your  life."  He  was  kidding  me,  but  I 
knew  how  he  felt  underneath  the  wise- 
cracks. It's  sort  of  hard  to  explain  to  other 
people  the  way  things  are  with  Bob  and 
me.  The  way  they've  always  been.  I'll 
never  know  why  Bob  fell  in  love  with 
me.  I  was  just  a  scrawny  kid  with  dark, 
smooth  hair  that  was  always  falling  in  my 
eyes.  I  would  have  expected  him  to  pick 
a  flashy  blonde  number.  Of  course,  I 
adored  him  from  the  time  I  was  four- 
teen, and  I  used  to  follow  hirn  around 
with  my  heart  on  my  sleeve.  We've  al- 
ways fought  a  lot  over  silly  little  things, 
but  never  over  big  ones.  Oh,  I  don't  mean 
fought,  either,  but  argued.  Still,  I  never 
really  try  to  change  Bob — not  that  it 
would  do  any  good.  He  has  the  rugged 
independence  of  an  Army.  mule.  And  I 
love  him  the  way  he  is. 

Just  the  way  Bob  loves  me  even  if  I 
can't  cook.  He  knows  quite  a  bit  about 
cooking  himself,  picked  up  in  all  the 
years  he  was  batting  around  on  his  own. 
For  a  while  he  struggled  with  the  awe- 
some task  of  imparting  this  knowledge, 
to  me.  The  trouble  is,  I'm  not  quite  bright 
where  pots  and  pans  are  concerned.  He'd 


LOVE  WENT  PACKING 

Through  .  .  .  done  for  ...  all  our 
dreams  and  sharing,  and  our  little 
"love  nest"  of  a  home!  .  .  .  Foolish 
me— not  to  realize  it  was  my  fault 
our  happiness  was  spoiled.  I  thought 
I  understood  about  feminine  hy- 


giene. But  it  took  my  doctor  to  save 
the  day  for  us.  He  pointed  out,  oh 
so  emphatically:  "Once-in-a-while 
care  just  isn't  enough".  .  .  and  told 
me  to  use  "Lysol"  brand  disinfect- 
ant for  douching— always. 


BUT  CAME  HOME  TO  STAY 


New  lease  on  love  at  our  house  now 
.  .  .  and  a  so  happy  Mr.  and  Mrs.!  Of 
course  I  took  the  doctor's  advice  .  .  . 
always  use  dependable  "Lysol"  now, 
for  douching.  No  more  salt,  soda  or 
other  homemade  solutions  for  me, 


after  the  doctor  said  "Lysol"  is  a 
proved  germ-killer  that  cleanses 
thoroughly,  yet  gently.  So  easy  and 
economical  to  use,  too  —  there's  no 
reason  to  be  careless  .  .  .  risk  happi- 
ness .  .  .  ever! 


Check  these  facts  with  your  Doctor 


Proper  feminine  hygiene 

care  is  important  to  the 
happiness  and  charm  of 
every  woman.  So,  douche 
thoroughly  with  correct 
"Lysol"  solution  ...  al- 
ways! Powerful  cleanser — 
"Lysol's"  great  spreading 
power  means  it  reaches 


deeply  into  folds  and 
crevices  to  search  out 
germs.  Proved  germ-killer 
— uniform  strength,  made 
under  continued  labora- 
tory control  .  .  .  far 
more  dependable  than 
homemade  solutions. 
No n  -  caustic — "Lysol" 
douching  solution  is  non- 
irritating,  not  harmful  to 
vaginal  tissues.  Follow 


easy  directions.  Cleanly 
odor — disappears  after 
use;  deodorizes.  More 
women  use  "Lysol"  for 
feminine  hygiene  than 
any  other  method.  (For 
FREE  feminine  hygiene 
booklet ,  write 
Lehn  &  Fink.  6S3 
Fifth  Ave.,  New 
York  22,  N.  Y.) 


Copyright,  1946,  by  Lehn  &  Fink  Product*  Corp. 

For  Feminine  Hygiene  use 


always! 


I 


"LYSOL"  is  the  registered  trade-mark  of  Lehn  &  Fink  Products  Corporation  and  any  use  thereof 
in  connection  with  products  not  made  by  it  constitutes  an  infringement  thereof. 


115 


Look  at  the  tapered 
ends  of  Fibs  —  and 
your  own  eyes  will 
tell  you  this  tampon 
is  easy  to  use!  You 
can  see,  by  those 
gently  rounded  ends,  that  insertion 
can  be  really  comfortable  with  Fibs. 

And  your  eyes  tell  you  there's  safety 
in  Fibs.  For  this  is  the  "quilted" 
tampon.  "Quilting"  helps  prevent  tiny 
cotton  particles  from  clinging  to  deli- 
cate internal  tissues.  What's  more,  this 
exclusive  Fibs  feature  makes  a  real 
contribution  to  comfort,  too.  Because 
quilting  is  designed  to  keep  Fibs  from 
fluffing  up  to  an  uncomfortable  size 
which  might  cause  pressure,  irritation, 
difficult  removal. 


*T.  M.  R«ar.  U.  8.  Pat.  Off 


get  me  started  on  some  comparatively 
simple  operation  like  making  scrambled 
eggs,  and  would  go  off  to  the  bathroom 
to  shave. 

"Bo-b!"  I'd  wail  like  a  terrified  banshee. 
"They've  all  gone  funny.  What  do  I  do 
now?" 

So  he  bought  me  a  cookbook  and  now 
I  struggle  along  with  that.  It  hasn't  im- 
proved the  meals  much,  but  it  gives  him 
more  time  for  other  things.  "Other  things" 
are  apt  to  be  Jimmy  and  Chris.  They  fol- 
low him  around  all  the  while,  and  he's 
pretty  crazy  about  them.  Jimmy  is  the 
original  "personality  kid."  We're  resigned 
to  his  becoming  an  actor  eventually — it 
seems  inevitable,  since  he's  been  a  ham 
practically  from  birth.  When  he  was  seven 
months  old,  he  used  to  imitate  all  of  Bob's 
facial  expressions.  Bob  was  doing  a  char- 
acter part  in  a  Little  Theater  at  the  time 
— an  old  man  called  "Uncle  Wolfie."  He 
used  to  practice  the  part  at  home,  some- 
times. He'd  pull  his  hair  down  over  his 
eyes,  and  waggle  his  jaw,  and  really 
gag  it  up.  Pretty  soon,  Jimmy  began 
doing  the  Uncle  Wolfie  routine.  He  didn't 
have  any  hair  to  pull  over  his  eyes,  but 
he'd  waggle  his  jaw  and  make  with  the 
gestures,  and  he  had  it  down  so  pat  it 
used  to  throw  our  friends  into  convulsions. 

the  family  streak  .  .  . 

By  the  time  he  was  a  year  old,  he  was 
a  husky  little  fellow.  Other  kids  that  age 
might  be  saying  "Mama"  and  "Papa"  and 
creeping  around  the  floor.  Not  our  James. 
He'd  wake  up  in  the  morning  at  seven 
o'clock  and  start  chinning  himself  on  the 
bars  of  his  crib.  He'd  yell  "Come  on, 
folks,  let's  go!  Orange  juice,  eggs,  coming 
up!  Let's  go!" 

Jimmy  has  decided  now  that  he  wants 
to  act  in  Westerns.  His  only  experience 
with  horses  has  been  the  pony  at  the  Fair, 
and  he  even  had  trouble  with  that  the 
first  time.  The  attendant  had  fastened 
him  on,  the  way  they  do,  but  somehow 
the  belt  came  unfastened.  Bob  and  I  were 
outside,  looking  on,  and  all  of  a  sudden 
we  saw  Jimmy  slide  off  the  pony's  back. 
He  set  up  a  yell  you  could  have  heard  in 
Chicago,  and  my  heart  jumped  right  up 
into  my  throat.  We  rushed  over  and  found 
him  sitting  on  the  ground,  obviously  un- 
hurt but  scared  half  out  of  his  wits.  I  was 
all  for  taking  him  right  home,  with  kisses 
and  sympathy,  but  Bob  was  smarter.  He 
brushed  me  aside,  hoisted  Jimmy  right 
back  on,  saw  that  the  belt  was  properly 
fastened,  and  said  "Ride  'em,  cowboy!" 
The  tears  magically  stopped,  and  Jimmy 
finished  his  ride  successfully.  Now  he's 
convinced  that  he  could  replace  Roy 
Rogers  without  Trigger  ever  knowing  the 
difference. 

Jimmy  has  gotten  a  mad  passion  for 
answering  the  telephone.  The  minute  it 
rings,  he  jumps  for  it,  in  spite  of  my 
protests.  Sometimes  he  says,  "He's  not 
here!"  and  hangs  up,  regardless  of  whom 
or  what  is  wanted.  If  Bob  yells,  "Was 
that  for  me?"  Jimmy  looks  at  him  re- 
provingly and  says  "S-sh-sh!  I  just  told 
them  you  weren't  here."  Other  times,  he 
carries  on  long  conversation  with  the  per- 
son at  the  other  end.  Jimmy's  part  of 
it  doesn't  usually  make  much  sense,  but 
he  has  a  fine  time.  Then  he'll  suddenly 
say,  "So  long!"  and  hang  up. 

Jimmy  wasn't  very  happy  at  first  about 
our  moving  to  the  new  house  we've  just 
bought.  "I've  got  a  lot  of  pals  here,"  he 
grumbled.  "How  do  I  know  there'll  be  a 
good  bunch  over  there?"  But  now  that 
we're  all  moved  and  settled,  he  likes  it. 
He  even  has  acquired  a  girl  friend,  who 
is,  he  insists,  named  Chlorine.  We've 
never  been  able  to  discover  what  her  name 
actually  is.  The  other  day,  Jimmy  came 
up  to  Bob  and  said  "Gotta  buy  Chlorine 
an  ice  cream  cone.  Can  I  have  a  dime?" 


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"What,  again?"  Bob  gave  him  a  paren- 
tal frown.  "I  think  Chlorine's  a  gold  dig- 
ger. She's  always  wanting  something. 
Why  don't  you  get  a  gal  who  will  love 
you  for  yourself  alone,  the  way  I  did?" 

I  admit  there  are  occasions  when  he 
makes  me  pretty  mad.  Take  his  casual 
attitude  about  my  clothes,  for  instance. 
I  really  want  his  advice  about  what  to 
wear,  and  what  colors  are  becoming,  be- 
cause he  has  very  good  taste.  But  do  I 
get  it?  A  few  days  before  Louella  Parsons' 
party  for  Modern  Screen,  I  said,  "Bob, 
honey,  what  will  I  wear  to  the  party?" 

clothes  casual  .  .  . 

He  never  even  glanced  up  from  Li'l 
Abner,  which  he  lo-o-ves.  "Why  don't 
you  wear  what  you  have  on?"  he  mum- 
bled. "Looks  very  nice." 

What  I  had  on  was  one  of  Bob's  old 
shirts  which  had  ripped  seven  million 
times  and  couldn't  be  mended  any  more. 

"Look  at  me!"  I  said  furiously.  "Be 
sensible,  will  you?  Everyone  will  be  all 
dressed  up  and  I  want  to  be  a  credit  to 
you." 

"Listen,  darling,  you're  a  credit  to  me, 
and  it's  got  nothing  to  do  with  what  you 
wear.  You're  my  gal,  and  fancy  clothes 
aren't  concerned  in  the  deal.  Do  you  love 
me  less  because  I  only  have  two  suits?" 

He  had  a  point  there,  because  he  really 
does  only  have  two  suits.  He  alternates 
them.  Says  no  one  could  ever  steal  them 
because  everyone  in  Hollywood  knows 
them  so  well  by  now  that  they'd  say, 
"There  goes  Mitchum's  number  one  suit." 
All  of  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  what 
I  should  wear  to  the  party.  He  was  evad- 
ing the  issue,  as  usual.    I  told  him  so. 

"Shall  I  wear  my  blue  dress  or  my  black 
one,  or  that  old  grey  number  with  the.  .  .  ." 

"The  blue  one,"  Bob  said  absently.  "I 
hate  black."  He  went  back  to  the  comics. 
But  when  the  night  of  the  party  came 
around,  he  was  the  one  in  a  dither.  Should 
he  wear  civilian  clothes,  or  uniform?  He 
was  out  of  the  Army,  but  just  out.  Maybe 
they  would  expect  him  to  be  in  uniform. 
So  he  wore  his  GI  outfit,  and  I  wore  my 
blue  dress  which  I  loathe  because  it  makes 
me  look  fat. 

Jimmy  is  a  lot  more  help  to  my  ego 
about  clothes  than  his  father.  He  notices 
everything  I  wear.  He  came  bouncing 
in  the  other  night  as  I  finished  dressing, 
and  surveyed  me. 

"Gee,  father's  going  to  like  the  way  you 
look  tonight,"  he  told  me.  "Wait  till  I 
get  a  flower  for  your  hair."  He  was  back 
in  a  minute  with  a  scarlet  blossom.  By 
the  time  I  had  it  tucked  into  my  hair,  his 
admiring  stare  had  given  me  all  the  self- 
confidence  in  the  world.  Sometimes  I  sit 
around  and  wish  I  was  terribly  beautiful, 
with  pale  blonde  hair  and  enormous  violet 
eyes.  Other  times,  like  that  night,  I  feel 
fine  just  the  way  I  am. 

Bob  does  have  an  endearing  habit  of 
buying  me  coats  every  now  and  then. 
Just  happens  to  like  coats.  He  eame  home 
the  other  night,  lugging  an  enormous  box 
and  beaming. 

"Present  for  you,  baby.  Guess  what?" 

I  wouldn't  have  had  any  trouble  guess- 
ing, because  coats  are  the  only  thing  he 
thinks  of  buying.  But  I  made  a  couple 
of  wild  guesses  first,  to  enhance  the  sus- 
pense. Then  I  said,  veddy  demure,  "A 
coat?" 

He  looked  faintly  surprised.  "Yeah. 
How  did  you  guess?"  He  unwrapped  it 
slowly,  folding  the  paper  the  way  he  al- 
ways does.  When  I  saw  the  coat,  I  was  so 
thrilled  I  couldn't  talk  for  a  minute.  It 
was  divine,  cloud-soft  grey  wool,  with 
beautiful  wide  shoulders  and  a  full  skirt. 
I  felt  like  the  glamor  girl  of  all  time  when 
I  tried  it  on. 

"Bob,  it's  heaven.  But  we  can't  afford  it." 

"I  know.    But  if  I  bought  you  some- 


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thing  I  could  afford,  I  wouldn't  get  any 
kick  out  of  it." 

That's  Mitchum  and  I  love  him.  Kissed 
him  twice  to  tell  him  so.  And  it's  true  about 
our  not  having  much  money  these  days. 
The  new  house  took  all  we  had. 

parlor,  bedroom,  bath  .  .  . 

Now  we  have  a  house,  and  the  next 
problem  is  where  to  get  money  for  fur- 
niture. So  far  we  have  managed  to  bor- 
row the  necessities.  A  couple  of  rooms 
are  still  completely  empty,  but  they're  fine 
for  the  kids  to  play  in.  They're  such  de- 
structive youngsters  that  they  wreck  the 
living  room  if  we  let  them  play  there.  They 
break  everything  up,  including  themselves. 

Some  of  Bob's  Army  pals  have  brought 
them  war  souvenirs.  "I  don't  know  if  we 
ought  to  let  them  play  with  those  things," 
I  said  doubtfully  one  day.  "They  might 
hurt  themselves." 

'  "Sure,  they'll  hurt  themselves.  That's 
how  they'll  learn.  It's  the  only  way  any- 
body'll  learn  anything — through  experi- 
ence."  Very,  very  hard-boiled,  he  was. 

A  couple  of  days  later,  he  went  out  in 
the  garden  and  found  little  Chris  standing 
there,  quietly  watching  blood  pour  from 
a  cut  in  his  hand.  Jimmy  was  there,  too, 
saying,  "It  was  an  accident,  father.  The 
edge  of  that  helmet  cut  him.  It  was  an 
accident.  Please  don't  spank  me." 

Bob  got  the  first  aid  kit  and  fixed  Chris'  ■ 
hand  up,  but  when  he  got  through,  his  own 
hand  was  shaking  like  a  leaf.  "The  kid 
never  cried,  or  anything,"  he  said.  "Poor 
little  monkey,  that  iodine  must  have  hurt 
like  hell,  too." 

"Well,  that's  the  way  they  learn — by  ex- 
perience," I  said.  He  gave  me  a  dirty  look 
and  didn't  speak  to  me  for  two  hours.  Men 
are  wonderful. 
Chris  is  no  exhibitionist,  like  Jimmy.  He's 
a  lot  smaller,  of  course,  and  he's  quiet  and 
sort  of  dreamy.  He  worships  Bob,  but  he's 
too  young  to  do  the  things  with  him  that 
Jimmy  does,  and  so  he  doesn't  feel  as 
close  to  him,  which  bothers  the  baby  of  the 
family.  The  other  night  he  came  into  my 
bedroom,  his  eyes  shining. 

"You  know  where  I've  been,  Mother?" 
His  voice  was  important.  "I've  been  sitting 
out  on  the  terrace  with  Daddy.  Talking." 
Obviously  it  was  the  most  exciting  thing 
that  had  happened  in  some  time. 

Chris  is  still  so  little  that  I  hug  and  kiss 
him  a  lot,  but  I  don't  kiss  Jimmy  much 
because  it  embarrasses  him.  He's  terrified 
of  being  thought  a  sissy.  His  school  is 
several  block  from  home,  but  he  has  a  fit 
if  we  drive  him  over. 

"Do  you  want  the  other  boys  to  laugh  at 
me?"  he  asks  darkly.  "Do  you  want  me 
to  be  disgraced?" 

Maybe  one  reason  why  the  kids  are  so 
close  to  us,  emotionally,  is  because  we've 
always  lived,  before,  in  such  tiny  houses  or 
apartments,  all  crowded  in  together.  We've 
never  had  much  privacy.  Bob  used  to 
think  it  was  funny  to  whistle  at  me  and 
make  with  the  wolf  calls  when  I  was  get- 
ting dressed.  Then  Jimmy  started  to  imi- 
tate him.  Somehow,  Chris  got  the  idea  that 
whistles  were  a  necessary  accompaniment 
to  dressing,  and  for  a  long  while  wouldn't 
get  into  his  clothes  without  them. 

one-woman  man  .  .  . 

Of  course,  now  we  have  loads  of  room.  I 
do  think  this  new  house  is  going  to  be  fun. 
Bob  has  a  lot  of  ideas  about  how  he  wants 
to  decorate  it,  eventually. 

"People  are  too  conservative,"  he  snorts. 
"There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  have 
a  room  with  one  orange  wall  and  one 
purple  one,  if  you  want  to." 

"But  I  don't  want  to.  It  sounds  awful. 
You'd  get  tired  of  it  in  a  hurry,  too,  Bob. 
You  know  how  "easily  you  get  tired  of 
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"I  don't  get  tired  of  you.  baby.  One- 
woman  Mitchum,  they  call  me." 

That"s  what  happens  in  all  our  argu- 
ments. Just  as  I'm  winning,  he  confuses 
the  issue  with  something  like  that.  And  I 
love  it. 

Bob  likes  to  think  of  himself  as  a  handy 
guy  around  the  house.  Ill  never  forget  the 
episode  of  the  bookcase,  in  the  Palm  Ave- 
nue house.  The  bookcase  was  there  when 
we  rented  the  place,  but  we  didn't  have 
any  books  to  put  in  it.  or  any  money  to 
buy  them. 

camouflage  division  .  .  . 

'"The  damn  thing  gives  me  the  creeps, 
sitting  there  empty,"  Bob  said.  "Why 
wouldn't  it  be  a  good  idea  to  have  ivy 
trail  down  over  it,  to  hide  the  shelves?" 

"It  would  be  wonderful!" 

"I'll  fix  a  thing  to  put  on  top.  to  plant 
the  ivy  in.  Something  that  will  fit  between 
those  decorations  on  the  ends."  He  got  a 
yardstick  and  started  measuring  the  book- 
case in  a  business-like  manner.  The  next 
couple  of  nights,  he  hammered  happily 
away  down  in  the  cellar.  Came  the  third 
night,  and  he  emerged  triumphantly  with 
an  enormous,  clumsy  affair  of  wood.  He 
lugged  it  over  to  the  bookcase. 

"Tnat's  fine."  I  said  politely.  "Only  isn't 
it  sort  of  big?" 

"You  need  it  big."  He  hoisted  it  up  to 
the  top.  There  was  a  pause.  The  box 
he  had  built  was  a  good  four  inches  too  long 
for  the  space  involved.  I  wanted  to  laugh, 
but  he  looked  so  like  a  small  boy  who  has 
lost  his  last  candy  bar  that  I  changed  my 
mind. 

"You  can  soon  fix  it,  honey.  And  it  will 
look  really  lovely  when  we  get  the  ivy 
in  it." 

It  did,  too.  The  ivy  made  a  kind  of 
screen,  trailing  graceful  greenery  over  the 
emptiness.  One  day,  someone  told  Bob  it 
would  grow  faster  if  he  put  some  Vitamin 
B  in  it.  He  dumped  in  three  times  as 
much  as  they'd  told  him  to.  The  next 
morning  when  he  walked  out  into  the  liv- 
ing room-  he  let  out  a  yell. 

"Hey,  Dottie!  There're  ants  three  feet 
long  out  here  climbing  up  the  bookcase. 
They're  stompin'  around  all  over  the 
place!" 

I  tore  out  and  found  that  for  once  he 
wasn't  exaggerating.  At  least,  not  much. 
There  was  a  horrible  black  path  of  ants 
from  the  outside  door  right  straight  over 
to  the  bookcase  and  up  the  side  of  it.  to 
the  ivy  container. 

"That  Vitamin  B  is  some  stuff."  Bob 
said  admiringly.  "Why,  those  ants'll  be 
big  as  'possums  by  tomorrow." 

"They  won't  be  here  by  tomorrow,"  I 
said  firmly.  "You  go  right  down  to  the 
drug  store  and  get  some  ant  poison." 

"Seems  kinda  too  bad,"  Bob  remarked. 
"They're  sure  having  a  heck  of  a  time  for 
themselves." 

my  guy  forever  .  .  . 

One  thing  I  guess  you'll  have  gathered 
from  all  this:  Life  is  never  dull  at  the 
Mit chums.  Bob  has  a  way  of  making  things 
seem  exciting  whether  they  are  or  not. 
You  never  know  what  is  going  to  happen 
next.  _  He's  been  making  "Till  The  End  Of 
Time."  and  he  has  a  good  part  in  it.  He 
contrasts  very  neatly  with  Guy  Madison, 
who  is  big  and  beautiful  and  quiet.  Bob  is 
big,  but  he's  not  beautiful,  and  he's  about 
as  quiet  as  a  Mexican  jumping  bean.  He's 
happy  with  the  picture,  and  with  being  an 
actor — for  the  moment.  But  honestly,  it 
wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit  if  one  fine 
morning  he  woke  up  and  announced  that 
he  had  decided  to  try  being  a  short  order 
cook  or  a  stevedore  or  a  lion  tamer.  Un- 
predictable is  the  word  for  Mitchum.  And 
if  that  ever  happens,  I'll  go  right  along, 
because  what  he  wants  is  what  I  want. 
I  He's  my  guy. 


Vod 

'fa'3, 
■friend- 


what  Tampax  means  to 
you — granted  of  course 
you  are  one  of  the  millions  now  using 
this  modern  monthly  sanitary  protection 
without  belts,  pins  and  external  pads. 
Make  her  understand  the  relief  you  feel 
when  you  are  rid  of  this  hampering  bulk. 

how  Tampax  was  per- 
fected by  a  doctor  to  be 
worn  internally.  Explain  how  it  is  made 
of  surgical  cotton  firmly  stitched,  how 
extremely  absorbent  it  is— and  how  you 
are  unaware  of  its  presence  when  it  is  in 
place! 

that  there  are  no  edge- 
lines  to  "show",  also  no 
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SINCE  HE  WENT  AWAY 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


long  way  from  Hollywood.  Such  a  long 
way  from  his  mother,  and  his  chubby  little 
step-brother,  Kurt.  Such  a  long  way  from 
fifteen-year- old  Marit,  who  was  terrific 
because  she  liked  all  the  things  he  liked — 
riding  and  shooting  and  hiking  and  bi- 
cycling. He  thought  about  the  way  she 
had  looked  the  last  time  they  went 
bicycling  before  he  went  away.  She  had 
on  a  yellow  sweater  and  a  plaid  skirt.  Her 
pale  blond  hair  was  whipped  by  the  wind, 
and  her  blue  eyes  were  alight  with  gaiety. 

"Aren't  you  tired,  Marit?"  he  had  asked 
curiously.  It  had  been  a  very  long  ride, 
and  after  all,  girls  were  supposed  to  be  the 
weaker  sex. 

Marit  laughed.  "Have  you  ever  known 
me  to  be  tired,  Cojo?" 

He  thought  about  it.  "Once,"  he  pro- 
duced triumphantly.  "After  I  had  been 
teaching  you  judo." 

"I  wasn't  just  tired,  I  was  black  and 
blue  for  a  week.  Are  you  going  to  use 
judo  on  the  Japs,  Cojo?" 

"They'd  probably  be  quite  a  lot  better 
at  it  than  I  am.  I'll  use  a  gun." 

Here  he  was  in  Japan  and  he'd  had  no 
chance  to  use  a  gun  or  judo,  either.  The 
war  was  over.  Of  course  it  was  still  dan- 
gerous to  walk  the  streets  alone  at  night, 
or  so  they  were  told.  Japs  might  knife 
you  in  the  back.  Cojo  had  promptly 
bought  a  set  of  brass  knuckles,  and  started 
walking  the  streets  alone  at  night,  but 
nothing  happened.  It  was  a  dull  life. 

holy  night  .  .  . 

And  now  it  was  Christmas  Eve.  Cojo 
got  to  his  feet  and  started  for  the  door. 
He  suddenly  remembered  the  USO  troop 
of  "Kiss  And  Tell"  that  was  quartered 
down  the  street.  Probably  they'd  be 
pretty  lonely  tonight,  too. 

Most  of  them  were  out  by  the  time  he 
got  there.  But  one  of  the  girls  was  just 
starting  down  the  steps. 

"Where  you  goin',  honey?"  Cojo  asked 
in  his  soft  Tennessee  drawl. 

"Hi,  Cojo.  I'm  going  to  church.  There's 
a  little  Episcopal  Church  over  here  that 
has  a  Christmas  Eve  service  and  I  thought 
it  would  be  sorta  nice  to  go." 

"That's  for  me,"  Cojo  said,  and  swung 
into  step  beside  her.  This  was  the  thing 
he  had  been  subconsciously  looking  for — 
something  that  would  be  like  home.  The 
church  was  small  and  crowded  and  they 
were  a  little  late.  A  hymn  was  already 
being  played  by  the  creaky,  old  organ,  as 
they  knelt  in  a  swift,  silent  prayer.  Some- 
how, during  the  short  service,  in  the  quiet 
music  and  the  white  flowers  on  the  altar, 
Cojo  found  that  his  loneliness  had  vanished. 
Tomorrow  was  Christmas;  but  maybe  by 
next  Christmas  he'd  be  home.  And  in  the 
meantime  he  would, be  thinking  of  them 
and  they  of  him. 

Of  course,  they  were  thinking  of  him 
back  in  Hollywood.  When  his  mother, 
Mary  Wordeman,  woke  on  Christmas 
morning,  her  first  thought  was  of  Cojo 
so  far  away.  She  cried  for  a  moment 
and  hoped  he'd  gotten  the  packages  they'd 
sent.  The  food,  and  the  drawing  materials 
he'd  wanted  so  much.  Marit  Cohu  in  her 
home  several  miles  from  the  Wordeman's 
house,  was  missing  Cojo  so  much  it  hurt. 
But  she  lost  some  of  her  depression  when 
the  time  came  to  open  presents.  There 
under  the  tree  was  a  flat  square  box 
labeled  hugely  "From  Cojo."  Marit  stopped 
breathing  for  a  moment.  Then  she  rushed 
over  and  opened  the  package,  and  stared 
in  delight  at  a  shimmering  string  of  pearls. 
The  card  said,  "I  sent  one  like  this  to 


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Joanne  too.  Hope  they're  okay.  Cojo." 

Joanne  is  Cojo's  sister.  She's  the  same 
age  as  Marit,  and  likes  the  same  sports. 
When  she  came  to  visit  Hollywood  (she 
doesn't  live  with  Mrs.  Wordeman),  the 
three  of  them  were  inseparable.  They  can 
scarcely  wait  till  they  all  get  together 
again.  Marit  has  been  taking  jumping 
lessons  at  the  riding  school,  so  she'll  be 
ahead  of  the  others  on  that.  But  Cojo 
will  be  a  better  shot.  He  practices  all  the 
while  in  Yokohama. 

He  finds  plenty  of  ways  to  keep  himself 
busy  over  there.  For  one  thing,  he's  in 
charge  of  getting  all  the  movies  for  the 
Officers'  Club.  He  goes  down  in  a  truck 
and  picks  up  the  film,  and  when  it's  shown 
he  acts  as  projectionist.  "Kiss  and  Tell," 
by  the  way,  has  been  shown  in  Tokyo, 
and  all  the  Jap  kids  refer  to  Cojo  as  "the 
soldier  who  knows  Shirley  Temple." 

purloined  pontoons  .  .  . 

He  loves  to  build  things.  He  and  one 
of  his  buddies  built  a  boat.  It  was  a  little 
complicated,  getting  the  parts  for  it.  Cojo 
has  the  use  of  a  jeep  occasionally,  and  they 
drove  along  the  Tokyo  waterfront,  look- 
ing for  abandoned  boats.  When  they  found 
one,  they  would  remove  any  useable  parts 
and  add  them  to  their  collection.  They 
bought  a  motor  cheap,  and  hopped  it  up 
within  an  inch  of  its  life.  But  that  left 
them  broke  and  they  still  had  no  pon- 
toons. One  day,  Cojo  saw  a  Jap  driving 
along  the  street  with  an  old  cart.  In  the 
cart  was  a  brand  new  set  of  pontoons.  He 
stopped  his  jeep  and  went  over  to  the 
driver,  looking  very  official. 

"Who  do  those  belong  to?"  he  demanded. 

"The  Japanese  navy,  please."  The  little 
man  bowed  and  smiled  in  the  usual  oily 
manner. 

"Well,  now  they  belong  to  the  U.  S. 
Army.  Confiscated."  Cojo  knew  he  was 
taking  a  chance,  but  pontoons  were  tough 
to  get.  He  removed  them  to  his  jeep, 
while  the  Jap  shrugged.  What  did  it 
matter?  There  wasn't  any  Japanese  navy 
any  more,  anyway.  A  couple  of  days  later, 
Cojo  and  his  friend  launched  their  boat 
on  the  grey,  chilly  waters  of  Tokyo  Bay. 
The  small  craft  vibrated  madly,  but  she 
skimmed  the  surface  faster  than  they  had 
believed  possible. 

"Hey,  get  us!  We're  pretty  good  boat 
builders,"  Cojo  said  complacently. 

"We're  terrific,"  his  buddy  agreed.  "This 
baby'll  be  airborne  in  another  minute." 

There  was  a  sudden,  ominous  rending 
sound.  The  boat  stopped  so  quickly  that 
they  both  fell  flat  on  the  deek.  Water 
swirled  merrily  in  through  a  large  hole. 

"We've  hit  something,"  Cojo  deduced. 

"Oh,  you  figured  that  out  already?"  The 
friend  was  bitter.  "What  do  we  do  now?" 

"Swim,  I  guess."  It  wasn't  so  far  to 
shore.  Cojo  looked  regretfully  at  his 
heavy  boots.  He'd  have  to  lose  those,  and 
they  were  his  best  pair.  His  friend  was 
saying  something.  It  sounded  profane. 
"What  did  you  say,  bud?"  Cojo  asked. 

"I  said  I  couldn't  swim.  I  said  I'd  prob- 
ably drown  here  in  this  damned  Jap  bay." 

Cojo  did  a  hasty  double  take.  He  swims 
so  well  himself  it  hadn't  occurred  to  him 
that  other  people  might  not  be  so  expert. 
"Guess  we'd  better  yell  for  help,"  he  said. 

They  yelled  for  five  minutes,  and  the 
boat  continued  to  fill  with  water,  and  they 
had  to  bail  like  mad.  Finally  a  patrol  boat 
came  along  and  pulled  them  on  board, 
where  they  were  lectured  severely.  They 
were  too  busy  shivering  to  listen,  but 
neither  of  them  even  got  the  sniffles. 

It's  the  Eighth  Army  to  which  Cojo 
is  attached  in  Japan,  and  for  some  reason 
he  couldn't  get  any  Eighth  Army  insignia 
over  there.  He  wrote  his  mother  about  it, 
plaintively.  Thought  maybe  she  could 
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122 


can  find  almost  anything.  The  night  she 
got  the  letter,  Mrs.  Wordeman  was  going 
to  a  party  in  honor  of  General  Eichel- 
berger,  who  was,  as  it  happened,  the  head 
of  the  Eighth  Army  in  Japan.  Mary 
Wordeman  went  up  to  the  General  de- 
terminedly. She's  a  very  attractive  woman, 
with  quantities  of  Southern  charm.  She 
turned  it  all  on  now. 

"General,"  she  said,  in  her  pretty  drawl, 
"I  wonder  if  you  could  tell  me  where  I 
could  get  some  Eighth  Army  insignia  for 
my  son?" 

The  General  smiled  genially.  "What's 
his  name?  Is  he  in  the  Army?" 

"His  name's  Jerome  Courtland,  but  we 
call  him  Cojo,"  Mary  confided.  "He's  in 
your  Army  in  Yokohama." 

"He  is,  eh?"  The  General  took  a  card 
from  his  pocket.  On  it  he  wrote,  "With 
fondest  regards  for  Cojo,"  and  signed  it 
with  a  quick  flourish.  "There,"  he  said, 
extending  it  to  Mary.  "Send  him  that, 
and  tell  him  to  take  it  to  my  headquarters. 
They'll  give  him  all  the  insignia  he  wants." 

Mary  sent  the  card  to  Cojo  who  wrote 
back,  thanking  her  politely.  "That  was 
very  nice  of  you  and  the  General,"  he 
concluded,  "but  I  can't  quite  picture  my- 
self strolling  into  the  headquarters  of  the 
whole  Eighth  Army  to  ask  for  a  spare 
shoulder  patch!" 

Cojo,  like  every  other  soldier  stuck  in 
the  Army  of  Occupation,  wants  to  get 
home.  Home  to  Marit  and  Joanne,  and  to 
swimming  and  riding  and  all  the  sports  he 
loves.  Home  to  his  mother  and  step- 
father and  Kurt.  Home  to  pictures — if  they 
still  want  him.  He  isn't  at  all  sure  they 
will,  when  they  see  how  grownup  he  is 
these  days. 

"If  they  don't,  I'll  find  something  else,"' 
he  says.  "I  don't  care,  as  long  as  it's  a  job, 
and  I'm  home." 

We  care,  Cojo.  We  want  you  back  in 
pictures,  where  you  belong,  and  we  have 
our  fingers  crossed  that  it  will  be  sooner 
than  you  think. 


A  CAN  OF  BEANS  AND  YOU 

(Continued  from  page  53) 


under  the  bright  glare  of  a  street  lamp. 
Then,  when  they  came  to  the  open  space 
where  the  park  path  curved  inward  from 
the  street,  Dane  turned  quickly  and 
scooped  Red  into  his  arms.  He  held  her 
close  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  As  though 
carrying  her  across  the  threshold  of  a 
new  life,  he  stepped  into  the  shadows  lin- 
ing the  graveled  pathway. 

"Welcome  home,  Red." 

When  Dane  Clark  first  met  Margot 
back  in  1941,  there  was  an  explosion.  It 
was  as  though  two  firecrackers  had  been 
tossed  casually  upon  the  same  lighted 
match.  Dane  was  rehearsing  a  radio  play, 
one  of  those  that  came  with  maddening  in- 
frequency  in  those  days,  just  often  enough 
to  keep  away  the  worst  pangs  of  hunger. 
He  was  an  actor  without  enough  work,  and 
there  was  a  gnawing,  restless  feeling 
within  him,  a  feeling  of  frustration.  The 
boy  was  on  fire  with  ambition,  and  things 
weren't  coming  out  the  way  he'd  planned. 
He  was  burning,  hopping  mad  from  break- 
fast to  midnight. 

It  didn't  help  matters  any  when  this 
strange  redhead  came  into  the  radio 
studio,  her  eyes  upon  him  critically,  seem- 
ing to  sparkle  derisively  when  he  became 
nervous  and  stumbled  over  a  line.  When 
time  was  called  from  rehearsal  to  rest,  he 
went  and  sat  beside  her,  his  jaw  thrust  out 
belligerently. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  of  it?" 

"You  really  want  to  know?" 


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"Yeah,  yeah.  You  ate  it  up,  had  me 
throwing  lines  around  like  they  were 
butterballs.  So  let's  have  it." 

She  stood  up,  small,  pert,  with  laughter 
dancing  in  her  eyes.  "Mister,  you  asked 
for  it.  In  your  own  words — you  stink." 

That  did  it!  Something  about  that  look 
in  her  eyes,  the  challenge  in  her  voice,  the 
loneliness  in  his  own  heart.  It  was  as  easy 
as  that.  Dane  was  in  love — and  flat  broke. 

The  whole  thing  was  hopeless,  and  the 
hopelessness  only  served  to  fan  his  stub- 
born love.  The  girl's  parents  were  wealthy. 
Like  Dane,  Margot  had  a  college  educa- 
tion, but,  unlike  him,  she'd  studied  music, 
she'd  traveled.  From  a  worldly  point  of 
view,  he  just  wasn't  in  her  league. 

She  knew  when  Dane  was  pulling  in  his 
belt  an  extra  notch,  and  she  wasn't  fooled 
when  he  took  her  to  dinner  and  sat  there 
himself  with  just  a  cup  of  coffee. 

She'd  notice  the  faint  smear  of  the 
chocolate  bar  on  his  lips.  "Take  this  and 
finish  it  for  me,  Dane.  I  really  can't  eat 
another  bite." 

He  hesitated,  looking  hungrily  at  the 
white  meat  of  the  chicken.  "Well,"  he 
said  dubiously,  "seems  a  shame  to  waste 
it.  Maybe—" 

love  on  the  dole  .  .  . 

They  started  off  married  life  in  the  one- 
room-hole-in-the-wall  in  Brooklyn  where 
Red  gallantly  plunged  into  the  task  of 
making  a  home  while  Dane  haunted  the 
streets,  trying  to  pick  up  radio  jobs.  She 
began  to  believe  in  the  dream  of  success 
even  more  firmly  than  Dane  himself.  He 
came  dragging  home  one  afternoon,  tossing 
his  coat  on  the  daybed. 

"No  luck,  Red.  Couldn't  even  get  a 
nibble." 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  "It's  still  three 
hours  before  the  day  is  over.  Go  uptown 
and  try  some  more." 

"But,  Red!" 

"Go  on,  honey,  get  along." 

He  snapped  back  his  shoulders,  picked 
up  his  coat  and  stormed  out  of  the  room. 
He  landed  a  part.  That  night  they  blew 
themselves  to  a  sixty-cent  dinner. 

That  was  a  start,  and  the  figures  in 
the  bank  book  began  to  creep  slowly  away 
from  the  twenties  and  thirties  into  the 
three  hundreds  and  four  hundreds.  Dane 
waited  until  they  hit  five  hundred  dollars, 
then  he  disappeared  downtown.  When  he 
came  back  he  took  hold  of  Margot's  hands. 

"Let's  see  your  fingers." 

Ten  beautiful  white,  tapering  fingers, 
one  of  them  marred  by  a  tarnished  two 
dollar  wedding  ring.  Tentatively,  he  picked 
up  the  ringed  finger  while  he  fumbled 
in  his  pocket.  Margot  pursed  her  lips 
in  amazement  when  he  slipped  a  breath- 
taking diamond  down  to  nestle  beside  the 
plain  wedding  band. 

"I've  been  meaning  to  get  that  engage- 
ment ring  a  long  time,  Red.  Like  it?" 

"Like  it?  It's  wonderful!  Oh,  Dane,  it's 
marvellous."  Then  she  turned  and  cried  a 
little  on  his  shoulder. 

But  that  night  when  she  went  to  hunt 
for  the  bank  book,  she  couldn't  find  it. 
Dane  had  hidden  it  securely.  He  didn't 
want  to  be  around  when  Margot  found 
out  the  heart-warming  balance  had  evap- 
orated down  to  twelve  dollars. 

That  was  New  York.  And  during  those 
first  dismal  months  in  Hollywood,  New 
York  looked  good.  But  Margot  became  ill. 
There  were  splitting  headaches;  she  lost 
weight  she  could  ill  afford  to  lose;  and 
even  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  Cali- 
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for  Dane  to  worry  about  beside  the  slow 
progress  he  was  making  out  at  the  studios. 
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She  read  the  radio  shows  he  wrote  to 
augment  their  income,  and  she  kept  him 
at  it  a  lot  of  times  when  he  felt  like  kick- 


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ing  the  typewriter.  He's  no  slouch  at  this 
writing  business.  There  are  thirty  radio 
shows  to  his  credit.  But  there  wouldn't 
have  been  thirteen  if  Margot  hadn't  kept 
egging  him  on. 

Then  Dane  crashed  the  gate  at  Warner 
Brothers,  crashed  right  into  "Action  in  the 
North  Atlantic,"  scored  a  haymaker  in 
"Destination  Tokyo,"  and  had  the  crowd  on 
its  feet  in  "Hollywood  Canteen." 

life's  little  stings  .  .  . 

Just  when  life  was  at  its  sweetest,  they 
were  evicted.  They  were  used  to  moving, 
but  apartments  were  getting  harder  and 
harder  to  find.  The  big  squeeze  was  on. 
After  a  week  of  furious  searching,  Dane 
came  rushing  home  to  Margot. 

"I've  got  a  place.  Grab  your  coat!" 

The  car  went  shooting  over  hills  and 
down  into  dales.  Every  minute  took 
them  further  from  Hollywood.  At  last, 
Dane  turned  into  a  seedy  path,  chugged 
through  a  line  of  eucalyptus  trees,  and 
opened  the  door  grandly  for  Margot. 

"We're  home,  honey." 

Margot  leaned  weakly  against  the  door, 
trying  to  recover  from  the  sight  that  met 
her  wide-opened  eyes.  Someone  had  built 
a  two-room  house  in  two  hours  and  then 
thrown  a  "For  Rent"  sign  down  by  the 
roadside.  The  floors  sagged  when  you 
walked  on  them,  and  there  was  clear  day- 
light showing  at  the  top  and  bottom  of 
each  door — both  of  them.  Just  to  add  a 
"homey"  touch,  the  builder  had  cached 
a  loaded  beehive  right  smack  against  the 
wall  of  the  house.  There  was  a  pleasant 
buzz  about  the  place — inside  and  out. 

Next  time  they  moved  for  keeps.  They 
bought  a  couple  of  acres  out  in  the  Pacific 
Palisades,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  land 
was  a  forty-year-old  stone  house. 

Margot  loves  the  place,  loves  to  roam 
about  the  rolling  hills,  loves  the  peace 
and  quiet  of  the  evenings  when  she  plays 
the  piano  while  Dane  sits  in  a  big  chair,  a 
book  unopened  on  his  lap. 

One  of  the  few  separations  of  their 
married  life  came  just  before  Dane  started 
to  work  on  his  latest  picture  at  Warners' — 
"A  Very  Rich  Man,"  with  Sidney  Green- 
street,  Don  McGuire  and  Martha  Vickers. 
He  was  scheduled  for  a  personal  appear- 
ance stint  back  in  New  York.  Never  for 
a  moment  did  he  forget  he  must  bring 
back  some  little  gift  for  Margot.  And,  as 
usual,  he  let  it  go  until  the  last  minute. 

He  went  dashing  into  Saks',  staring 
around  uncertainly  at  the  merchandise 
displayed  in  the  long,  gleaming  showcases. 
No  dresses — she  was  too  good  at  making 
her  own.  He'd  just  bought  her  a  sweater 
the  previous  month — couldn't  overdo  the 
sweater  angle.  He  turned  around  and  saw 
the  salesgirls  whispering  one  to  the  other; 
saw  elevator  doors  opening  and  a  grad- 
ually increasing  crowd  of  people  coming 
a  bit  closer  to  his  elbows. 

there's  a  limit  .  .  . 

He  began  to  perspire  a  little,  and  his 
mind  went  blank.  Stabbing  a  desperate 
finger  at  a  showcase  of  handbags,  he 
pointed  to  the  smallest  in  the  lot  and 
blurted  out,  "I'll  take  that  one." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Clark.  And  what  nice 
taste  you  have!"  The  three  dozen  sales- 
girls all  nodded  in  agreement.  Uncon- 
sciously, Dane  nodded  with  them,  swelling 
with  the  wisdom  of  his  choice.  He  fingered 
the  lone  twenty  dollar  bill  in  his  wallet. 
"How  much  is  it,  please?" 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars." 

He  didn't  faint,  and  he  managed  to  gulp 
back  the  gasp  that  eame  to  bis  lips,  but 
with  thirty -six  pairs  of  eyes  watching 
the  millionaire  from  Hollywood,  what 
could  he  do?  He  blinked  and  said  weakly, 
"Send  it  up  to  my  hotel."  Then  he  dove 
outside  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 


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He  needed  more  fresh  air  when  Margot, 
after  exclaiming  in  delight  over  the  beauty 
of  the  bag,  found  out  the  cost. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars! 
SEND  IT  BACK!" 

"But,  Red—" 

"Tell  them  it's  the  wrong  color.  Tell 
them  the  house  burned  down  and  we're 
leaving  for  China.  Tell  them  anything — 
only  SEND  IT  BACK." 

deep  hurt  .  .  . 

It  was  winter  in  California,  but  there 
was  lots  of  sunshine,  and  the  days  were 
warm,  although  at  night  a  deep  chill  came 
in  the  air  when  cool  breezes  swept  in 
from  the  ocean.  The  day  before  Christmas 
the  contractor's  men  working  on  the  house 
remodelling  pulled  out  all  the  doors  and 
windows,  and  they  didn't  get  any  of  them 
back  by  quitting  time.  Margot  didn't  care 
too  much,  for  they  planned  to  eat  dinner 
in  town. 

She  noticed  the  way  the  car  came  up 
the  hill  slower  than  usual.  She  saw  the 
way  Dane  walked  with  his  head  downcast, 
his  hands  deep  within  his  pockets.  And 
his  arms  were  too  tight  about  her  while 
he  held  her  close  in  his  "hello"  kiss. 

Margot  walked  with  him  to  the  pile  of 
lumber  before  the  house.  "What  is  it, 
Dane?"  she  asked  quietly. 

He  pulled  a  newspaper  clipping  from 
his  pocket  and  held  it  out  to  her. 

A  well-known  columnist  had  written  a 
blistering  attack  on  Dane,  torn  him  to 
pieces.  The  gist  of  the  article  was  "Who 
does  this  guy  Clark  think  he  is?" 

It  hurt.  It  hurt  worse  than  Dane  likes 
to  admit  even  now.  At  that  moment,  with 
the  fierce  impact  of  those  words  jabbing 
into  him  like  sharp  spears,  he  was  ready 
to  call  it  quits. 

Margot  pulled  his  hand  between  her 
own.  It  was  pitch  dark,  and  the  breeze 
was  strong  from  the  ocean,  but  with  his 
arm  tight  about  her,  Margot  didn't  mind. 
Finally  she  lifted  her  head  to  Dane's. 

"Let's  look  at  this,"  she  said  evenly. 
"Have  you  done  any  of  the  things  the 
columnist  accuses  you  of  doing?"  • 

"No.  Of  course  not." 

"Then  forget  it." 

journey's  end  .  .  . 

For  another  hour  they  talked,  and  that 
night  they  decided  that  while  they  would 
never  change  inwardly,  they  would  change 
their  attitude  toward  other  people.  It  would 
no  longer  be  Dane  Clark  against  the  world 
but  Dane  Clark  with  the  world. 

There's  no  counting  the  hours  when  two 
people  in  love  sit  alone  in  the  darkness 
and  great  decisions  are  being  made.  But 
characteristically,  Dane  suddenly  stood  up, 
kissed  Margot  soundly,  then  sang  out  in 
true  masculine  style,  "Let's  eat!" 

Into  the  house  with  no  windows,  no 
doors,  and  a  can  of  beans  sitting  forlornly 
on  the  shelf  above  the  stove. 

A  can  of  beans  on  Christmas  Eve. 

But  Dane  Clark  was  never  happier  than 
at  that  moment  when  he  was  pushing  an 
opener  into  the  can  of  beans.  He  had 
success  in  his  work.  He  had  a  home  of 
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INTIME  AND  ON  THE  BEAM 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


inquired. 

"Certainly,  madam."  Kurt  made  his  voice 
sound  just  right  for  a  perfume  counter. 
"We  have  it  in  all  five  colors." 

"Colors!"  The  voice  sounded  startled. 
"I  didn't  know  perfume  came  in  colors." 

"Oh,  yes,  madam.  It's  the  very  latest 
thing,  and  we're  the  only  store  that  has 
it.  Black,  emerald,  pink,  blue  and  natural. 
Which  would  you  like?" 

"Well — uh — I  guess  I'd  better  take  the 
natural."  The  voice  was  baffled  now. 

"Madam,"  said  Kurt  firmly,  "if  you  will 
permit  me  to  say  so,  you  sound  to  me  like 
a  type  who  could  be  daring.  I  advise  you 
to  try  the  black." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  A  pleased  note 
crept  in.  "All  right,  then.  One  bottle  of 
the  black." 

"If  you'll  just  give  me  your  name  and 
address,  I'll  see  that  it's  sent  right  out." 

A  moment  later,  Kurt  was  burrowing 
happily  in  the  pillow  again,  while  a  sedate 
matron  began  what  promised  to  be  a  long 
wait  for  a  bottle  of  black  cologne. 

mata  hari  duet  .  .  . 

Oh,  he's  a  pixie  type,  that  Kreuger!  He 
loves  to  play  jokes,  and  he  gets  wildly  en- 
thusiastic about  things,  and  he  has  more 
fun  out  of  life  than  any  six  people  you 
could  mention.  Even  when  he  isn't  working, 
he's  the  busiest  guy  in  all  Hollywood,  al- 
though he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  tell 
you  what  he  does.  He  starts  out  with  a 
leisurely  breakfast  in  the  morning,  and 
then  he  reads  all  the  newspapers.  Later,  he 
goes  for  his  singing  lesson.  Kurt  has  no 
intention  of  becoming  an  opera  star, 
much  less  another  Frank  Sinatra,  but  he 
has  a  good  voice  and  he  thinks  he  should 
learn  the  right  things  to  do  with  it.  He 
comes  home  in  time  for  a  swim  before 
lunch.  In  the  afternoon,  of  course,  he  has 
a  wild  tussle  on  the  outside  porch  upstairs 
with  his  two  police  dogs.  He"s  had  one  four 
years,  and  the  other,  which  he  refers  to  as 
"the  little  one"  (it's  the  size  of  a  horse!) 
for  a  year-and-a-half. 

They  are,  of  course,  a  little  awesome  to 
visitors  who  aren't  used  to  them.  One  Sun- 
day afternoon,  Kurt  was  sitting  out  by  the 
swimming  pool  minding  his  own  business, 
absorbed  in  a  book,  when  he  became  aware 
that  he  was  being  watched.  He  raised  his 
eyes  and  found  that  beyond  the  low  hedge 
at  the  side  of  the  pool  were  a  couple  of 
teen-agers.  Obviously  fans,  and  obviously 
drooling  at  the  sight  of  the  handsome  Mr. 
Kreuger  in  swimming  shorts  and  suntan. 
Kurt  didn't  have  the  least  idea  how  they'd 
gotten  there,  or  what  to  do  about  them.  He 
decided  in  favor  of  ignoring  the  whole 
thing,  and  went  on  reading  his  book.  He 
was  alone  and  couldn't  properly  invite 
them  in.  For  two  solid  hours  he  read, 
swam  in  the  pool,  listened  to  the  radio  and 
had  his  usual  Sunday  afternoon  nap.  For 
two  solid  hours  the  girls  stood  there  like 
wide-eyed  statues.  Came  five  o'clock  and 
Kurt  let  the  dogs  out  for  their  afternoon 
run.  The  two  mammoth  creatures  bounded 
out,  and  the  girls  took  one  look,  let  out  a 
yell  you  could  hear  clear  to  the  Brown 
Derby,  and  started  home  at  a  fast  clip.  The 
next  day  Kurt  got  a  plaintive  note. 

"We  didn't  mind  when  you  didn't  talk  to 
us,  or  even  look  at  us,"  it  said.  "But  when 
you  set  your  dogs  on  us,  it  was  too  much!" 
There  was,  however,  a  postscript.  "We'll 
forgive  you  if  you'll  let  us  come  again 
next  Sunday." 

Kurt  thought  it  was  rather  funny,  and 
very  sweet.  He  has  a  philosophical  sense 
of  humor  which  is  a  big  help  to  him  in 


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Hollywood,  where  it's  always  the  unex- 
pected that  happens.  It  has  carried  him 
through  some  tough  spots.  There  was,  for 
instance,  the  first  time  he  came  to  Holly- 
wood. He  had  done  some  summer  stock, 
and  he  had  every  intention  of  getting  into 
pictures.  So  he  started  looking  around  for 
a  house.  At  last  he  located  the  ideal  place 
— it's  the  same  one  he  has  now,  only  with- 
out the  swimming  pool,  which  is  a  recent 
acquisition.  He  paid  a  reasonable  price  for 
it,  but  it  was  still  a  lot  of  money  for  a  young 
man  without  a  job.  And  somehow,  no  one 
in  pictures  seemed  impressed  by  Kurt's 
offer  to  work  for  them.  After  a  few  months 
of  getting  absolutely  nowhere,  he  decided 
to  leave  Hollywood. 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  one  of  the  omni- 
present I-told-you-so  friends.  "You  should 
never  have  bought  that  house." 

"Buying  that  house  was  the  best  thing 
I've  ever  done.  I  most  definitely  will  come 
back  to  Hollywood  later  on,  and  I  want  to 
be  sure  of  having  a  place  to  live." 

The  friend  laughed.  "When  are  you  com- 
ing back?" 

"I  don't  know  when.  But  I'll  be  back. 
I  feel  it  here  inside  me." 

He  was  right,  of  course.  He  did  come 
back.  By  then,  he'd  had  Broadway  ex- 
perience, and  he  knew  more  about  the 
way  to  approach  Hollywood.  He  began 
with  small  parts,  but  they  have  been  get- 
ting bigger  all  the  while.  "Hotel  Berlin," 
"Paris  Underground,"  "The  Spider,"  and 
now  "The  Dark  Corner."  He  free  lanced 
till  last  June.  Then  his  agent  phoned. 

"Fox  wants  to  sign  you  to  a  contract." 

Kurt's  cautious  Swiss  business  sense  as- 
serted itself.  "But  they  do  not  pay  as 
much  when  you  have  the  contract  as  when 
you  free  lance.  Is  that  not  so?" 

"They're  going  to  pay  you  as  much," 
sai3  his  agent  grimly,  "and  don't  ask  me 
why.  You're  the  luckiest  so-and-so  I  ever 
met." 

Last  month,  the  friend  who  had  told 
him  he  was  a  fool  to  buy  the  house,  came 
around.  He  was  hunting  desperately  for  a 
place  to  live. 

"Listen,  Kurt,  I've  been  thrown  out  of 
more  hotels  in  the  last  month  than  you  ever 
heard  of.  And  there  isn't  a  house  in  Hol- 
lywood for  rent.  I'll  give  you  three  times 
what  you  paid  for  your  place  if  you'll  sell 
it  to  me." 

Kurt  grinned.  He  coined  a  phrase.  He 
said  "He  laughs  best  who  laughs  last,"  and 
kept  the  house. 

crystal  gazing  .  .  . 

It's  just  as  well  that  he  can  be  phil- 
osophical about  misf  ortunes.  Sometimes  they 
gang  up  on  him.  Take  that  day  last  Feb- 
ruary. It  all  started  with  the  morning 
mail.  Kurt  opened  one  letter  and  found 
in  it  a  horoscope  for  his  birth  date,  July 
twenty-third.  He  remembered  that  some- 
one at  a  dinner  party  had  mentioned  horo- 
scopes and  he  had  said  he  thought  it 
would  be  fun  to  have  his.  So  here  it  was, 
all  new  and  shiny.  Casually  Kurt  looked 
up  the  prediction  for  that  day. 

"Be  careful,"  it  said.  "Misfortune  awaits 
you." 

"That,"  Kurt  told  the  horoscope  severely, 
"is  no  way  to  start.  You  are  not  getting  in 
good  with  me,  and  besides,  you  are  quite 
wrong.  This  is  going  to  be  a  very  good 
day."  He  tossed  the  horoscope  in  the  waste- 
basket. 

Came  five  o'clock,  he  had  a  cocktail  date 
at  the  home  of  some  friends.  They  gave 
particularly  elaborate  cocktail  parties,  and 
it  was  something  to  look  forward  to.  Later, 
he  was  to  have  dinner  with  pretty  Cathy 
Downs,  who  was  his  adored  of  the  moment. 

Kurt  arrived  at  the  cocktail  date  look- 
ing tall,  blond  and  terrific  in  a  green  tweed 
jacket,  grey  flannels  and  his  usual  won- 
derful suntan.  He  noted  with  approval  the 
presence  of  several  beautiful  girls,  and 


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with  even  more  approval  the  fact  that  the 
hostess  was  serving  canapes  which  were 
gastronomic  delights.  There  was  caviar 
with  onion  on  dark  bread.  There  was  won- 
derful smoked  salmon  with  pumpernickel. 
There  were — and  here  Kurt's  mouth  began 
to  water — shrimps  with  a  special  sauce 
which  were  a  specialty  of  the  house.  Kurt 
had  a  couple  of  Martinis,  accompanied  by 
these  various  delicacies.  He  talked  to  the 
pretty  girls.  He  was  having  a  fine  time, 
and  thought  fleetingly  about  what  silly 
things  horoscopes  were.  A  young  starlet 
came  over  to  him,  and  smiled  fetchingly. 
She  was  carrying  a  dish  of  shrimps. 

"More  of  these,  Kurt?  Here,  I'll  fix  one 
for  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  please.  They  are  delightful." 
shrimps  d  la  ptomaine  .  .  . 

He  opened  his  mouth  wide,  and  the  star- 
let obligingly  popped  a  shrimp  into  it.  She 
fluttered  her  lashes  at  him,  and  he  told 
her  how  charming  she  was.  This  routine 
went  on  for  some  time,  during  which  Kurt 
consumed  innumerable  shrimps.  Then  he 
began  to  have  a  slightly  uneasy  feeling  in 
his  stomach.  He  said  polite,  if  hasty,  good- 
byes, and  went  out  to  his  car.  All  the  way 
home  he  felt  worse  and  worse.  He  stag- 
gered into  his  house  at  last  and  took  a  look 
at  himself  in  the  mirror.  His  face  was 
green  instead  of  tan.  His  lips  were  puffed 
up  to  twice  their  usual  size,  and  his  eyes 
were  almost  shut.  He  called  up  his  doctor, 
and  informed  him  that  he  was  dying,  or  a 
reasonable  facsimile  thereof. 

"You're  probably  allergic  to  shrimp  in 
anything  but  small  quantities,"  the  doctor 
said.  "Lots  of  people  are." 

"But  what  happens  now?  A  beautiful 
young  lady  is  coming  to  dinner.  I  am  to 
take  her  to  a  large  party.  What  shall  I 
do?"  • 

The  doctor  told  him  what  to  do.  It  was 
all  very  complicated,  but  Kurt  did  it.  Cathy 
arrived  for  dinner  and  had  to  eat  it  alone. 
Then  she  played  records  for  two  hours — 
also  alone.  By  the  end  of  that  time,  Kurt 
looked  almost  normal  and  felt  fine.  They 
went  to  the  party.  It  was  a  good  party. 
When  the  party  was  over,  he  drove  Cathy 
home,  and  then  started  for  his  own  place. 
He  ,vas  driving  his  Buick  convertible  hap- 
pily along  the  Boulevard  when  a  car  popped 
out  from  a  side  street.  It  disregarded  the 
Stop  sign  completely,  and  whizzed  slam  into 
Kurt's  convertible.  Trying  to  escape  this  jug- 
gernaut, he  whirled  the  steering  wheel  des- 
perately to  the  right.  His  car  smashed 
through  a  road  sign  and  hit  a  telegraph 
pole  which  cracked,  and  hung,  swaying 
ominously  above  the  roof.  Kurt  took  a 
deep  breath.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head 
and  felt  blood  there,  but  found  that  the 
cut  wasn't  deep.-  He  climbed  out  of  the 
wrecked  car,  and  said  a  quick,  sincere 
prayer  of  thanks  to  God  that  it  was  no 
worse,  and  he  was  still  alive. 

Meanwhile,  the  people  from  the  other 
car  swarmed  over  the  road.  The  driver  was 
very  loud  and  very  profane.  He  made 
nasty  remarks  about  playboys  in  dinner 
jackets  at  four  a.m.,  disregarding  the  fact 
that  it  was  he  who  had  run  into  Kurt.  A 
couple  of  cops  came  along  and  looked  over 
the  situation.  They  listened  to  the  other 
man's  remarks  and  were  not  impressed. 

"Looks  as  if  this  guy  in  the  convertible 
was  going  along  minding  his  own  business 
when  you  ducked  out  of  the  side  street  and 
hit  him,"  one  of  them  said.  "But  you'll 
both  have  to  come  to  the  station  with  us." 

The  other  driver  went  into  a  long  and 
inaccurate  description  of  Kurt's  ancestry. 
Kurt  kept  his  mouth  shut,  which  was  quite 
a  feat  under  the  circumstances.  They 
all  went  to  the  police  station,  and  both 
drivers  were  put  through  the  routine 
sobriety  tests.  They  had  to  say  "Around 
the  rough  and  rugged  rocks  the  ragged 
rascal  ran."  They  had  to  say  it  fast.  Kurt 


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said  it  so  fast  it  made  them  dizzy.  Then 
they  had  to  walk  a  straight  line.  Kurt 
laughed  so  much  he  couldn't  do  it,  but  he 
passed  all  the  other  tests,  and  was  declared 
cold  sober,  dinner  jacket  and  all.  The 
police  surgeon  took  a  few  stitches  in  the 
cut,  and  Kurt  called  a  taxi  and  went  home. 
As  soon  as  he  got  in  the  house,  he  went 
over  to  the  wastebasket  and  got  out  the 
horoscope.  He  put  it  on  his  bureau  in  a 
silver  frame,  and  bowed  three  times.  Then 
he  went  to  bed. 

Though  Kurt  is  cheerful  almost  always, 
he  almost  lost  his  sense  of  humor  over 
the  servant  problem.  He  wanted  a  com- 
bination cook-housekeeper,  to  live  in.  But 
there  were  difficulties.  His  place  was  hard 
to  get  to,  way  up  the  mountain.  Or  they'd 
be  afraid  to  stay  there  alone  evenings.  Or 
they  didn't  like  the  dogs.  Finally  Kurt 
decided  to  put  an  ad  in  the  paper.  He  left 
it  to  the  girl  in  charge  of  the  classified  ad 
section  to  decide  what  to  say. 

"Just  make  it  sound  alluring,"  he  urged. 

The  ad  appeared.  It  said,  "Bachelor 
picture  star  needs  housekeeper.  Pleasant 
surroundings." 

the  perfect  job  .  .  . 

The  phone  began  to  ring  the  minute  the 
paper  hit  the  streets.  It  became  a  perennial 
alarm  clock.  Everybody  wanted  that  job. 
Kurt  weeded  out  as  many  as  he  could  over 
the  phone.  Then  he  started  to  interview 
the  rest.  They  turned  up  in  silver  foxes 
and  perfume.  They  waved  false  eyelashes 
at  him  hopefully,  while  they  explained  that 
they  couldn't  maybe  cook  very  much  but 
they  were  wonderful  at  mixing  cocktails. 
One  prospect,  an  efficient  type,  had  Kurt 
almost  sold,  until  she  began  to  talk  about 
what  a  wonderful  time  they  would  have 
giving  parties,  and  she  was  sure  her  friends 
and  his  would  get  along  fine.  Kurt  had  to 
tell  her  that  he'd  had  in  mind  a  more 
formal,  less  cozy  arrangement  and  she  left 
in  a  huff.  He  finally  did  get  an  ideal  house- 
keeper— a  motherly  soul,  who  calls  him 
"Mr.  Krueger,  honey,"  and  retires  to  her 
bedroom  to  weep  for  hours  if  he  doesn't 
eat  enough  of  her  delicacies. 

Kurt  has  not  always  been  happy  about 
his  roles  in  pictures.  He  is,  for  instance, 
far  from  boastful  about  "The  Spider." 
He  plays  a  murderer  in  it,  but  that  isn't 
what  bothers  him.  It's  the  lack  of  motiva- 
tion for  the  crimes  he  commits. 

"All  the  way  through  this  picture,  I  kill 
people,"  he  says  mournfully,  "and  why? 
Nobody  knows.  So  I  must  be  a  homicidal 
maniac,  and  that  I  do  not  like." 

His  new  picture,  "The  Dark  Corner,"  is 
much  more  glamorous  and  exciting.  Clif- 
ton Webb  is  in  it,  and  Mark  Stevens  and 
Lucille  Ball.  Kurt  plays  a  villain,  but  a 
romantic  villain  in  handsomely  tailored 
evening  clothes,  who  has  a  fine  time  mak- 
ing expert  love  to  the  heroine  for  her 
money.  It's  a  very  de  luxe  picture,  with 
orchestras  playing  soft  music  and  sets  that 
appeal  to  Kurt's  love  of  beauty,  and  he's 
justly  proud  of  it. 

He  is  an  odd  combination  of  pride  and 
humbleness,  this  Swiss  ski  instructor  who 
has  conquered  Hollywood.  On  his  last  trip 
to  New  York,  he  played  gin  rummy  on  the 
train  with  a  well-known  Hungarian  writer. 
The  writer  called  him  a  few  days  after 
they  got  to  New  York. 

"Kurt,  how  would  you  like  to  be  in  a 
Broadway  play  again?" 

"I  think  I  would  like  it  very  much," 
Kurt  said  seriously,  "if  I  could  do  it." 

"Come  down  to  the  Theater  Guild,  then. 
They'd  like  you  for  the  part  of  the  priest 
in  the  Ethel  Barrymore  play,  'Embezzled 
Heaven.'  " 

Kurt  was  dazed.  Play  on  Broadway 
with  Ethel  Barrymore!  But  was  he  good 
enough  for  the  Theater  Guild,  and  could 
he  play  a  priest?  Suddenly  that  humility 
that  overtakes  him  now  and  then  came  to 


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the  fore  in  a  rush. 

"That  is  very  nice  of  you,  but  I  couldn't 
possibly  do  it,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "My 
studio  commitments  are  such  that  I  couldn't 
leave  Hollywood  for  any  length  of  time." 

Afterward  he  was  angry  with  himself. 
He  told  himself  sternly  that  he  was  a  good 
actor,  and  had  no  business  getting  fits  of 
self-doubt  that  might  interfere  with  his 
career,  but  by  then  it  was  too  late. 

Kurt  has  a  vivid  imagination  and  re- 
sponds very  quickly  to  any  situation  which 
holds  a  hint  of  drama.  Like  the  night  at 
Mocambo  when  he  was  sitting  happily  with 
a  good  looking  singer  named  Marina  Kos- 
hetz.  A  blonde  walked  by  and  smiled  at 
Kurt.  He's  a  little  near-sighted,  so  he 
thought  it  was  someone  he  knew  and 
smiled  back.  That  did  it.  The  girl  came 
right  over  and,  making  with  the  big,  blue 
eyes,  said  "Mr.  Kreuger,  you  don't  know 
me."  Mr.  Kreuger  belatedly  agreed  with 
her.  She  nodded  to  a  table  a  little  way 
off,  and  said  "Do  you  think  that  man  over 
there  is  handsome,  Mr.  Kreuger?" 

Kurt  peered  at  the  man.  He  was  a  little 
embarrassed,  and  said  politely,  "Why  yes, 
very  handsome." 

turn  on  the  tears  .  .  . 

"I  don't,"  the  blonde  remarked.  "But  I 
think  you're  handsome,  Mr.  Kreuger.  And 
I  made  a  bet  with  that  man  that  I  could  get 
you  to  dance  with  me.  I  bet  him  fifty  dol- 
lars." The  big,  blue  eyes  suddenly  filled 
with  tears,  and  the  voice  grew  husky  as 
she  added  in  a  whisper,  "I  can't  afford  to 
lose  fifty  dollars,  Mr.  Kreuger." 

Kurt,  who  dramatizes  everything,  im- 
mediately saw  in  the  blonde  the  innocent 
victim  of  a  Hollywood  wolf  who 
would  probably  offer  to  settle  for  the  poor 
girl's  virtue  instead  of  the  fifty  bucks.  Sir 
Galahad  Kreuger  to  the  rescue!  He  said, 
"I  will  dance  with  you.  But  a  few  steps 
only,  since  I  cannot  leave  my  charming 
companion  sitting  here  alone  for  long — 
"Marina,  will  you  forgive  me?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Marina  sweetly,  if  with 
a  slightly  cynical  lift  of  her  eyebrows. 
"Fifty  dollars  is  a  lot  of  money." 

The  blonde  danced  well,  but  cheek  to 
cheek.  After  five  steps,  Kurt  said  "There, 
that  is  all.  You  have  won  your  bet."  He 
attempted  to  let  go.  He  had  become  con- 
scious by  now  that  the  girlish  innocence 
had  a  strong  reek  of  bourbon.  But  the 
blonde  held  on.  The  blue  eyes,  seen  at 
close  range,  had  a  slightly  glazed  look. 
"I'm  not  going  to  let  you  go,"  she  an- 
nounced loudly.  "I  think  you're  too  hand- 
some to  let  go." 

Kurt  began  to  get  panicky.  People  were 
staring.  Over  the  blonde's  plump  shoulder 
he  could  see  Marina,  and  her  eyebrows 
were  now  definitely  raised.  She  was  en- 
joying herself  hugely. 

clinging  vine  .  .  . 

"Let  go!"  he  said  firmly,  but  the  blonde 
continued  to  hold  him  with  a  grip  of  iron. 
Blast  the  woman!  How  was  he  to  get 
loose?  He  had  visions  of  himself  with  this 
albatross  hung  round  his  neck  forever. 
Suddenly  he  remembered  the  very  open- 
toed  sandals  she  was  wearing.  De- 
liberately, and  hard,  he  stepped  on  her  toe. 
The  blonde  stepped  back  with  a  howl  of 
anguish.  Kurt  bowed  gracefully  from  the 
waist  and  returned  to  his  table. 

"Never,  never  will  I  get  into  such  a  pre- 
dicament again,"  he  informed  the  amused 
Marina.  "From  now  on  I  shall  stay  out  of 
all  dramatic  situations." 

He  won't,  of  course.  He'll  go  right  on 
living  life  to  its  fullest,  because  that's  the 
way  he  likes  it,  and  he's  quite  willing  to 
take  the  good  and  bad  together.  He  won't 
miss  a  thing  and  that's  one  reason  why  he'll 
get  places.  That  zest  for  life  is  part  of  the 
Kreuger  personality,  and  it's  doing  fine  at 
the  box  office.    So  why  change? 


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City  


WATCH  BARBARA  HALE! 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


my  own  intuition,  I  began  to  case  this 
girl's  career.  I  went  over  to  RKO  and 
had  them  run  off  a  few  of  her  pictures 
for  me.  I  saw  "West  of  the  Pecos,"  "First 
Man  Into  Tokyo"  and  "Lady  Luck."  And 
I  said  to  myself,  Hedda,  here  we  go  again. 

Bill  Dozier,  assistant  head  of  produc- 
tion at  RKO,  told  me  he  was  so  excited 
about  both  Barbara  and  Bill  that  he  was 
co-starring  them  in  "A  Likely  Story"  and 
having  the  script  tailored  to  suit  them. 

"They're  working  out  on  the  valley 
ranch  today,"  he  said.  "Why  don't  you  run 
out  and  watch  Barbara  work?" 

I  never  need  a  push  when  I'm  on  any- 
one's trail,  so  I  hopped  in  my  car  and 
made  the  long  drive  out  to  the  valley 
where  RKO  has  its  ranch.  Most  studios 
have  these  ranches  which  relieve  their 
cramped  Hollywood  quarters  by  serving 
as  a"  sort  of  back  lot;  rilled  with  buildings, 
city  streets  and  village  dirt  roads. 

The  cameras  were  grinding  at  the  end 
of  the  street,  and  I  spied  Barbara,  in  a 
checked  suit  and  hat,  looking  perfectly 
beautiful,  and  what's  more,  cool.  I  sat 
down  on  a  curbstone  and  watched  her 
work.  It  was  a  simple  scene;  she  was  to 
run  out  of  a  bank  door,  hail  a  taxi  and 
climb  in.  They  shot  it  eight  times.  Every 
time  Barbara  was  perfect,  every  time 
something  or  somebody  else  went  wrong. 
The  take  finally  completed,  she  spotted 
Hopper,  who  by  this  time  was  melting  and 
running  down  the  gutter. 

"Hi,"  she  called  and  ran — ran,  mind  you 
— across  the  street. 

I  mopped  my  brow  with  my  handker- 
chief.  "Aren't  you  hot?" 

"Nope,"  she  said,  and  smiled  with  that 
wonderful  row  of  ivories — no  caps. 

"Aren't  you  tired?" 

"Nope." 

"Well,  if  I  can  possibly  live  another 
hour,  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you." 

We  walked  to  her  dressing  room,  a 
small  packing  case  on  the  edge  of  the 
potato  patch.  She  slipped  on  a  pair  of 
faded  blue  jeans  and  a  raucous  plaid  shirt. 

"Been  thinking  about  these  clothes  all 
day,"  she  said. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

In  Walla  Walla, 
Washington,  my 
brother,  Staff  Sgt. 
Bernie  Radebaugh, 
was  repairing  his 
Flying  Fortress 
when  he  heard  a 
soldier  in  back  of 
him  say,  "Hey, 
sarge,  want  a 
coke?"  When 
Bernie  turned 
around,  a  corporal  was  standing  there. 
Finally  Bernie  stammered,  "Aren't  you 
Alan  Ladd?"  To  his  amazement  the 
corporal  answered,  "Yes,  I  am."  They 
had  cokes  and  cigarettes  together,  and 
later,  my  brother  met  Sue  Carol  Ladd. 
Bernie  wrote  home  and  told  me  all 
about  it.  I'm  writing  this  for  my 
brother  because  he  was  shot  down 
over  Germany  in  1944.  I  don't  suppose 
Mr.  Ladd  remembers  that  incident, 
but  if  he  does,  I'm  sure  he'd  like  to 
know  how  much  it  meant  to  my 
brother. 

Jean  Radebaugh 
Denison,  Texas 


New  Sparkle  For 

SMOKE 
SMUDGED 
TEETH 


Teeth  smudged  by  tobacco 
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WRITES  ANN  YAGER  of  ELLWOOD  CITY,  PA. 


BEFORE  AFTER 

Ann  Yager's  shapeless  body 
caused  great  unhappiness  and 
misery.  Then  Ann  tried  the 
Bonomo  Home  Course  on  Figure 
Development  Now,  she's  a  new, 
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Please  rush  your  complete  Home  Course  on  Figure .  De- 
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JOE  BONOMO 

Editor  and  puh] 


Name  

Address . 


Please  Print  Plainly 


132 


City.. 

□ 


 Zone  State  

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"Don't  you  like  to  dress  up?" 

"Oh,  I  love  to.  But  I  like  to  wear  beat- 
up  clothes  too."  She  grinned. 

I  was  all  set  to  talk,  when  Bill  Williams 
pounded  on  the  door. 

"Hey,  Barby — the  Academy  Award  shin- 
dig is  on  tonight!  Aren't  we  going?" 

"Good  night!"  gasped  the  little  woman. 
"I  forgot  all  about  it!" 

Then  she  remembered  that  she  had  noth- 
ing to  wear,  and  Bill  punctuated  her 
memory  by  howling  that  he  didn't  have  a 
tux.  They  had  two  hours  to  buy  clothes 
and  get  ready.  I  offered  to  get  myself 
out  of  there  and  chat  with  Barbara  the 
next  morning  over  breakfast. 

Barbara  chose  for  our  breakfast  spot 
an  unpretentious  cafe.  Over  a  cracked 
cup  of  coffee,  she  beamed  at  me  from 
under  a  lilting  hat  and  a  stunning  suit. 
I  pointed  to  the  lid. 

;'Hats?"  I  said. 

"Well,  yes.  I  like  the  look  of  them, 
but  I  definitely  don't  like  the  feel  of  them. 
They  make  me  nervous." 

"Ex-tomboy?"  I  offered. 

tree  tops  .  .  . 

"Yes,  but  a  mixed  up  kind.  I  used  to 
climb  into  the  highest  tree,  or  jump  over 
garage  roofs — but  you  see,  I  always  took 
my  doll  with  me." 

That  was  back  in  Rockf ord,  Illinois, 
where  Barbara  grew  up.  She  apologizes 
for  a  normal  childhood,  wishes  she  could 
spout  a  Cinderella  tale,  but  there  isn't 
anything  exciting.  Just  Mom  and  Dad  and 
her  sister  Juanita  and  the  small  brown 
house  and  the  Rockford  kids.  But  her 
childhood  brought  out  to  me  the  sensitivity 
and  the  vigor  and  the  humor  within 
her  that  today  make  Barbara  an  actress 
destined  for  the  top. 

There  was  the  fight  with  a  small  girl 
named  Elizabeth  who  shoved  Miss  Hale 
into  a  briar  bush.  Barbara  came  out  with 
fists  flying  and  beat  the  living  tar  out  of 
Lizzie.  There  were  the  closet  sojourns. 
Whenever  Barbara  was  hurt  inside,  she 
hid  in  a  closet,  or  any  handy  attic  or  base- 
ment and  wept  quietly  to  herself.  On  her 
third  day  of  school,  she  was  reprimanded 
by  the  teacher  for  being  late.  She  immedi- 
ately disappeared,  and  the  resulting  neigh- 
borhood posse  found  her  that  night,  in  a 
nearby  attic,  crying.  Her  first  and  last 
whipping  occurred  when  she  threw  a  tan- 
trum after  her  dad  refused  to  allow  her 
to  accompany  him  downtown.  Pop  un- 
earthed a  fat  razor  strap  and  strong-armed 
his  daughter.  Winded,  he  looked  for  his 
wife,  finally  found  her  in  the  bedroom 
closet,  her  face  wet  with  tears. 

With  a  mind  of  her  own,  Barbara  was 
brought  up  to  take  care  of  herself.  The 
first  time  a  boy  tried  to  kiss  her,  she 
whacked  him  in  the  posterior  with  one  of 
her  muddy  boots.  She  shot  a  little  ahead 
of  her  own  parents  sometimes.  Like  the 
forbidden  hill  episode.  Having  acquired 
a  shiny  pair  of  roller  skates  for  Christmas, 
Barbara  cast  bright  brown  eyes  at  the 
steep  hill  outside  the  Hale  curbing.  She 
was  handed  a  flat  refusal,  and  the  day  she 
stood  poised  for  the  takeoff  and  heard  her 
mother  screaming,  "Stop!",  Barbara  merely 
went  her  way,  but  in  a  stooping  position, 
gathering  switches  as  she  went. 

"I  handed  them  to  Mom  when  I  got  back 
up  the  hill,"  says  Barbara,  "so  of  course, 
she  never  spanked  me." 

As  much  as  she  hated  Sunday  clothes, 
she  rebelled  furiously  at  any  item  that 
wasn't  pretty,  at  least  at  the  start. 

"That  mud  brown  sweater,"  says  Bar- 
bara wrinkling  her  nose  in  acute  distaste, 
"was  unfortunately  the  color  that  doesn't 
show  soil.  Mom  believed  in  getting  things 
big  enough  for  me,  and  at  the  age  of  two, 
when  the  thing  came  into  my  life,  it 
was  big  enough  to  serve  as  a  coat.  I  wore 
it  until  I  was  thirteen,  and  it  ruined  hun- 


FOR  SPRINGTIME  CHEER 
THROUGHOUT  THE  YEAR  - 


/ 


Millions  of  people  feel  a 
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its  brilliant  colors  and  happy  trills 
keep  Spring  alive  the  year  around. 
Make  your  home  cheerier 
with  a  singing  canary. 

PitdVceC  * 

COMTA/iffNG  THE 
TESTED  TWELVE 
i  fffG/fEO/EMTS 


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dreds  of  days  out  of  my  life.  I  think  it's 
rime  people  knew  about  it." 

Despite  the  sweater,  Barbara  attracted 
men  at  an  early  age.  From  the  time  she 
was  six  until  ten,  a  nameless  small  gentle- 
man followed  her  around,  stood  leaning 
for  hours  against  a  tree  on  the  Hale  lawn. 
Mrs.  Hale  felt  sorry  for  him. 

'"Let's  ask  him  in,  dear."  she'd  say.  "He'll 
get  pneumonia  standing  out  there." 

Barbara  shrugged  her  shoulders.  '"Mister 
X,"  as  the  family  called  him,  was  eventu- 
ally invited  inside.  He  seated  himself 
stiffly  in  a  straight  chair  and  stared  at  Bar- 
bara, who  coldly  stared  back.  Mrs.  Hale 
kept  up  a  running  fire  of  conversation,  but 
found  to  her  amazement  that  the  boy 
wouldn't  open  his  trap,  and  neither  would 
Barbara.  An  hour  later,  Mrs  Hale  pushed 
him  gently  out  the  front  door  and  went, 
exhausted,  to  bed. 

When  Barbara  was  eleven,  a  new  char- 
acter appeared  on  the  scene.  He  tele- 
phoned her  hundreds  of  times  but  never 
gave  his  name.  At  the  slightest  hint  of  a 
holiday,  he  rang  the  doorbell,  left  a  two- 
bit  gift  on  the  porch  and  ran  hellbent  for 
leather  before  anyone  could  catch  a 
glimpse  of  him. 

School  brought  Barbara  an  inferiority 
complex.  It  was  mostly  her  hair,  naturally 
curly,  which  stuck  out  in  Medusa-like 
swatches.  Barbara  considered  herself  an 
ugly  pug,  and  found  that  art  offered  the 
only  shell  into  which  she  could  crawl. 
She  grabbed  at  it  gratefully,  and  as  years 
went  on,  developed  a  fine  talent.  There 
was  a  teacher,  Vera  Smith,  who  taught 
art  to  the  senior  year  of  the  town's  high 
school.  She  noticed  Barbara's  talent,  and  ' 
she  also  noticed  the  way  the  girl  hung 
back.  Miss  Smith  was  a  psychologist  as 
well  a  good  woman.  One  day  she  held  up 
one  of  Barbara's  sketches. 

"I  want  the  class  to  notice  this."  she 
said.  "If  any  one  of  you  had  the  skill  or 
the  feeling,  one  or  the  other,  that  Barbara 
Hale  has  put  into  this  work,  I  would  have 
nothing  further  to  teach  you."  Barbara 
left  class  that  day  with  a  small  swagger 
in  her  walk. 

It  was  a  good  thing,  too,  because  it 
prepared  her  for  art  school  in  Chicago, 
where  she  necessarily  had  to  five  alone. 

dots  and  dashes  .  .  . 

She  started  out  at  the  YWCA.  where  the 
dishwater  routine  was  broken  for  Barbara 
only  by  a  boy  from  Rockford  who  lived  at 
the  YM  four  blocks  away.  They  rigged  up 
a  Morse  code  by  means  of  pulling  the 
chain  on  a  lamp  in  their  respective  win- 
dows. This  system,  slightly  slow,  served 
'  :o  arrange  dinner  dates,  or  signal  that 
there  was  a  fire  in  the  neighborhood.  Bar- 
bara and  Ralph  shared  a  deep  passion  for 
fires,  big  or  little,  and  the  faraway  sound 
of  a  siren  brought  them  both  to  then- 
lamps,  signalling  frantically  as  to  the 
meeting  place  to  chase  and  new  the  blaze. 

But  it  was  lonely,  with  only  an  occa- 
sional weekend  trip  to  Rockford,  when 
there  was  enough  money.  Then,  one  day, 
|  into  the  classroom,  at  the  Chicago  Acad- 
emy of  Fine  Arts,  walked  Susie.  Barbara, 
in  her  sad  lavender  sweater  and  purple 
skirt,  her  hair  still  sticking  out  like  the 
working  end  of  a  mop,  looked  up  and 
gasped.  Susie  Simons  was  pretty,  well- 
groomed,  dressed  in  excellent  taste,  and 
was  a  most  self-assured  young  lady. 

"That  girl,"  Barbara  said  half  aloud,  "is 
going  to  be  my  friend." 

Susie  never  had  a  chance.  Barbara  at- 
tacked swiftly. 

'"Let's  have  lunch."  she  said. 

"All  right,"  Susie  smiled. 

A  fast  friendship  developed  and  in  a  few 
months  they  were  sharing  an  apartment 
together. 

The  apartment  was  on  a  street  where 
the   neighborhood   kids   played  baseball 


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133 


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until  darkness  brought  blessed  silence.  It 
was  a  one-room  job  with  a  hot  plate  and 
a  basin  clamped  to  the  wall  masquerading 
as  a  kitchen.  A  vent  led  into  the  apart- 
ment upstairs,  whose  tenant  chain-smoked 
Turkish  tobacco  and  all  but  asphyxiated 
the  two  girls.  The  walls  were  bare  of 
plaster,  the  one  window  led  out  to  the 
street  on  the  ground  floor — a  setup  for 
a  long  succession  of  peeping  Toms.  A 
dilapidated  daybed  opened  into  two  halves, 
one  hard  as  granite,  the  other  mushy  as 
vegetable  compound.  Even  the  fluttering 
clothes  line  stretched  across  the  room  did 
not  deter  a  character  named  Hoolihan, 
who  often  walked  through  their  apartment 
to  get  to  his  own,  and  who  occasionally 
raided  their  ice  box  or  requested  that  they 
change  their  radio  program. 

coax  me  .  .  . 

Those  days  were  fun  for  Barbara.  When 
funds  dribbled  to  a  low,  the  two  girls  sat 
on  the  tiny  balcony,  ostensibly  to  ac- 
quire a  tan,  but  actually  to  wait  for  din- 
ner invitations  from  the  boys  in  the 
fraternity  house  across  the  street.  They 
often  sat  out  until  twilight  came,  freezing 
slightly,  but  hanging  on  doggedly.  They 
squirmed  while  the  boys  they  knew  talked 
up  to  them  from  the  street  level. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  would  eventually 
happen,  and  Susie  and  Barbara  got  off 
the  balcony  and  dressed  for  dinner  before 
the  boys  had  time  to  decide  on  a  tie. 

Funds  ran  so  low,  in  fact,  that  Barbara 
took  up  modelling  during  the  summer.  The 
work  was  so  pleasant  that,  came  the  fall 
term,  she  decided  to  model  during  the  day 
and  attend  art  school  at  night.  Clerking 
in  the  college  shop  of  Marshall  Field's  de- 
partment store  added  a  bit  more  money, 
and  Barbara  figured  she  was  all  set. 

But  something  was  going  on  behind  her 
back.  Corrinne  and  Al  Seaman,  owners  of 
the  model's  bureau  for  which  Barbara 
worked,  had  sent  her  photograph  to  an 
RKO  executive. 

During  the  year  of  art  school  and  living 
with  the  tasteful  Susie,  and  her  work  as  a 
model,  Barbara  had  suddenly  found  what 
to  do  with  her  hair,  with  the  heavy  eye- 
brows that  clouded  her  face,  with  lipstick. 
The  RKO  executive  looked  at  the  photo- 
graph and  whistled.  Two  weeks  later,  a 
knock  came  on  Barbara's  door.  She  opened 
it  to  find  a  strange  man  standing  there. 

"I'm  a  talent  scout  from  RKO  studios," 
he  said.  "If  you're  Barbara  Hale,  I'd  like  to 
offer  you  a  contract." 

Life  for  Barbara  went  into  a  whirl. 
There  were  phone  calls  to  Mom  and  Dad, 
long  talks  with  Susie,  one  long  sleepless 
night,  and  her  mind  was  made  up. 

"I'll  be  back  in  six  months,"  she  told  her 
mother,  and  meant  it.  But  within  two 
weeks  of  her  arrival  she  was  working  in 
front  of  the  cameras  in  "Gildersleeve's 
Bad  Day."  That  was  her  tryout.  From 
that  she  progressed  to  a  fat  part  in  "Higher 
and  Higher"  with  Frank  Sinatra. 

At  this  point,  you'd  think  Barbara  Hale 
would  be  bubbling.  She  was,  on  the  out- 
side. But  Miss  Hale  was  not  pleased  with 
herself.  She  was  miserably  homesick.  Liv- 
ing at  the  Studio  Club,  she  was  surrounded 
by  hopeful  movie  starlets  who  talked  her 
language,  but  she  missed  Mom  and  Dad 
and  Susie  and  Juanita  and  the  two  kids. 

Then  she  met  Bill  Williams.  She  was 
feeling  low,  but  she  gave  him  a  bright 
smile.    Bill  saw  behind  the  smile. 

"How  about  a  cup  of  coffee?"  he  said. 

She  found  herself  spilling  out  to  him  all 
the  mixed  up  emotions  pent  up  inside  her 
for  so  long.  Bill  was  kind  and  understand- 
ing, and  Barbara  suddenly  saw  his  shoul- 
der as  the  wailing  wall  for  all  her  fears. 
Bill  was  fun,  too.  He'd  drive  up  to  the 
Studio  Club  in  that  old  jaloppy  of  his, 
and  they'd  set  off  for  a  movie.  Barbara 
would  invariably  dress  to  her  teeth.  Also 


like  clockwork,  Bill's  jaloppy  would  decide 
to  play  dead,  and  if  Barbara  thought  she 
wouldn't  be  asked  to  push,  she  was  sadly 
mistaken. 

Barbara  wrote  home.  'Tve  found  a 
buddy,  mom.  I  know  I'm  not  in  love  be- 
cause I  wouldn't  marry  him  on  a  bet." 

That  changed,  too.  Bill  kept  on  sug- 
gesting coffee  at  the  right  times,  and  he 
kept  on  being  fun.  Finally,  he  gave  her 
a  ring  given  him  by  his  mother  when  he 
was  a  baby.  He  had  it  enlarged  for  Bar- 
bara and  she  wears  it  on  her  right  hand. 

'Are  you  going  to  marry  Bill?"  I  asked. 

"Probably  some  day,"  she  said.  "But  I 
won't  say  anything  definite."  But  you  have 
to  be  all  of  two  years  old  to  see  that  these 
kids  are  in  love  and  happy  with  each  other. 

Tackling  Barbara's  studio  friends,  I 
found  out  that,  along  with  all  her  other 
God-given  gifts,  she  doesn't  have  to  worry 
about  putting  on  weight.  She  has  a  love 
for  animals  and  children  that  adds  up  to 
almost  a  complex.  Walking  with  her, 
friends  turn  to  say  something,  discover 
Barbara  isn't  there,  find  her  a  block  back 
chucking  a  baby  under  the  chin.  She  asks 
friends  to  stop  their  cars  so  that  she  can 
get  out  and  pat  a  stray  dog.  Referring  to 
her  niece  and  nephew,  she  says  "my  kids." 
She  has  bought  a  house  in  the  Valley,  and 
currently  rattling  around  in  it  are  three 
beds,  a  kitchen  table  and  four  chairs.  She 
plans  a  French  Provincial  house,  if  there  is 
ever  time  to  do  anything  about  it,  and  will 
start  at  midnight  to  whip  up  a  lampshade 
that  she's  thought  up  during  a  rehearsal. 

I  talked  to  Hank  Potter,  director  of  "Mr. 
Lucky."  who  is  currently  at  the  helm  of 
"A  Likely  Story." 

"Barbara  is  going  to  be  a  big  name  in 
this  town,"  he  told  me.  "What  I  really  can't 
get  over,  Hedda,  is  the  way  the  girl  does 
love  scenes.  She's  had  practically  no  film 
experience,  not  even  with  a  short  kiss,  yet 
she  has  been  doing  every  love  scene  beau- 
tifully, always  on  the  first  take." 

I  smiled,  naturally.  "Don't  you  think, 
Hank,"  I  said,  "that  the  fact  that  she's  do- 
ing the  love  scenes  with  Bill  might  have 
something  to  do  with  it?" 

He  laughed  and  admitted  my  point.  "But 
damn  it,  Hedda,  this  kid  is  good.  Extraordi- 
narily good." 

"I'm  not  arguing  with  you,  Hank,"  I 
said. 

And  I'm  not.  I  wouldn't  argue  with 
anybody  about  Barbara  Hale.  She's  all 
everybody  says  she  is. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

I  am  a  Wave, 
and  while  on 
leave,  my  four 
aunts  took  me  to 
the  Walton  Roof 
in  Philadelphia. 
During  the  floor 
show,  the  m.c.  an- 
nounced over  the 
microphone  why  I 
was  there,  and 
concluded,  "When 
the  show  is  over,  you're  going  to  have 
a  dance  with  Gene  Kelly."  Mr.  Kelly, 
also  in  a  Navy  uniform,  must  have 
been  even  more  surprised  than  I,  for 
he  was  a  dinner  guest,  too.  At  the 
end  of  the  show  I  claimed  my 
dance.  Gene  was  a  more  wonderful 
ballroom  dancer  than  I  could  have 
imagined.  Afterwards,  he  escorted  me 
back  to  my  table,  chatted  with  my 
aunts,  and  parted  with  the  friendliest 
of  good  wishes — a  real  shipmate! 

Shirley  Rosenberg,  Amm  3/c 
Whiting  Field,  Florida 


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I,  LOVELY  LILA  KILNER  bas  been  ad- 
mired by  millions — she's  a  famous 
fashion  model. 

New  York  neighbors  know  her  as 
Mrs.  W  illiam  Husted,  a  model  mother. 
Lila  recently  took  time  out  from  her 
career  to  start  a  family.  But  now 
her  daughter,  Paige,  is  almost  2  and 
Lila's  lovely  complexion  is  again 


brightening  the  pages  of  magazines. 

Lila  should  know  how  to  grow  an 
American  beauty — she's  one  herself! 
Paige's  complexion  is  "babied"  with 
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"Of  course  our  beauty  routine  in- 
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baby-mildness  mean  a  lot  in  com- 
plexion soap." 


2,  OFF  TO  A  GOOD  START— here's  an 
early  picture  of  Paige,  at  10  months. 

"You  could  call  it  a  page  from  an 
Ivory  family  album,"  Lila  says.  "First 
time  I  bathed  her  I  used  Ivory — I 
know  more  doctors  advise  it  than  any 
other  soap!  Its  pure,  mild  lather  is 
grand  for  tender  baby  skin." 


3.  LILA  HAS  A  24-HOUR-A-DAY  JOB  .  .  . 

Marketing,  housekeeping  and  model- 
ing keep  Lila  busy.  But  no  matter 
how  she  hustles,  she's  never  careless 
about  her  complexion. 

"You  can't  be  careless,  either,"  she 


4.  DO  YOU  WANT  TO  BE  SOMEBODY'S 
PINUP?  Then  try  Paige  and  Lda's 
beautv  secret!  Change  to  regular, 
gentle  Ivory  care — and  see  how  much 
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plexion can  be. 

You  can  have  that  Ivory  Look,  too! 


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